“Okay. One drink,” I say, and his smile makes my heart skip.
CHAPTER 5
SLAYER
I’m not one to wait patiently while a woman gets it together.
But somehow, I don’t mind watching this bewitching creature dig into the depths of her enormous bag for a tube of sheer red lip gloss—the only cosmetic she seems to be wearing.
The simple act shouldn’t captivate me like this. But everything about Bix has me spellbound.
Her untamed blonde curls shimmer under the harsh fluorescent lights, creating a halo effect that reminds me of those Renaissance paintings in Florence museums.
The ones that prompted me to write the acoustic ballad Sterling refused to put on the last album. “Too introspective,” he’d said. “Doesn’t fit the brand.”
Bix also fits no brand I recognize.
Her full lips now glisten with freshly applied color, and my mind instantly composes lyrics about crimson promises and midnight confessions.
Her eyes, green as summer leaves, scan the room with a curiosity that mirrors my own and the way I’ve always observed the world, collecting fragments for songs.
“Ready?” I ask, keeping my voice casual. Professional. Like I invite strange women for drinks every night.
But I don’t. I haven’t in years, particularly not since my latest divorce proceedings began and a media feeding frenzy followed.
The tabloids are having a field day: “Dark Prince Bleeds Dry in Divorce Settlement.”
Every interaction since has felt calculated. Women approach with agendas hidden behind their smiles. Too many complications, too many angles to manage.
Yet something about Bix feels genuine. The way she savored each noodle, the raw honesty when she talked about her sister. No calculation there, just truth.
It’s refreshing after years of choreographed interactions, everyone wanting a piece of Slayer while Sam slowly disappears.
She drops the gloss back into her purse. Even that movement has rhythm, like music lives in her bones. She’s tiny but perfectly proportioned, with curves that make my fingers itch to trace them.
The simple dress hugs her like it was designed for her alone.
“Ready,” she says.
And that voice? Pure melody, even in one word. I haven’t obsessed over a woman in years and need to stop immediately.
She’s too young, too genuine. And the moment she discovers I’m the famous Slayer, everything will change.
It always does.
First will come the wide eyes, then the stuttered words. Then the questions about celebrities she thinks I know.
Or worse, the casual mention of her talent—acting, modeling, singing—and the ask if I know someone who can help her get ahead. Using me as a stepping stone.
But when Bix stands and smiles, I know I’m already in trouble.
“The Mandarin’s not far,” I say, holding the door.
She steps out into the night, and I follow, certain I’m making a mistake.
Yet for the first time in years, I don’t care.
CHAPTER 6
