Colton leaning in, smirking. Arden squaring her shoulders, her expression steady.
Of course it was Colton.
Gideon drummed his fingers once against the desk.
Then he moved.
The club breathed with low music and whispered deals, but the sounds barely reached Arden.
She was busy, focused, until she wasn’t.
The shift was subtle like a cold draft slipping under a closed door.
A presence. A pressure.
And then, a voice.
“You’re a hard woman to get a moment with, Miss Rivers.”
Arden turned, already knowing.
Colton Blake leaned against the bar, at ease in a way only men like him could be. A man who didn’t demand attention, but always had it.
She didn’t react. Didn’t tense. Just watched, assessing.
Colton smiled. The slow kind. The practiced kind.
“Gideon keeps you all to himself.” A glance at her hands, the effortless efficiency of her movements. “I’d take it personally if I didn’t admire the commitment.”
Arden reached for a glass, wiping the rim with precise movements. “Something I can get you?”
“I was hoping for a conversation.”
She arched a brow. “That’s unfortunate.”
Disarmed.
Without even trying.
His amusement flickered, but he recovered quickly, tipping his head slightly. “Ah, but I’m a patient man.”
“That makes one of us.”
Another hit. Another shift.
Colton watched her for a beat. Not just looking—studying.
“You know,” he mused, “most people show a little more interest when a Blackwell pays them attention.”
Arden didn’t pause. Didn’t even blink. “Most people have lower standards.”
Hook. Set. Twist.
Colton laughed, full and warm, but something tight hid beneath it.
This wasn’t how he expected the conversation to go.
Not quite.
