Dot shook his head, chuckling into his mug. “Better not leave me stuck babysitting the regulars when the next shift bails.”
She grabbed a clean rag and let her hands take over. Wipe. Rinse. Repeat.
Anything to mute the jukebox, the half-spoken apologies, the noise gnawing at the back of her skull.
Overhead, the fan stuttered through another lazy turn, stirring nothing but the stale haze curling toward the rafters. In a bar like this, “no smoking” was more of a decorative suggestion.
But something was off about tonight.
Not loud. Not obvious. More like static cling before a storm.
The door hinges groaned.
She looked up on instinct. Years of tending bars and avoiding trouble had trained her to sense the shift before the sound.
The regulars hadn’t moved.
But the room? It changed.
He walked in, and the air rebalanced around him.
Gideon Blackwell enteredlike the first drop before the downpour: sharp. Inevitable.
The room didn’t go silent, but it shifted. Conversations dipped. Heads turned.
Everyone felt it.
He didn’t announce himself. He didn’t have to. Power followed him like a shadow. Quiet, but unmistakable.
Arden straightened. Not alarmed. Just aware.
The suit was charcoal, clearly tailored. Not flashy. The man wearing it? Same. Tall, but not in that lean, forgettable way; he carried his height with the quiet confidence of a man who knew how to use it. Broad shoulders, a fighter’s build honed beneath clean lines.
His dark brown hair was cropped short at the sides, the top left just long enough to tousle: a quiet rebellion even discipline hadn’t managed to crush. A jaw sharp enough to wound, and a gaze that hadn’t softened for anyone in years.
But it wasn’t the looks that made her stop.
She didn’t pause for pretty. Pretty smiled while hiding the lie, and she’d had her fill of liars.
This man wasn’t just watching the room. He was reading it. Calculating.
Every step was measured. Efficient. But something wild flickered.
Then his gaze found hers. Eyes like smoke and steel. Clear but unreadable,cool as winter air. They didn’t just look at her; theysawher. Cut straight through.
The room tilted.
The moment passed in a breath—unspoken, electric.
But it didn’t vanish. It settled. Marked her.
He didn’t get distracted.
Gideon had trained himself not to react to appearances. He didn’t scan for style or symmetry. He studied motive. Intent. Survival, not seduction.
But this woman? Her presence cracked through discipline like a match to dry kindling.
God, she was stunning.
