“That guy is definitely lying about his age,” she says, pointing subtly. “And that one has commitment issues.”
Shannon snorts. “You can tell that from across the room?”
Jamie taps her temple. “I’m talented.”
I take a slow sip, letting the burn settle me, telling myself this is no different than any other night out.
Across the room, Derek looks up.
Our eyes meet.
Something shifts.
The smile he’s wearing fades—not entirely, but enough that I notice. His attention sharpens, like the rest of the room has dimmed. I don’t look away immediately. I should, but I don’t. It’s not a challenge exactly—more like a refusal to be the one who flinches.
Then he glances away first, turning back to Mark like the moment meant nothing.
Jamie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, he felt that.”
“I’m ignoring him,” I say, even though my pulse says otherwise.
“Mmhmm,” Jamie replies, unconvinced.
The music swells as the night deepens. Shannon is halfway through a story about a disastrous first date when a familiar presence slides into my awareness—warmth at my side, the faint brush of cologne, the unmistakable gravitational pull that has nothing to do with proximity and everything to do with him.
“Ms. Sullivan.”
I turn slowly, setting my glass down with care.
“Mr. Pierce.”
Up close, he’s different. Less polished. More dangerous. The confidence is still there, but something beneath it now—attention without complete control.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he says.
“Funny,” I reply. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
He acknowledges Jamie and Shannon, exchanges polite greetings, then looks back at me.
“This place isn’t exactly… HR approved.”
“Good thing I’m off the clock.”
His mouth curves. “Is that so?”
“Very,” Jamie adds helpfully.
Derek’s gaze returns to mine. “Can I buy you a drink?”
I hesitate. Just long enough to feel the invisible line between us.
“One,” I say. “Then I’m going back to my friends.”
His smile deepens—not offended. Impressed. “Fair.”
At the bar, it’s louder. Hotter. Derek stands close but careful, and it’s the carefulness that feels most dangerous.
The bartender slides my drink toward me. Derek’s hand brushes mine—accidental. Electric.
