“Absolutely not.”
“Yes,” he insists. “Because if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”
I laugh. “Fine.”
When I hang up, Jamie claps her hands once. “It’s on.”
I take one last sip of my coffee and set the mug aside, suddenly aware of a familiar pull I refuse to name.
Tonight isn’t about Derek Pierce.
It’s about fun. About music. About reminding myself that I don’t orbit anyone—not even a man who looks at me like he doesn’t know whether to argue or kiss me.
Still…
If Derek happens to notice?
Well.
I won’t stop him.
Chapter Four
AUDRA
The Vault is packed—wall-to-wallbodies pressed together in a way that feels deliberate. Curated. This isn’t just a club; it’s a spectacle. Money. Power. People who expect to be noticed.
Bass reverberates through the sidewalk, a deep, insistent pulse that travels up through the soles of my heels and settles somewhere beneath my ribs. The line stretches down the block, a carefully curated mix of money and confidence—tailored jackets, dresses that promise trouble, laughter that spills too easily into the night.
Levi waves us through with a nod, already peeling away toward the bar like this is just another errand on his list.
Jamie exhales. “Oh. Oh no. This place is absolutely designed for poor decisions.”
Shannon grins, eyes already scanning the room. “I love a place with a mission statement.”
The lighting inside is deliberate—low and warm, shadows broken by flashes of gold and sapphire. The air smells like citrus, heat, and expensive cologne. Bodies move with purpose here, not urgency. Everyone looks like they expect to be seen.
I remind myself why I’m here.
To observe.
To remind myself that Derek Pierce is just a man.
And then I see him.
He’s near the bar with Mark and Alex, jacket gone, sleeves rolled the way he always does when he’s not pretending to be untouchable, posture loose in a way I’ve never seen at the office. He throws his head back at something Mark says, laughter unguarded and real, and the sight lands harder than it should.
Women linger nearby. Bold. Interested. Comfortable in his orbit. A brunette in a glittering dress leans in to say something against his ear, her hand resting with ease on his forearm like she belongs there.
My chest tightens—recognizable jealousy—and it annoys me.
Jamie follows my gaze and hums. “There he is.”
“I wasn’t looking for him,” I say automatically.
Jamie gives me a look that says sure, Audra, and I refuse to dignify it with a response.
We claim a table just off the dance floor. Drinks arrive quickly. Shannon takes hers with a pleased sigh while Jamie immediately starts narrating the room like she’s a sports announcer.
