I let the moment stretch, watching her like a predator circling its prey. Then, with a slight nod, I signal the bartender. He knows better than to hesitate. As he sets a fresh glass in front of me, I lean forward. “The woman in the black dress that just walked in—whatever she orders, put it on my tab.” A quick nod, and he’s already moving toward her.
I keep my gaze steady as she makes her way to a stool across the bar. She moves with confidence, settling into the seat with a presence that draws every eye in the room. In the club earlier, she had caught my attention, but seeing her here, in that dress, in the golden hue of light in the room, she’s absolutely breathtaking. The bartender greets her, and I watch as she places her order, handing over her card.
He gestures over his shoulder, pointing in my direction. Her eyes follow his motion, locking onto mine.
For the briefest moment, it feels like everything else fades. Those eyes are sharp, vibrant, and impossible to look away from. My pulse skips, hell, it might have stopped altogether as she studies me. Her brow furrows slightly, just enough to reveal a flicker of confusion, but then it vanishes, replaced by a flawless, practiced smile.
It’s perfect, but it’s also a mask. A smile I know she’s offered to countless men before me. A tool of her trade. And in thatinstant, a decision hardens in my mind like steel: I’m going to break through that mask.
I want to see what’s underneath.
I don’t just want her attention. I want her. Not the version she gives every other man who looks her way. I want the real smile she hasn’t given out in a while. The one that only the most fortunate men get to experience. And I’ll make damn sure I earn it before the night is over.
The bartender setsdown the delicate flute of champagne with a polite nod, and I slide my fingers around the slender stem, feeling the chilled glass against my skin. One sip, and it’s clear the bubbles are far nicer than anything I’d normally splurge on. Then my gaze drifts across the room, landing on the man responsible for the drink.
Sitting across the bar, he exudes the kind of raw, effortless confidence that turns heads without trying. I could use the excuse that it’s my birthday, or maybe it’s just his dark, penetrating eyes, but something in me decides I might as well thank him in person. If nothing else, a conversation could save me from paying for the rest of my drinks tonight. A birthday girl shouldn’t foot her own bill, after all.
I slip off the stool, the smooth fabric of my dress brushing my thighs as I steady myself. My mind flickers back to earlier in the night. I met my monetary goal, tipped everyone I needed to, and packed up as quickly as I could. Dancing for faceless men is fine when it pays the bills, but not tonight. Tonight, I needed something different, something that feels...good. Searching for five-star hotels in the area led me here. No, I can’t afford to stay at The Garrison, but sitting at its polished lobby bar for a drink lets me pretend, if only for a while, that I belong in a place like this.
As I circle the bar, I let my eyes sweep over him. He has tattooed hands, strong yet manicured as they rest on the bartop, aRolex glinting on one wrist. His dress shirt is perfectly fitted around his broad shoulders beneath his tie, the jacket draped over the back of his stool adding an air of casual elegance.
His hair looks slightly tousled, like he’s been running his hands through it in frustration or deep thought, and the dark strands only highlight a face that could have been sculpted by Roman artists. That jawline could cut glass. Clean, angular, commanding. His deep brown eyes hold a warm mystery to them, something quiet but dangerous, the kind of gaze that makes you feel seen, exposed.
And those lips. Full, plush, and absolutely criminal on a man.
I almost lose my nerve, but tonight isn’t the night to hesitate. I’m thirty today, and I didn’t escape a lifetime of being a prisoner just to hold myself back from living.
Taking a deep breath, I cross the room, heels clicking softly on the marble floor as I approach him. His gaze catches mine before I can even speak, and the sheer intensity in those eyes makes my heart stutter. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Or maybe, it was the best idea I’ve had all day.
She movesthrough the room with a quiet certainty, every step drawing me in, every glance unhurried. The undercurrent of conversation fades under the sharper awareness of her presence, the way the black dress clings and flows in perfect balance—soft fabric tracing curves I can already feel in my hands. The heels give her an edge, lengthening her stride, each click on the marble floor a measured beat pulling her closer. She stops in front of me, champagne flute poised between slender fingers, and her gaze sweeps over me—cautious, assessing. For the first time in years, I’m not the one taking someone’s measure. I’m the one being weighed. And I don’t mind at all.
“Thank you for the drink,” she says, her voice smooth, confident. Not coy, not flirty. Just a statement.
I lean back slightly, resting my arm along the edge of the bar. “You’re welcome. But thanking me in person wasn’t necessary. Did you feel obligated, or was this your excuse to find out who I am?”
Her lips curl into a soft smirk, and she slides into the stool next to me with an effortless kind of grace. “I figured it would be rude to accept without saying something.” She picks up her glass, rolling the stem delicately between her fingers. “Besides, aren’t drinks supposed to come with a conversation?”
“They do if you want them to.” I tilt my glass toward her.
Her laugh is quiet, understated, but it hits me harder than Iexpect. “Fair enough,” she says, tilting her head slightly. “I think I’d like to know more about you.”
I let my eyes trace her features for just a moment before answering. “I can’t say I’ll be an open book, but I’m quite good at small talk.”
She quirks an eyebrow at that, taking a small sip of champagne. “We’ll see about that.”
There’s a spark in her eyes, not just mischief but intelligence, awareness. She’s sharp, the kind of woman who could cut a man down with words alone if she wanted.
“So, why this bar?” I ask, steering the conversation but keeping my tone relaxed.
“It’s not the kind of place I usually go to,” she answers without hesitation. “And I wanted a change tonight.”
“Looks like you found it,” I say, holding her gaze.
“Maybe I did.” Her reply comes with the faintest hint of challenge.
I let the corner of my mouth curve. “Then it’s settled. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
God above,this man is the sexiest human I have ever interacted with in my entire life. It’s not just his face, which looks like it belongs on the cover of a magazine, or his body, which has already ruined my panties. It’s his voice, smooth and rich like the port he’s drinking. Every word that leaves his mouth seems calculated to undo me, one syllable at a time.
