I stood there for a moment, watching her go back to dancing, before deciding I’d let her enjoy herself and went to the bar.
“The redhead,” I said to Alan, the bartender. “She drinks for free here.” I wrote a note for her on a napkin. “When she comes for a refill, make sure she gets this.”
“You got it,” he said, taking the napkin from me.
I left him and went to security.
“When that beautiful redhead makes her way here, she is to be let in. I want her. She does not leave this club tonight without me. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” both men said in unison.
I ascended the stairs again, returned to my booth in the back, and waited. It took her several long minutes, but eventually, I spotted her walking toward me, men turning their heads as she passed.
She looked damn good.
“Little hummingbird,” I greeted her as she stopped at my table. I gestured for her to sit. She did so, her fruity drink in her hand.
“Do you like that drink?”
She nodded, sucking from the straw.
I couldn’t stop the smirk teasing my lips. We sat quietly in my booth for a few moments before she spoke.
“Are you happy?” Her words slurred a little.
I raised an eyebrow at the question. It wasn’t often anyone ever bothered to ask me. “I’m not sad.”
“But are you happy?”
“Are you?” I countered.
She shrugged, some of her curls falling over her shoulders. “I’m drunk. Guess it’s the same thing. Answer the question.”
“Demanding little thing.” I smiled again. “I am happy.”
“Why?” She took another drink. “What makes you happy?”
I breathed out, feeling bold.
“You.” I stared back at her, taking in the way her pretty green eyes widened slightly at my words before a soft, breathy laugh fell from her plump, red lips.
“Me? You said I was a pain in your ass a few days ago.”
“I said if you lived in that apartment, you’d be a pain in my ass. Big difference.” I watched her drink some more as she looked around, taking in the area.
“Is this your club?”
“Matteo’s,” I said.
“Ah, it’s your night to babysit all the mayhem, huh?”
“It is.” I smiled at her, enjoying her company.
“Is it safe to assume you guys own, like, ninety-nine percent of the clubs in this city?” She looked back at me, her lashes fluttering.
“More like ninety. Lorenzo and the Russians have their hands in a few.”
She let out a soft, discontent sound at the mention of Lorenzo’s name before she looked around again. I didn’t want to push her, so I simply stayed patient, drinking in her beauty.
