We made our way to the dance floor right as he switched to Dua Lipa, which inadvertently made me think of Kian. Damn him and his criminal ass.
“Oh my God, karaoke!” Dina screamed, spotting the lonely, dust-coated machine abandoned in the corner like a dare. “Let’s do it.”
“I’m a terrible singer,” I said immediately. “And I never know the words.”
“Britney?” she suggested. “Lana Del Rey? Or?—”
“No, really, I can’t sing,” I protested. I was not nearly tipsy enough for microphones. “People have claimed that my singing punctures their eardrums.”
Her eyes lit up. “Even better. I’ll look amazing next to you.”
I winced. “Wow. Thank you. Now I definitely want to do it.”
She grabbed my hand and dragged me across the floor before my brain could stage a protest.
“Dina, I really?—”
“Britney Spears is a universal language,” she cut in. “Everyone knows the words.”
“Everyone but me,” I muttered. “God, I’m not brave enough for this.”
“We’re doing ‘Toxic,’” she announced, grinning widely.
The intro notes hit and I ended up onstage with mynewbest friend, half belting lyrics, half falling out of my heels, while Dina sang and danced like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment. I functioned mostly as her backup-singer-slash-dancer, nearly toppling off the stage several times in my clumsiness.
We crushed it. Sort of.
The crowd looked petrified, or maybe they were simply too flabbergasted to react.
Afterward, I staggered back to the bar, cheeks burning, lungs begging for mercy, and downed half a freshly made margarita. I honestly didn’t care whether Dina was behind me or not after that fiasco. If she wanted to sing, she’d have to do it on her own because one public embarrassment was enough to sustain me for a while.
And then I saw him.
Kian stood in the VIP section above, leaning against the railing, watching me with an expression I couldn’t decipher, and somehow I started to fear that my level of chaos might have caught up to me.
“Oh my God,” I whispered. “Kian is here.”
Dina glanced up and waved cheerfully. “Of course he is. It’s his bar.”
I narrowed my eyes on her.Traitor.
“Your drinks are covered.” The bartender slid another pair of flamingo glasses toward us, along with a folded note.
I downed my drink and started on another one before reading the note.
Please don’t do any more Britney.
“Please, Earth, open up and swallow me whole,” I muttered, then turned to Dina. “Why didn’t you tell me Kian owns this place?” I hissed.
She laughed. “Mr. Cortes owns this bar, the beach resort, the restaurant with the red tiles, the parking lot, and the yacht company. Basically, if it doesn’t move, he owns it.”
“Of course he does,” I said weakly.
As if summoned, Kian descended the VIP stairs like a Bond villain, his presence sucking the oxygen from the room.
His eyes were on me as people parted like the sea. He stopped in front of us.
“Enjoying yourselves?” he asked.
