I made my way across the room, hyperaware of every step, every glance that might be directed my way. I couldn’t even remember the last time I sat at a bar anywhere, let alone somewhere as fancy as the renowned Orphium.
The space was larger than it had appeared from outside, with intimate seating areas separated by flowing curtains and strategic lighting. It was the kind of place that whispered rather than shouted its exclusivity.
The bartender—Miguel, presumably—looked up as I approached. He was older, maybe fifties, with kind eyes and a professional attitude that suggested he'd spent years putting nervous patrons at ease.
"What can I get for you this evening?"
"An espresso martini, please." It was Melissa's drink of choice, and it seemed like the sort of thing someone would order in a place like this.
"Excellent choice." His hands moved with practiced efficiency, and within minutes, a perfect cocktail sat before me, garnished with three coffee beans floating on a layer of foam.
I took a sip and tried not to wince at the intensity.How does Melissa drink these?
"First time at The Orpheum?" Miguel asked, polishing a glass with careful attention.
"Is it that obvious?"
His smile was gentle. "Not at all. You just have the look of someone taking it all in. It's a beautiful space."
"It really is." I glanced around again, noting details I'd missed in my initial rush of nerves. The artwork on the walls looked original. The patrons moved with the easy confidence of people accustomed to luxury. "I'm waiting for a friend. We were supposed to meet at eight."
"Traffic can be unpredictable this time of evening," Miguel said diplomatically.
I nodded and took another sip, letting the warmth of the alcohol ease some of the tension in my shoulders. Around me, conversations flowed in cultured tones—discussions of art openings and theater premieres, weekend trips to places I'd only seen in magazines.
Three men in expensive suits had claimed the bar stools to my left, their voices growing progressively louder as they worked through what was clearly not their first round of drinks.
I was nursing my second espresso martini and starting to seriously consider abandoning ship when I felt eyes on me. Not the casual glances I'd been getting all evening, but something more focused.
I glanced over towards the men under my lashes and the youngest one—maybe early thirties, with the kind of aggressive confidence that too much money and time often bred—was staring in my direction.
"Excuse me," he said, leaning closer than was strictly necessary. "I don't think I've seen you here before."
I offered a polite smile. "First time."
"I'm Ryan." He extended a hand with the expectation that I'd take it. "This is Lucas and James. We're regulars."
I shook briefly, noting how his grip lingered. "Vivienne."
"Beautiful name for a beautiful woman." The line was delivered with the smoothness of someone who'd used it before. "What brings you to The Orpheum tonight?"
"Meeting a friend."
"Lucky friend." Ryan shifted closer, and I caught the sharp undertones of his cologne mixed with a little too much whiskey. "Can we buy you another drink while you wait?"
"That's very kind, but I'm fine, thank you."
But Ryan had already signaled Miguel, who approached with the practiced neutrality of someone who'd navigated these waters before. "Another drink for the lady."
"I really don't—" I started.
"Come on," Lucas chimed in, sliding off his stool to move around Ryan and step closer. "We're just being friendly. Where's your friend, anyway? Seems rude to keep someone like you waiting."
The question stung because I'd been wondering the same thing. Where was Melissa? And why wasn't she answering her phone?
"They'll be here soon," I said, though my confidence was wavering.
"Will they?" James joined the conversation, coming around to the empty stool on my left, effectively boxing me in at the bar. "Because it looks like you've been sitting here alone for a while."
