She blinked again, her professional smile returning like muscle memory.
“Sure,” she said, reaching for the bottles. “Coming right up.”
***
Sloan slid into a booth that had just been vacated by a group pulling on their coats. She placed her glass on the table and traced a finger slowly through the trail of condensation.
Finding the delivery girl behind the bar was an unexpected pleasure.
Sloan knew her type—the ones who pushed back in daylight but softened out of the spotlight.
That was the type Sloan wanted. Trust, not obedience. Control with care. A balance that went both ways.
Sloan couldn’t see the bar from where she sat, which was probably for the best. She didn’t want to give too much away too soon. After all, the chase was just as satisfying as the game itself. If only she had the time for it.
Her drink burned slightly as it slid down her throat, just enough to feel the alcohol doing its job. She considered ordering another. Hanging around a little longer. Taking a seat at the bar and watching Matty squirm beneath her gaze.
That would be fun. She smiled to herself as she nursed the drink in front of her.
But she wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.
Just as she placed her glass down, a hand swept in and picked it up.
The same girl. The one from earlier. The one who had delivered her coffee weeks ago, now weaving through the room, clearing glasses.
Sloan reached out and caught her wrist, firmly but carefully, until she let go of the glass.
Their eyes met and held.
A flicker of confusion mapped Matty’s face, then recognition, before something deeper, something warmer, passed between them.
Sloan remained silent. Just watched.
Matty was the first to look away. Only then did Sloan release her wrist.
“Sorry,” Matty mumbled, already turning, “I thought—”
“You thought?” Sloan interrupted, her voice low and direct. “Look at me when you speak.”
Matty’s eyes widened, startled. But she looked back. Obeyed. Not with customer-service politeness, but something else.
“Better,” Sloan said slowly. “Now, tell me…what was it that youthought?”
“I thought you’d finished...with the glass.”
“I see. And do I look like I’m finished with it?”
Matty followed her gaze into the glass. There was just a mouthful left, but at these prices, a mouthful was expensive.
“No... I’m sorry. That was presumptuous of me.”
“Indeed.”
Matty moved as if to retreat—cheeks flushed, eyes flicking downwards.
“I didn’t say you could leave,” Sloan said, her voice smooth, commanding.
Matty stopped mid-step, then quietly moved back into place. She stood still, waiting.
