Page 10 of The Pakhans’ Curvy Prize

In the elevator, I can barely contain my excitement. I can't wait to get home and add this experience to my notes. The contrast between Russ and Alex, the different approaches to intimacy, and the way each man made me feel. My book is going to be so much richer for this.

The elevator doors open to the lobby, and I step out, already thinking about the drive home. But then I freeze.

Across the lobby, the main doors are opening. And walking through them, flanked by two men with obvious weapons beneath their jackets, is Russ.

4

MARLA

Russ doesn't see me, thankfully, but my heart pounds as I hurry through the lobby and out to my car, trying not to think about what Russ was doing there.

Do they know each other? God, that would be just my luck.

The week that follows is strange. I throw myself into writing, adding pages and pages to my manuscript.

The contrast between Russ and Alex has given me so much material to work with and my characters are coming alive on the page in ways they never would have if I hadn't thrown myself into my research.

But I can't shake the feeling that something's off. The way Russ appeared at Alex's building with armed men.

The way both of them carried themselves with such authority at the Ivory Wolf. How other people in the club seemed to defer to them without question.

By Friday evening, I've convinced myself I'm being paranoid. Rich men know other rich men.

That's just how the world works. And I have one more piece of research to complete before I can call this experiment finished.

When I walk through the doors of the Ivory Wolf, the atmosphere feels different.

Or maybe I'm just more aware now. I notice the way conversations pause when certain people walk by.

The way some men have obvious bulges under their jackets that can only be weapons.

"You're being weird," Sharon says when I mention it. She's wiping down a table near the bar, her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. "These guys are just rich. They all know each other. That's how it works in their circles."

"But the guns," I say quietly. "Sharon, some of these men are armed."

She rolls her eyes. "Rich people have security. It's normal. Stop overthinking this and go have fun. Isn't that why you're here?"

She's right. I came here with a purpose, and I'm not going to let paranoia derail me now.

I've learned so much from Russ and Alex. One more experience and perspective, and I'll have everything I need for my book.

I order a drink at the bar and let my gaze wander across the room. I'm looking for someone new, someone different from the first two. And then I see him.

He's sitting alone at a table near the back, and his attention is focused entirely on a glass of whiskey in front of him, but somehow I know he's aware of everything happening around him.

He's younger than Alex but older than Russ, maybe thirty.

His black hair falls past his shoulders, and even from across the room, I can see the intensity in his green eyes when he finally looks up and meets my gaze.

He's tall, powerfully built, with tattoos visible on his left arm from elbow to wrist.

There's something about him that's different from the others.

Where Russ was playful and Alex was controlled, this man is quiet in a way that feels dangerous.

He doesn't smile or gesture me over. He simply watches, and the weight of his stare makes my skin prickle with awareness.

I pick up my drink and walk toward him, my heart pounding harder with each step.