Chapter 14
Elena’s Point Of View
“Watch where you’re going, miss,” the man said, his voice dropping an octave as he shoved me back onto my feet. His hand lingered just a second too long on my bare hip before he released me like I was something sticky.
The contact sent an unwelcome shiver across my skin. “Some of us actually paid to be in this corridor, and we aren’t looking to carry a cheap drunk to the toilets p>
I gasped, my head snapping up so fast the hallway did a full three hundred and sixty degree spin. The walls blurred into streaks of black and amber. “Watch where I’m going? You ran directly into me p>
The words came out sharper than I intended, fueled by the vodka and the evening’s accumulated humiliations. “Why are all men such utter douchebags p>
He didn’t even blink. He stood tall… tall enough that I had to tilt my neck back even in four-inch heels, with a sharp, clean jawline and eyes that looked like dark smoke in the dim amber lighting of the corridor.
The kind of face that belonged on magazine covers or corporate billboards. Unfairly handsome, which only made me angrier.
He wore a tailored charcoal suit that probably cost more than Graham’s entire watch collection, and he knew it. Everything about him screamed wealth, privilege, and the kind of confidence that came from never being told no.
“All men?” He let out a short, dry chuckle, his gaze dropping slowly down the front of my dress. He lingered on the plunge of the silk before tracking back up to my face with an expression of pure, arrogant amusement.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Maybe you just have terrible taste, sweetheart. Or maybe you just like looking for trouble in five-inch heels so someone will notice you.” The condescension in his tone made my blood boil.
I shoved him away from me, my palms hitting the hard wall of his chest. He barely moved, which only infuriated me more. “Asshole. I never needed your help p>
“Could’ve fooled me,” he murmured, stepping aside just enough to let me pass, his hands slipping casually into his trouser pockets. “You were about two inches away from checking the hardness of the floorboards with your face.” There was a hint of genuine concern beneath the mockery, but I was too angry to acknowledge it.
I marched past him, my heels clicking furiously against the wood, though I had to consciously lock my knees to keep from swaying. The corridor felt longer now, stretching endlessly ahead. The black wallpaper seemed to press in on my shoulders as I blinked back the sudden, hot blur in my eyes. My chest felt tight, constricted by more than just the fitted bodice of my dress.
Another one, I thought, my teeth grinding together until my jaw ached. Just another arrogant prick who thinks he owns the space he breathes in. Just like Graham. Just like Sinclair. Just like every man who’d ever looked at me like I was decoration instead of a person.
When I reached the bathroom, I slammed the heavy door behind me and leaned heavily against the marble sink. The silence in the room was sudden, cutting off the low thud of the club’s bassline like a knife. I stared at myself in the mirror, barely recognizing the woman looking back.
The red lipstick was still sharp, perfectly applied hours ago when I’d still had hope for the evening. But my eyes looked wild, the pupils dilated from the three bottles of gray label, rimmed with smudged mascara I hadn’t noticed before. I looked like someone unraveling, and I hated it.
“Fucking Sinclair,” I muttered, shaking my head as I turned the gold faucet and splashed cold water over my wrists. The shock of it helped clear some of the fog. “Fucking Graham. Fucking all of them.” My voice cracked on the last word, and I gripped the edge of the sink harder, forcing myself to breathe slowly. I wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not over them.
I used the restroom, washed my hands twice just to feel the cold water against my skin, and checked my face one last time. My fingers trembled slightly as I dabbed at the corners of my eyes with a tissue. The concealer was holding over the faint mark on my jaw. Good. I wasn’t going to give anyone else a reason to look at me like I was broken, like I was something to pity or fix. I’d had enough of that look tonight to last a lifetime.
When I walked back out into the corridor, the anger was still humming under my skin, hot and loud, drowning out the small voice that told me I should probably just go home. Who the hell does he think he is? I thought, my fingers clenching around my leather clutch until the metal clasp dug into my palm. Tsk. Pathetic asshole. If I ever see him again, I’ll break his stupid, perfect nose. See how arrogant he looks then. The fantasy gave me a small, bitter satisfaction.
But as I rounded the first bend, the hallway didn’t look right. Nothing looked familiar anymore. The private lounges all looked identical… heavy silk curtains, dark wood molding, low-glowing bronze lamps casting pools of amber light. I frowned, my brain struggling to calculate the turn I’d taken on the way in. Had I gone left or right? The alcohol made everything fuzzy around the edges, like trying to see through frosted glass.
“Where the fuck is the booth?” I muttered under my breath, my feet feeling heavier now as the alcohol began to fully settle into my limbs. Each step required more concentration than the last. The floor seemed to tilt slightly with every movement.
I took another left, passing a curtain that was slightly cracked open. I caught a glimpse of a deep velvet circular seat and a bottle sitting on a low marble table. Relief flooded through me, warm and immediate. This has to be it, I thought, already imagining collapsing onto the familiar cushions next to Lexy. She’d laugh at my story about the asshole in the hallway, order another round, and help me forget this entire disaster of an evening.
I pushed the curtain aside and slid straight onto the cushion, not even looking up as I threw my purse onto the table. “You wouldn’t believe the prick I just ran into near the toilets, Lex,” I said, my words slightly slurred. “Honestly, tonight is just p>
I didn’t finish the sentence. My throat was dry, parched from the combination of alcohol and anger. My eye had already locked onto the glass sitting right in front of the empty space on the couch, condensation beading on its sides. I grabbed it without thinking, lifted it to my lips, and downed the whole thing in one long, desperate gulp.
I shrieked, the glass hitting the table with a sharp clatter that echoed in the small space.
It didn’t taste like the gray label. It didn’t taste like anything we’d been drinking all night. It was thick, dark, and tasted like smoke, black cherries, and pure high-grade venom.
It hit the back of my throat like liquid lead, making my lungs seize up for a second as the heat spread straight down through my chest to my thighs. My eyes watered instantly. This was expensive… the kind of expensive that came in crystal decanters and required a second mortgage.
“Did you get a new bottle, Lexy?” I wheezed, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, my eyes watering from the burn. The taste lingered on my tongue, expensive and dangerous. “What the hell is this? It tastes like p>
No response.
The booth was completely quiet except for the faint, distant hum of the bass outside. The silence felt wrong, too heavy. A prickle of unease ran down my spine, cutting through the alcohol haze. I moved closer along the circular leather, my eyes adjusting to the deep shadow in the far corner of the seat. My heart began to beat a little faster, though I couldn’t quite place why. Something felt off, but my vodka-soaked brain couldn’t quite grasp what.
“I’m talking to you,” I muttered, reaching my hand out through the dark, annoyance creeping into my voice. “Don’t ignore me, I’m already having the worst p>
My fingers landed on a shoulder.
I paused. Even though my brain was floating in three inches of premium vodka, my skin recognized the difference instantly. This wasn’t Lexy’s soft leather jacket. This was heavy, expensive wool. And the shoulder didn’t give a fraction of an inch under my palm. It felt like solid granite, warm and unmistakably male. The realization hit me like ice water.
When did Lexy get so bulky?
Before I could pull my hand back, before my alcohol-soaked brain could process what was happening, a large, calloused hand shot out of the dark and locked around my wrist. The grip was tight, unyielding, and warm enough to make the skin of my arm prickle with awareness. My pulse jumped beneath his fingers, betraying my sudden panic.
The silhouette in the corner shifted forward, and my stomach dropped. The low amber light from the corridor caught the sharp line of his jaw, the straight bridge of his nose, and those smoke-colored eyes that now held a glint of dark amusement. Recognition slammed into me with the force of a freight train.
It was him. The asshole from the hallway.
My breath caught in my throat. Heat flooded my cheeks… whether from embarrassment, anger, or the alcohol, I couldn’t tell. Probably all three. My mind raced, trying to piece together how I’d ended up here, in his booth, drinking his scotch, with my hand on his shoulder like some desperate groupie.
He looked down at my hand gripped in his, then up at my face with deliberate slowness. A slow, predatory grin spread across his mouth that made the breath catch in my throat and my stomach do a strange flip. It was the kind of smile that promised trouble, the kind that should have sent me running but instead rooted me to the spot.
“Did you follow me all the way back here, miss?” he asked, his rough baritone vibrating through the leather cushion beneath us. The sound seemed to resonate in my bones, sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine.
He pulled my wrist just a fraction of an inch closer, his thumb tracing the small, sensitive skin right over my pulse point. He had to feel how fast my heart was racing. The touch was intimate, possessive, and far too knowing.
“Are you really that desperate for a drink, or did you just realize you liked the view in the corridor?” His grin widened, showing a flash of white teeth. “Because if you wanted to get into my pants, sweetheart, you didn’t need to steal my scotch to do it p>