1
Ice clinked in my glass as I swirled the amber liquid. It was my fourth straight whiskey, and it'd barely even dented my shitty mood.
It was my own fucking fault. I knew better. I knew he didn't feel the same way about me, but... ugh. I was such an idiot!
I'd all but thrown myself at him—at a man I still needed to deal with in a professional capacity on a far too frequent basis. Well, as professional as anyone was in our line of business.
Keeping the upper hand with him was going to be all too uncomfortable now that I'd gone and made a pass at him. And been rejected.
His harsh words still echoed in my mind. "I don't fuck children." Like I was a fucking teenager or something. I wasn’t. I was a twenty-three-year-old successful business woman—among other things—and I was far from the immature, blushing virgin he must think I was. Maybe he was getting me confused with my eighteen-year-old, naïve as fuck sister, Persephone. That’s how he’d just treated me, anyway. Like a little kid with a crush.
"Rough night?" A smooth voice asked, and I glanced over as a gorgeous man slid onto the barstool beside me. The bar was busy, no question, but not so busy that there weren't other seats available.
I cocked a brow at the ballsy stranger and sipped my drink. "Nope," I lied, baring my teeth in a mockery of a smile. "Best night of my life." My sarcasm was thick enough to wade through. Maybe those whiskeys had started hitting me after all. "You?"
"Me?" He flashed me a blinding smile, and my pulse raced in reaction. He was fucking stunning, model-level beautiful with a strong jaw dusted with scruff and dark lashes any woman would kill for. "Nah, I'm celebrating. Can I buy you a drink?"
A grin curved my lips despite my shitty mood. "Sure." I gave a small signal to the bartender, silently ordering another of the same, then nodded to the handsome man beside me to indicate he was paying. He asked for the same as I was drinking and didn't speak again until our drinks were delivered in front of us in beautiful cut-crystal glasses.
"Cheers," he murmured to me, clinking his glass gently against mine, then downing his whole drink in one mouthful. He ordered another, then slid his gaze back to meet mine.
His eyes were a pretty mix of green and blue, and I found myself smiling at him.
"So, what are we celebrating?" I asked, letting my words drawl in a clear indication I didn't actually believe him. Based on the way he’d thrown that drink back, his night was going about as well as mine was.
The model-handsome man let his own lips curve in an answering smile. "My new job," he announced. His gaze flicked away from mine for a second, sweeping over the busy club and pausing briefly on the podium dancers. Both of them were down to their underwear, and the girl was climbing the pole with admirable ease. Totally mesmerizing.
"Oh yeah?" I prompted, suddenly curious about my new drinking buddy. He was ballsy enough to approach me; maybe he could cure my shitty mood tonight. Best way to get over a guy was to get under a new one, right? "Congratulations. What's your new job?"
His perfect face flashed with tension for just a second, then cleared into an easy smile again as he nodded to the male dancer on the podium. "That."
I choked on my drink. Just a little bit. Just enough to shock me and flood my cheeks with heat as I dabbed my lips on a napkin.
"That?" I repeated in a strangled voice, indicating to the gorgeous black man gyrating his hips in nothing but an electric-blue G-string. "You're a stripper?"
My new friend grinned wider, turning back to me and sipping his new drink. "Male entertainer," he corrected with a small nod. "Yep, sure am." There was pride in his voice, but also an edge of something darker. Disappointment?
Curiosity shoved aside my shock, and I ran my gaze over him as subtly as I could. He was pretty enough, no doubt, and the way he filled out his shirt spoke to a well-built frame. Yeah, he could definitely make good money taking his clothes off. Great money, when combined with that mischievous look in his eyes and the pure-sex way he brushed a droplet of whiskey from his lip and then licked his thumb.
"That's cool," I commented. "So, which lucky club snapped you up? I bet you're going to be in high demand."
His smile turned suggestive. "Did you just call me sexy?"
I snickered a laugh. "Was that too subtle? You're scorching. I'm not surprised you got the job. So...?" I really, really wanted to know which club had picked up this diamond.
The easy smile on his face faltered a split second as he answered. "This one, of course. 7th Circle is the hottest club in Shadow Grove; everyone knows that. And they pay their dancers better than all the other shitty clubs in town. I wouldn't even consider anywhere else, given the choice."
I almost choked on my drink again. As it was, I needed to take another large gulp, finishing my glass, and indicated for another. Apparently, I was going to drown my sorrows tonight and pay for it with a hangover in the morning. Fuck it.
"Wow," I replied, "that's..."
"Not true," he admitted on a heavy sigh, dropping the smile like shedding a coat. "I wish it was... it was supposed to be. I guess tonight's just not my night." He drained his glass again and reached for the fresh one the bartender had already made for him.
One of my favorite things about the bartenders at 7th Circle: They were perceptive and often two steps ahead on drink orders.
"They didn't hire you?" I asked in confusion. "Were you being auditioned by a blind man? Actually, that's no excuse. I reckon even a blind man could sense your sex appeal a mile away."
My drinking buddy snorted a laugh. "Cute. Compliments will get you everywhere." He shot me a wink that went straight to my pussy, which throbbed in response. Goddamn.
"Here's hoping," I muttered into my drink, watching him from under my lashes. He was young... but so was I. If he was legally drinking, then the age gap couldn't be more than two years, since I’d celebrated my twenty-third birthday just a few weeks ago.
He’d heard my comment, based on the way a faint blush touched his cheeks, and he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "Well, I didn't even get an audition. The manager came out to meet me and announced that the interviews had been canceled. No explanation or anything, just... go home." He sighed heavily, then grimaced. "Can I tell you a secret?"
I bit back the smile that wanted to cross my lips and nodded. "Of course. I'm a total vault."
It was a bit adorable, seeing as we hadn't even exchanged names or... anything else, and he was acting a little like a twelve-year-old girl about to spill the details of her crush. Totally adorable. Don't get me wrong, I still badly wanted to drag him into one of the private VIP rooms and fuck his brains out. But I also wanted to pat his hair and have him tell me all his problems.
"I really needed this job," he confessed, his voice losing all the joking it held earlier. "I've got some... family troubles. The money these dancers get paid would have really helped, and now I'm not really sure what to do."
Sympathy turned my stomach, and I reached out to touch his hand where it rested on the bar top between us. "So, will you try and get another interview?"