“Aside from the obvious?” I asked with a light chuckle, the adrenaline and uncertainty of before wearing off. I could do this. I could talk about my job. Talking about my job was easy. “Having a job that only requires me to work one day a week and that workday is spent drinking cocktails, it’s a pretty sweet gig.”
“Sounds like it,” he agreed. “How does one become a cocktail blogger?” He didn’t say it sarcastically. The mystery man sounded genuinely curious about my job, but there was a sense of amusement in his tone. A lot of people looked down their noses at influencers and bloggers.
“You follow your mother around to different nightclubs and bars, taking sips of her cocktails and learning the different flavors. She loved it. I just sort of followed in her footsteps.”
He let go of me to place a hand at my lower back, guiding me closer to him. “Sounds like an unconventional relationship. Was she an alcoholic?”
I laughed. A lot of people had that perception. Even though my mother wasn’t your traditional parent, she was lovely. Positive. Loving. Protective. Perfect. “No. She was more of a connoisseur. Sometimes she’d bring buckets with her to spit out her drink. She just loved developing unique flavor pallets. I inherited her superpower.”
“And what superpower is that?”
“I can figure out anyone’s signature drink within minutes of meeting them.”
The mystery man’s lip twitched once more. “And what is mine?”
We walked up to my building and stopped underneath a streetlight. The harsh shadows made him look fierce. “Glenfiddich Grand Cru, twenty-three-year-old luxury scotch.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Oh? And why is that?”
“Try it. You’ll like it,” I replied. If he wasn’t going to give me his name, then I wasn’t about to give my assessment of him.
“I just bought a club. We had a soft opening last week and will fully open our doors in three weeks. I want you to review it. I have one of the best mixologists in the country working there, and we’re tweaking the menu.”
What were the odds? “What club?” I asked.
“Satin Sheets,” he replied easily. My mouth dropped open.
“You own it? That club is extremely exclusive. There was a waitlist for opening night of like fifteen thousand people. Even influencers with crazy followings can’t get in.”
This time, he did smile, amusement at my awe bleeding through his expression. “I own it, and we’ve put a lot of work into making sure every inch of the club is opulent. I want your impression of our drink menu. Stop by tomorrow night.” It wasn’t a suggestion, but a demand.
I licked my lips and stared at him. “Tell me your name.”
The limo he’d ridden in pulled up in front of my building and one of the large men in suits opened the door for him. “Nico,” he answered while walking toward the car door. “Go inside, Lydia. See you tomorrow.”
He shifted his jacket, and I saw the glaring outline of a large gun holstered to his hip.
I watched the taillights as he drove off, then let myself inside.
“You’re not going, are you?” Dax asked. I had him on speakerphone and was currently applying highlight to my cheeks. My red hair was curled in tight spirals and I applied blended smokey eyeshadow to my lids. I looked hot. My gold, sequined dress was tight in all the right places, and the heels I wore made my long legs look dangerously sexy.
“Of course I’m going. Satin Sheets is all the rage. I was on the waitlist, but now I get to see it before anyone else!” My followers were going to go apeshit. I’d spent all day researching the club, and even thought there was no mention of the elusive owner, there had been a significant amount of chatter about the luxury of it all. Marble imported from Italy. Fine crystal chandeliers from France. A signature scent pumped through the vents curated by one of the most famous noses in Germany. No expense was spared. Everyone who was anyone wanted in.
I’d had an entire day to process what happened to me. I’d debated multiple times on whether or not to report Bradley, and maybe it was naïve to hope that Nico had dropped the deranged man off at the local mental health hospital, but I didn’t want to know.
Do not call the police, or you will regret it.
Nico had said it so easily, like spitting threats was something he did regularly. I didn’t doubt him. I knew it would be dangerous to challenge him. I told myself Bradley was insane, but ultimately decided that whatever happened to him was probably not nearly as bad as what I was imagining.
“I’m not comfortable with you going,” Dax replied. “He’s obviously into some mafia shit. I’ve watched enough crime television to predict that this isn’t going to end well. I know he rescued you, but—”
“It’s just a night at the club. I’ll go, have a drink, write a review, and come back home. Nothing is going to happen. This opportunity is too good to pass up.” My gut twisted at my words. I wasn’t being completely truthful. I wanted to see Nico again. There was something about him that intrigued me in ways I couldn’t explain. Mysterious. Powerful. Dangerous.
“I’m just not sure,” Dax replied.
“I promise to call you as soon as I get home. Okay? And I’ll take a cab this time.”
“Fine,” my cousin replied. “I want regular updates. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll be on a plane to Chicago and you know I’m broke as hell, so take my threat seriously.”
I smiled. “How did mystery girl like her drink?” I asked.
He cleared his throat and started speaking in a low voice. “She really liked it. Stopped by last night. Then stayed all day. She’s in the shower. I’m taking her to dinner…”
I grinned. Dax didn’t do things half assed. Once he found someone he liked, they were moving in with one another within a month—then breaking up a month after that. That man jumped in with both feet, then ran for his life once he got in too deep. I predicted that this relationship would last three months. “Get off the phone then!”
“Aye, aye, captain,” he teased. “Be safe. I’ll call you later.”
Dax hung up and I let out a sigh while staring at my reflection in the mirror. It was almost nine, and I didn’t want to show up early, but after last night, I was nervous about staying out too late, also. My buzzer rang and I got up from my vanity to answer the door.
“Hello?”
“Lydia Love?” a garbled voice answered.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
“I’m Mr. Mariano’s car service. I’ve been instructed to take you to Satin Sheets,” he replied. My cheeks flushed, and I stood there dumbfounded for a moment. “Ma’am? Are you still there?”
I pressed the call button and cleared my throat. “Nico Mariano?” I asked. “He sent you?”
“Yes,” he replied, his tone annoyed. “Mr. Nicolo Mariano sent me. Please, ma’am. It’s cold outside.”
“Okay. I’ll be right down,” I answered before jumping up to grab my wristlet and coat. He’d sent a car. Maybe he’d seen my blog and just wanted to be courteous. My blog would build hype for his grand opening, after all.