Downstairs, a man wearing a suit and an earpiece opened the door and let me inside. “Thank you,” I mumbled, feeling uncertain and awkward.
He simply nodded and slammed the door shut before joining the driver in the front seat. Well, damn. Nicolo Mariano didn’t fuck around. The limo had a fully stocked bar, spacious leather seats, and a television. I’d been in a few limos over the years, but nothing like this.
As I rode to Satin Sheets, I couldn’t help the erratic way my heart beat. I would see Nico again, and I couldn’t wait.
Chapter Three
I’d been sitting at the bar for about three minutes when I realized I was completely out of my depth. Satin Sheets was unlike any club I had ever been to. It was opulent and extravagant yet surprisingly understated. Every single detail was curated to create a luxurious vibe. Even the bar top was made of only the best material. Golden accents, chandeliers that glistened in the soft light. It had that old money, timeless class about it that you couldn't fake or replicate. It was beautiful. Every cocktail waitress wore a perfectly tailored outfit, the bartenders wore tuxedos from Armani. Excess. Satin Sheets was an art exhibit, and its focus was the finer things in life.
The bartender immediately served me a drink without asking what I wanted. I was surprised by the gesture but assumed that Nico was behind it. I watched him mix my drink, smiling at the precious care he took with each ingredient. “Enjoy,” the bartender said in a smooth voice before handing me the glass. I let it sit for a brief moment while taking in the ambiance.
It wasn't crowded, and you could still speak over the music without feeling like you had to scream. Usually, the moment I sat down at a bar some idiot would try to bother me. But it was like an invisible line circled around me, creating a four-foot perimeter around my seat. The only person near was my driver, and he stood like a personal bodyguard almost with his feet shoulder width apart and his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes, dark and menacing, scanned the crowd as he stood next to me. “Are you my bodyguard for the evening?” I asked while running my index finger over the embossed cocktail napkin in front of me with Satin Sheets’ logo on it.
“Please pretend I’m not here, miss. Enjoy your drink. Mr. Mariano will be here with you soon.”
I bit my lip and wrapped my fingers around the glass. “It's hard to pretend when there’s a man looming over me while I'm trying to enjoy my drink. What's your name again?” I asked. I wasn’t actually going to drink the mixture in front of me, but I was still trying to get the man to talk.
“It's safer if we don't speak, miss. Mr. Mariano was very clear of his expectations for the evening and I do not want to upset him.” The man looked wildly uncomfortable and I stared at him for a moment.
“And why would speaking to me anger Mr. Mariano, exactly?” I asked.
Instead of answering me, the man simply pressed his lips into a thin line and took a step away from me, steeling his face into a hard line. Well, I suppose I wasn't going to be getting any information out of him today. After letting out a huff of frustration, I stared at the chilled glass in front of me and picked it up to inspect it. Because I watched the bartender mix the concoction, I knew what went into it, but I was still curious about the choice of drink. “What is this called?” I asked the bartender. He looked nervous yet eager to please.
“Vida Paloma,” he answered.
I eyed him curiously. “It's a more contemporary drink than I expected. It doesn't seem to fit the theme for this establishment. I expected something more...luxurious.”
I eyed my glass once more. The foundation of the drink was Mezcal, an earthier agave spirit. It also had fresh grapefruit and lime juices, simple syrup, and soda, which created a natural grapefruit soda; the dried chile-pepper-rimmed glass was meant to leave every sip with a spicy pop. The presentation was flawless and mixed well. I just couldn't figure out why I was being served this.
“Do you not like the drink I chose for you?” a warm voice said at my back. “You haven't taken a sip.”
I smiled to myself, a nervous blush flooding my cheeks as I casually looked over my shoulder to greet my mysterious hero. Nico looked stunning. Naturally, he wore an expensive suit. The designer, expertly tailored number was a slate gray, understated yet powerful. His dark hair was slicked back. His lips had a waxy sheen to them, as if he'd applied Chapstick just before walking up to me. Dark eyes ran up and down my back.
“I was just taking in the ambiance,” I replied with a grin before nodding at the stool next to me. Sauntering over, I watched the confident way he moved, as if the entire world was his for the taking. He was a conqueror. A claimer. A monster in a suit.
“Is this not Satin Sheets' signature drink?” I asked.
“You were pretty accurate when deciding my drink last night. I thought it might be fun to return the favor, instead of handing you whatever thousand-dollar concoction my usual clientele would prefer. You're spicy. Slightly bitter. Guarded. Sweet. Beautifully refreshing. Something a person savors.”
My breathing deepened as I listened to Nico describe his impression of me. “You're surprisingly accurate,” I replied with a grin.
Please with himself, Nico tossed me a flirty smile before continuing. “You have an interesting take on a person's tastes and how it reflects on their personality. It's a concept I'd like to bring to Satin Sheets.”
His voice was warm like honey and I had to force myself not to sigh. “Oh?” I asked.
“Instead of offering one, singular Satin Sheets' specialty drink, my mixologists will give a personalized concoction. To every patron who asks for their signature drink. It'll always be different for every person. We'll offer a unique and diverse drinking experience, not just a quick vessel for getting drunk. Still intoxicating, but wildly personal.” Wow. I loved the concept but wasn't sure how that would work for the masses.
“Aren't you worried you'll get it wrong?” I asked while pulling out my notepad and a pen. Since I had Nico here, I wanted to take notes for my blog.
“No. We're building a brand—a concept. Satin Sheets knows who you are even if you don't know yourself. My customers will go home and wonder why they're a glass of chilled Grand Marnier Cuvee du Centenaire. They'll obsess over what it means.”
I blushed at the mention I coined for him last night. “And what about repeat customers?” I asked.
“We're an exclusive place. I'm having my bartenders create profiles for every customer. And tastes, personalities, preferences, and experiences change over time. Your signature drink a year ago might not be the same today.”
I grinned. It truly was a cool concept. Everyone was always searching for themselves, trying to make sense of their lives.
But there was still one problem.
“I think the concept is very refreshing. It will bring a lot of new customers and generate buzz for Satin Sheets,” I agreed.
“But...” Nico added, the corner of his lip ticking up. “You have yet to enjoy the drink I chose for you.”
He was right. I hadn't. Because I couldn't. “I can't enjoy my signature drink, unfortunately.”
Nico's cocky expression dipped, and his eyes darkened. “And why not?”