Chapter 6
Chapter six
Tune after tune blasted from the DJ booth, and Matty loved every second. She sang along to most of them, dancing behind the bar with the others as she poured one drink after another for the lucky ones with a free night and the cash to enjoy it.
Sometimes, envy pricked at her, then she would remind herself no one ever really knew what people had given up or suffered, that hid behind those happy faces.
Life had a way of doing hurtful things to a person. She knew it all too well.
Divorce had been brutal. One minute she was in her thirties and still with the only real partner she’d ever had; the next, she was alone.
But it had been the right decision for them both.
With Amelie, love had always been tangled up with survival.
They’d needed each other once. When that need faded, so did their relationship.
Her past still haunted her, of course. It probably always would. But she’d learnt how to live with it; to let it sit beside her without controlling her. Now she could look back and say, “That was never my fault.”
She’d been dealt a shitty hand, one that got worse before it got better. But she’d made a conscious decision to change and Amelie hadn’t liked that.
When Matty finally moved out, jobless and broke, it was her friends who’d stepped in. They’d reminded her she was worth something and helped her get back on her feet.
Now she was on relatively solid ground—paying her way, looking forward to something better. Something beautiful. A place where she could feel wanted again. Desired.
She worked her way along the bar, serving one customer, then another. Each time a space opened, someone else stepped into it, waving a tenner and wearing the same pleading look as the last, hopeful she’d move to serve them next.
Most nights, faces blurred into one another. She’d lean across the bar, tilting her head to catch drink orders shouted at her ear over the bass. But for the moment, the DJ had slowed things down, easing into something smoother. Softer. Something with sway.
Matty handed off change to the last customer, grabbed a towel to dry her hands, and out of habit asked, “What can I get you?” Not even looking up at first.
When she did, something charged stirred in her.
The woman standing there looked vaguely familiar, but Matty couldn’t quite place her.
“I’d like an Old Fashioned,” the woman said, her voice smooth, rich, unhurried. “Can you manage that…” she asked, her eyes dropping briefly to the name badge all staff wore, “Matty?”
And then it hit her—hard—right in the solar plexus.
Recognition split through her like being struck by a bolt of lightning—generating a pulse between her thighs, and a wild thrum in her chest.
The woman from the office. Sloan Slater.
“Coming...” Her throat felt dry, The word cracking on the way out. She swallowed and managed to add, “Right up.”
Sloan smirked knowingly—a look Matty had seen before and hadn’t understood at the time. Now she did, however. It was sexy—hot, actually—the kind of smirk that made her feel exposed without even being touched.
Sloan didn’t move. She just watched, eyes fixed on Matty, calm and commanding, as though she had all the time in the world.
Matty grabbed a glass, her hands only just steady, filled it with ice, and added the ingredients, trying not to rush while still feeling watched.
Then, from the pocket of her low-slung jeans, she watched as Sloan pulled out a twenty and slid it across the bar. “Keep the change.”
She took her drink and turned away without another word.
Something in the way she left made Matty want to call her back, offer her a coaster—anything to keep her there.
But instead, she just watched.
Watched as Sloan Slater disappeared into the crowd and was swallowed whole by it.
“Two Buds, please.”
The voice dragged her back to the present. Matty blinked and looked up. Two guys, half-drunk and grinning like idiots, leant across the counter.
She blinked again, her professional smile returning like muscle memory.
“Sure,” she said, reaching for the bottles. “Coming right up.”
***
Sloan slid into a booth that had just been vacated by a group pulling on their coats. She placed her glass on the table and traced a finger slowly through the trail of condensation.
Finding the delivery girl behind the bar was an unexpected pleasure.
Sloan knew her type—the ones who pushed back in daylight but softened out of the spotlight.
That was the type Sloan wanted. Trust, not obedience. Control with care. A balance that went both ways.
Sloan couldn’t see the bar from where she sat, which was probably for the best. She didn’t want to give too much away too soon. After all, the chase was just as satisfying as the game itself. If only she had the time for it.
Her drink burned slightly as it slid down her throat, just enough to feel the alcohol doing its job. She considered ordering another. Hanging around a little longer. Taking a seat at the bar and watching Matty squirm beneath her gaze.
That would be fun. She smiled to herself as she nursed the drink in front of her.
But she wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.
Just as she placed her glass down, a hand swept in and picked it up.
The same girl. The one from earlier. The one who had delivered her coffee weeks ago, now weaving through the room, clearing glasses.
Sloan reached out and caught her wrist, firmly but carefully, until she let go of the glass.
Their eyes met and held.
A flicker of confusion mapped Matty’s face, then recognition, before something deeper, something warmer, passed between them.
Sloan remained silent. Just watched.
Matty was the first to look away. Only then did Sloan release her wrist.
“Sorry,” Matty mumbled, already turning, “I thought—”
“You thought?” Sloan interrupted, her voice low and direct. “Look at me when you speak.”
Matty’s eyes widened, startled. But she looked back. Obeyed. Not with customer-service politeness, but something else.
“Better,” Sloan said slowly. “Now, tell me…what was it that you thought?”
“I thought you’d finished...with the glass.”
“I see. And do I look like I’m finished with it?”
Matty followed her gaze into the glass. There was just a mouthful left, but at these prices, a mouthful was expensive.
“No... I’m sorry. That was presumptuous of me.”
“Indeed.”
Matty moved as if to retreat—cheeks flushed, eyes flicking downwards.
“I didn’t say you could leave,” Sloan said, her voice smooth, commanding.
Matty stopped mid-step, then quietly moved back into place. She stood still, waiting.
Sloan rewarded her with a slow smile. “Do you make a habit of presumptions?”
“Sometimes, I suppose.”
Sloan raised the glass and swallowed down the last bit, holding it out for Matty to finally take.
“Thank you,” Sloan said. She checked her watch—almost nine. Time to go.