24. Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sunny
The bass-heavy thrum of music fills the lounge. I lean against the back counter of the bar, looking across the room and take a moment to let myself breathe. It's been hours and these guys don't show any signs of slowing down. It's going well. The girls are working their magic, the guys are having a great time and spending like crazy, and Jade couldn't be happier.
She’s perched on the arm of Colt’s chair, her fingers threading lazily through his hair as they talk. He's staring up at her like he’s a starving man and she’s his last meal.
A laugh slips out before I can stop it. Poor guy doesn’t stand a chance. He has no idea what he's in for with her.
I wish all nights in the VIP were this easy.
I'll admit, when I first walked in and saw the perfect, tailored fit of these men's suits and the shine of their shoes, I expected arrogance. The usual rich-guy bullshit—ego trips and out of pocket demands. Instead, they're actually… fun. Friendly. But there's something else there too. Something right under the easy smiles and casual laughs. Something I recognized immediately. It's the potential for danger, for violence. It's restrained and held tightly in check, but it's there. Sharp teeth and razor claws hidden just under the surface.
It should scare me. My instincts were honed by years of dealing with men who caused pain for no other reason than they could. But, these guys? They aren't tripping any of those wires for me.
The only exception is Zane.
He followed me from his spot on the couch when I went behind the bar and hasn’t moved since. While the others are caught up in the action around them, Zane’s been quiet, observant, keeping himself separate from it all. I don't think he's missed anything anyone's done or said all night. I know that's true for me. His attention to me has been deliberate, and focused. It's not creepy or leering or dangerous exactly—it's more thoughtful than anything—but, it's unnerving. And intense. And I don’t think it's going to change anytime soon.
I grab a clean tray from under the bar and set it on the bar. I'm not here to analyze the customers. My job is to keep the drinks flowing and the room running smoothly and nothing more. And so far, I think I'm nailing it.
Even the times when I’ve made my way through the room, dropping off drinks and picking up glasses, I can feel Zane's eyes on me. It’s like a cord tying us together, pulling tighter and tighter the more I try to ignore it.
"You do know there’s a whole room full of sexy, topless women right behind you. You’re missing out.” I tease, my voice lilting as I glance at Zane and slide back behind the bar.
“I never miss anything,” he replies, his tone low and even.
I chuckle, grabbing the bottle of tequila off the premium shelf and lining up glasses on the tray. “Hate to break it to you, but this is as exciting as it gets on my side of the room. I'm pretty sure you’d have more fun if you turned around.”
“I don't think I would,” he says, his ice blue eyes steady on mine.
The moment stretches out between us. He's definitely got my curiosity piqued. “So, tell me—what kind of guy spends the night in a private lounge full of beautiful women and decides to hang out with the bartender?”
“The kind of guy who can see that the bartender is easily the most incredible and beautiful woman in the room.”
"Oooo. Love the confidence. A little on the cliché side though. I’ll give it a solid C." I take one of the glasses off the tray and slide it across the bar to him with a chuckle.
"I’d bet though," I say as I lean in over the bar, "with those eyes and that smile, a line like that probably earns you an awful lot of A's."
"You wound me." He laughs as his hand flies to his chest, and lands over his heart. His fingers splay out, and there's a playful glint in his eyes. "It wasn't a line, only the truth. It did it's job though. I got you to smile, didn't I?"
"One," I say as I toss my hair and lift the tray of drinks. It settles on my arm and I let it balance before stepping out from behind the bar. "You got one."
As I move through the lounge, the tray balanced carefully, the room buzzes with life. Laughter rolls beneath the bassline, and the guys toast the dancers and each other with rowdy cheers.
I approach one of the tables, setting the tray down with a flourish.
“Alright, gentlemen. Who’s ready for another round?”
The response is an instant mix of grins and laughter as they reach for the shots.
“Angel,” one of the guys says, raising his glass to me. "You're the best baby."
I wink at him, flashing a playful grin. “You have no idea.”
That earns me a solid round of catcalls.
“Alright, no excuses,” I say. “Everyone drinks.”
They all raise their glasses, toasting the dancers who reply with smirks and giggles, as they do a collective cheers and down the drinks. I drag out the moment, letting myself enjoy it. Usually, my anxiety is through the roof when I have to work in here, and I end up staring at the clock waiting for my shift to be over. This is a nice change.
Once the tray is full again with all of the empties, I saunter back to the bar, my hips swaying in time to the music. When I set the tray down, Zane is waiting.
"You missed the cheers." I say as I set the tray down behind the bar and start cleaning up.
"I didn't miss it. I was waiting for you to join me."
His tone is confident and doesn't leave much room for me to refuse. It's not pushy, or demanding… just definite.
I laugh. “Thank you. I appreciate it. But, I’m on the clock. I've got a rule about drinking at work.”
He arches his eyebrow and chuckles. “C'mon. It'll be our little secret. No one will ever know that Angel is really a rebel at heart. And you are. Deep down. I can see it.”
It's irritating how charming he is. And that stupid, lopsided grin…
While it's not against the house rules, it's against my rules.
Without really understanding why, or letting myself give it too much thought, I grab a clean glass and pour. “Fine. I'll take one shot if you promise not to ask again or get any ideas. That's all you get. There are some rules I never break.”
“Interesting." His smile is slow and smug. "I think that's a list I'd love to get a look at sometime though. Deal.”
We lift the glasses, clink them together and swallow. The tequila burns its way down my throat and settles into my stomach. I slam the glass back down on the bar as the warmth of it starts spreading. I meet Zane's gaze head-on.
“You’re good at this Angel,” he says finally, his voice low and easy as he relaxed back. “Everyone's seems to be having the time of their lives.”
I glance at him, my lips quirking. “That's the goal.”
“So, tell me about the tattoo. It's beautiful.”
The question catches me off guard. "It... I, uh."
I falter for half a second, barely a blink, but he catches it. It's not like no one ever asks. Usually I have an answer ready. This time it escapes me. My hand moves to rub gently at the place the ink starts, right above my collarbone.
“Must be one hell of a story,” he says, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the bar.
"No, not really.” I say, straightening and meeting his gaze with a tilt of my head. I can tell he's not going to leave it alone.
“It's pretty boring actually," I lie, before beginning the well-rehearsed story I've constructed out of half-truths. "There was this lake back where I grew up. It was the prettiest place you could imagine. There were always the most amazing wildflowers that bloomed in the fall…" My words drift off and I start to become lost in the memory.
"It's where I got my first real kiss." Now that wasn't a part of the story. Definitely not something I’d ever tell a complete stranger. What the hell, Sunny?
I suck in a deep breath and shake my head, chasing away the ghosts I woke up. "So, that's it. No real story. Boring actually."
Zane doesn’t respond right away. He watches me like he’s piecing something together, getting a peek under the surface, and for a moment, it leaves me feeling naked. It's uncomfortable and I don't like it.
“It is a good story,” he says. "Not boring at all. I'm sorry it makes you sad. I shouldn't have asked.”
I shift my weight, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "It doesn't—" I stop, reluctant to put another lie between us.
He adjusts in his seat and hands me his glass without a word, letting me off the hook.
I laugh despite myself, shaking my head as I gather the clean glasses from the back counter and get ready to pour another round of shots. "So, it's only fair. Tell me something about you."
Before he can respond, someone claps him on the shoulder—a solid thud that breaks whatever invisible thread was holding us together.
“Wolf,” Zane mutters without looking, his jaw flexing.
“Damn, boss,” Wolf says, sliding onto the stool next to him with an exaggerated sigh. “We spent a fortune to spend the night in a VIP lounge with all these gorgeous women, and you’re over here brooding at the bar.” He glances at me, his grin wide and teasing. “Not that I can blame you really.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help the small smirk tugging at my lips. "I told him the exact same thing."
Zane turns his head slowly, shooting Wolf a look that would send most people running. He just laughs, clapping him on the back again.
“Come on,” Wolf says, jerking his head toward the group. “You’ve been sitting here all night. Time to stop being an unsociable dick and join the party.”
Zane exhales a long, slow breath, his gaze flicking back to mine. For a moment, I think he’s going to stay, to brush the guy off and keep this quiet, charged moment alive.
But then he stands, his movement slow and deliberate.
“Duty calls,” he says quietly, his eyes still locked on mine. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—reluctance, maybe—but he masks it quickly.
I shrug, keeping my tone light even as something inside me knots. “Don’t let me keep you.”
He holds my gaze for a heartbeat longer before turning and following Wolf to one of the tables with a stage where all the guys are sitting.
I should feel relieved. I should be glad for the interruption, glad for the space to breathe. Instead, I find my eyes drawn to him, tracking his every step across the room.
As he joins the group, he glances back once, catching me watching him.
I don’t look away.
Neither does he.