Chapter 39
CHAPTER 39
LOGAN
S ince I’d known I was going to be drinking with Slate, I’d called my driver for the evening. A fact I was really fucking grateful for now as I marched out of Mira’s building. My hands were shaking, my breathing was ragged, and my organs now felt like they were being enveloped by molten lava instead of just being on fire.
I yanked open the door of the black sedan, climbed into the backseat, and slammed the fucking door shut behind me again. “Take me to Ice.”
“Ice?” Eric, my driver, repeated back to me as he let out a low whistle. “Sure. Okay, boss. It’s been a while since you’ve gone there. You’re sure you want to go?”
“I’m sure.”
I knew exactly why he was a little taken aback by my request. Ice was a super VIP, exclusive, luxurious club for clientele with the same kind of money I had. In the past, it’d been one of the places where I’d go to meet a woman and take her home.
A place I’d had him take me countless times before for that exact purpose. I exhaled a heavy breath, thudding back against the seat and letting my head drop against the leather as I tried to gain control of my breathing .
Honestly, I was reeling after what had just happened. I’d gone to her place with the hope that I’d be able to talk to her about what Slate had said. That we’d be able to sit down and discuss it so I could tell her I wasn’t like that anymore.
Instead, it’d all gone to shit. Absolute and complete shit. I let out a soft groan as a weird, spiking pain shot through my veins, encasing my heart in a cage made of sharp nails that pierced the useless organ with every beat it made.
Why does this hurt so much?
It wasn’t just my chest that was aching either. It was my stomach. My head. My entire fucking body—inside and out.
“You okay, boss?” Eric asked, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. “You don’t look so good.”
“I’m fine,” I snapped until I realized he didn’t deserve my ire. When I’d first started making money, I’d promised myself I wouldn’t become one of those rich pricks who treated the people who made their lives easier like crap. “I’m sorry, Eric. It’s just been a long night. Thank you for asking, but I really am good. The Spiers siblings have just, uh, surprised me a little tonight, is all.”
“That’s old friends for ya,” he said agreeably. “We love ‘em the most, but they also have the most power to throw us off our game. You sure you don’t just want to head home?”
No . “Yes. Ice will be good for me. I need to unwind.”
When he didn’t respond, I knew he disagreed with me. I even knew he was possibly right. Going home would’ve been the best call, but the last thing I wanted right now was my empty house. I couldn’t bear the thought of all that deafening silence.
Eric drove me the rest of the way in silence. He pulled up outside the front door of the fancy club, stopping in the drop-off and twisting around to face me. “I’ll be in the lot at the back. Let me know if you need me.”
I dropped my chin in a nod and got out of the car, hoping that this place would take my mind off Mira. The heavy bass of the music pounded in my chest even as I approached the door and gave the bouncer my membership ID. Throngs of people in the line outside leaned forward to get a glimpse of the asshole who’d just skipped the line.
I ignored them. Most of them would never get in here anyway. A few of them would, just to keep the mix of people inside fresh and interesting, but if you weren’t a member, it practically took an act of God to gain entrance.
The bouncer nodded and unclipped the rope to let me through, and I headed inside, striding directly to the long, glass-topped bar that lined the back wall. Gentle strobe lights flashed overhead, the music loud but not unbearable.
As always, the place was teeming with people but not packed. There was enough space to move, to dance, and to walk. Even enough tables and booths to accommodate every butt in here on a seat.
Modern vinyl flooring stretched out beneath my feet and crystal chandeliers hung between the strobe lights in the ceiling. Ice was the perfect mix between an elitist club and a good old fashioned nightclub, a place to unwind and have a good time without the scent of sweat and stale beer in the air or having your body crushed in with hundreds of others.
A bartender came over to me immediately as I reached the counter and started scanning the multitude of backlit shelves behind him. I pointed at the bottle of whiskey right at the top and he nodded, sliding a metal ladder on tracks mounted to the wall closer in order to reach it.
I watched as he climbed on and grabbed the bottle, but I was distracted when a sultry, feminine voice suddenly spoke up beside me. “Isle of Alba. You’ve got good taste. Not a lot of people know that one.”
As I took in her words, letting the sound of her husky voice roll oer me, I tried to go back to that place inside. The place that had taken zero effort at all to reach before I’d reconnected with Mira. The place where the almost-billionaire playboy lives inside me.
Slowly turning toward her, I forced an easygoing smirk to my lips and cocked my head. “Do you really know it, or did you just read the label, realized you hadn’t heard of it before, and decided you were going to try to get me to buy you a drink?”
The woman was tall, almost my height, and her platinum-blonde hair was swept up into a high, smooth ponytail that hung over her shoulder and curled just so under her left breast. Her eyes were a clear, cool green and her features were sharp but beautiful.
Full, dark red lips curved into a smile as those eyes met mine. “Oh, I know it. Patrick Alba started the distillery in the seventeen-hundreds. It’s one of the oldest distilleries in the world and yet, they never sold out to become commercially manufactured.”
My eyebrows swept up. “I’m impressed. Can I buy you a drink?”
“I’ll buy my own now that the bottle is down anyway,” she said smoothly before extending a slim hand my way. “Alana Masters.”
“Logan Jones.” I pressed my palm against hers, expecting to feel at least something when her skin touched mine, but there was nothing. No spark of lust. No electricity.
My cock wasn’t interested at all, and while she seemed like she’d be good company, no part of me wanted anything to do with her. It didn’t make sense. She was gorgeous, friendly. She knew about whiskey and something about her told me she knew about a whole hell of a lot more than just that. In addition to her looks, she had that air of intelligence and wealth about her. The complete package.
The exact type of woman I’d have been all over before, but this wasn’t before . This was after , and she wasn’t Mira.
Her hair was too blonde, her eyes were too green, her body was too slender, and her voice was too smooth. Everything about her was too different from the woman I wanted to be with right now, and yet, instead of backing away, I grinned at her.
“You’re independent. I like that.”
“Do you now?” Her head slanted slightly to one side as she gave me a very obvious, leisurely onceover. When her eyes came up to mine, she gave me a coy smile. “Funny. Most men are intimidated by any show of independence from a random woman in a bar. They want to swoop in and buy us distressed damsels a drink like we’re unable to do it for ourselves, and then they want to sweep us right out of our panties for the favor.”
I chuckled. “Something tells me you’re not a damsel in distress, and I think the phrase you were looking for is to sweep you off your feet, not out of your panties.”
She pursed her lips for a beat as she thought it over, then shook her head. “No. That’s not it. I was right the first time. No one like us comes to a place like this to sweep or get swept off our feet. It’s all about the sex, Logan. There’s no need to be shy about it.”
I blinked hard, surprised by how forward she was and fully aware of how turned on I should’ve been by her right about now, but I just wasn’t. There’s something wrong with my dick. That has to be it.
“I’m sorry. Let me make it up to?” I picked up the glass the bartender had set down, tossed a hundred-dollar bill down on the counter, downed my drink, and then held out my arm. “Let’s get out of here. I’m not shy, Alana. I do have a car waiting in the parking lot at the back.”
“The members-only lot? Excellent. So do I. Your place or mine?” She took my arm without hesitating, falling into step next to me seamlessly, and we headed toward the exit.
Ice had once again delivered, much faster and effortlessly than ever before, but if my cock didn’t wake up soon, it would all have been for nothing. It definitely didn’t help that every fiber of my being knew she wasn’t Mira.
The scent that drifted up to me was much too sweet, her arm in mine much too thin, and her heels much too high. While I had come here specifically for something other than Mira, it just felt all wrong. All of it.
I pushed open the back door, inhaling a deep breath of the night air, but that didn’t help either. As soon as the door swung shut behind us, though, Alana let go of my arm and moved in front of me, her hands coming up to my shoulders.
“Before we commit to this, how about a little taste?”
As she moved forward, I moved back. She moved with me, never letting go as she tipped her head and leaned in like she was about to kiss me. My reflex was to move away, and fast.
I dodged her lips, taking a quick step to the side and moving back so her hands would fall off my shoulders. It was relatively dark out here, but there was enough light to see the confusion and offense in her eyes when I turned to look at her again.
“What happened to not being shy?”
“I’m not.” I blew out a heavy breath, groaning as I glared daggers at the sky. My hands flew up and I raked my fingers through my hair. “I’m just, I’m not…”
“Wait a second.” Incredulity rang from her voice before she scoffed. “You’re turning me down?”
“I. No. I mean. Yes.”
“Great, and now he’s stammering,” she muttered and let out a long, soft squeal of disbelief. “What the fuck?” She shook her head, eyes wide as they stared into mine. “Is there something wrong with you?”
“What? No.” Objectively, I knew how funny and how ironic this situation was, but right now, I wasn’t amused. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“Are you sure? Because I might be able to help.”
“I don’t need help.” I backtracked quickly, sliding my hands into my pockets and poking my dick through the insides just to make sure it was still there, but yep. There it was. As soft and uninterested as ever before.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Alana let out a soft, almost pitying chuckle. “Yeah. Okay. If you say so. See you around, Logan Jones.”
With that, she tossed her hand up in a wave and smoothed her skintight black dress as she made her way back into the club. My brain told me to follow her. To grab her and kiss the shit out of her to prove just how wrong she was.
But I couldn’t do it.
Couldn’t move.
I stayed out there for a long time before I finally decided to just go home. That had been a disaster, and if it hadn’t worked out with Alana, it sure as shit wasn’t going to happen with anyone else. I groaned when I climbed into the car and heard Eric’s laughter.
“You’re a fool for blowing your chance with a bombshell like her, boss.”
Another groan tore out of me. “You saw that?”
“Every painful second of it,” he said cheerfully. “I thought for sure we were going to need the privacy partition and that I was going to have to step out to go grab a coffee. Imagine my surprise when you suddenly dodged her like a quarterback.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I grumbled, but I knew he was right. I dodged her so damn fast, I might’ve given myself a touch of whiplash.
Maybe I am a fool.
On the other hand, there was no maybe about it. I was a fool, but it was only for Mira Spiers. Shit. How the hell did I let that happen?