2. Sabrina
2
Sabrina
W e follow them towards a cabana that’s less ‘poolside tent’ and more ‘luxury micro-apartment.’ Plush seating, a fully stocked private bar, even air conditioning. Completely private, completely isolated from the rest of the pool. Rossi’s security detail posts up outside, ensuring we won’t be disturbed.
Okay, this is how the other half lives.
“Bathroom’s through there,” Rossi points. “Take your time.”
I follow Tatiana into the surprisingly spacious bathroom, pulling a safety pin from the emergency kit in my purse.
“Never leave home without emergency supplies,” I mutter, helping her re-secure the bikini top while she towels off the blue streaks from the drinks the server spilled on her. “So, Dominic Rossi, huh? I think he likes you.”
“He’s my boss’s friend,” she insists, but her cheeks are pink. “Professional boundaries.”
“Professional boundaries went out the window when you flashed him your goods,” I laugh. “Besides, we’re in Vegas. Boundaries are optional here.”
That’s what I tell myself anyway. Though in reality, I’m not sure I really believe it.
When we emerge, shots have appeared on the low table. Leo Maxwell is holding court, radiating charisma like a personal heat lamp.
“There she is!” he exclaims as Tatiana reappears. “Our blue cocktail assassin returns. Just in time for the first round.”
Rossi approaches Tatiana, and I see the subtle shift in his posture, the focused intensity in his gaze. Yep, definitely interested. Leo, however, turns his attention to me, handing me a shot glass filled with something amber. Tequila?
“We’re celebrating Marco’s last days of freedom and Amara’s corporate ascension,” Leo says. His knuckles brush mine as I take the glass, a casual contact that feels anything but.
Shots with handsome strangers who are also potential business contacts (or friends of potential business contacts)?
Bad PR.
Bad life choices.
But Leo is watching me, that knowing grin playing on his lips. Meanwhile Rossi is looking at Tatiana with undisguised interest.
And suddenly, the carefully constructed walls around my ‘professional Sabrina’ persona feel suffocating. I came here to let loose, didn’t I? Besides, I just gave Tatiana a lecture about boundaries being optional. It’s time to put up or shut up.
So I drink. The tequila burns, sharp and clean, chasing away the last dregs of my hesitation.
Leo leans towards me and his scent hits me again. Black tea and fig leaf, mixed with salt and reckless masculinity.
It’s primal.
Intoxicating.
He lowers his voice so only I can hear over the music. “So, Sabrina. What’s your story?”
For a moment his words don’t even register. My mind is so far away, distracted by his looks, his scent, his... presence , it’s not even funny.
But then I blink, coming back to reality.
Story? Like... job?
“I’m a PR and Marketing Consultant specializing in reputation management and crisis control for high-profile clients,” I blurt out by rote.
Oh god, try not to come off like I’m reciting my LinkedIn profile or anything.
He raises an eyebrow, a slow, teasing smile spreading across his face. “That wouldn’t involve managing the reputations of any charming rogues who happen to accost you at pool parties, would it?”
I feel my cheeks heat up, but I play along, batting my eyelashes dramatically. “Depends. Is the charming rogue offering hazard pay? And a very generous retainer?”
Leo laughs, the sound warm against the thumping bass. “Negotiable. Especially if crisis mitigation involves more… hands-on interaction.” He lets the implication hang there, his green eyes sparkling with amusement.
Okay, the man knows how to flirt.
He leans back slightly, that teasing glint still in his eyes. “But seriously. Crisis PR, huh? Must make Vegas seem tame.”
I laugh. “You have no idea. Though navigating a bachelor party full of spoiled brats definitely presents its own unique challenges.”
“Spoiled brats?” he says, his eyes crinkling at the corners again. That damn smile. It should be registered as a weapon. “Is that what you think we are?”
“Aren’t you?” I challenge.
He purses his lips, then nods slowly. “I do always get what I want, that’s true...” His gaze drops dangerously to my lips.
My own eyes fall to his mouth. Inside, my nerves are doing the cha-cha.
He’s smooth.
Too smooth.
Don’t kiss him...
Suddenly he turns away and stands to address our merged group. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes.
He pulls several small vials from the pocket of his board shorts.
Oh no.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announces, his voice cutting through the buzz. “It’s time to elevate this party.”
Annnnd there it is. Drugs. Because of course.
My internal alarm bells aren’t just clanging now, they’re screaming bloody murder.
When I said let loose and boundaries are optional, I didn’t mean like this ...
“What is that?” I ask, trying to sound casually curious, not horrified.
Leo winks, holding up a vial so the light catches the clear liquid inside. “Just a little party enhancer. Takes the edge off. Makes everything… more .” He gestures expansively.
“That’s not… GHB, is it?” Jess whispers, loud enough for everyone to hear .
“The gentleman’s version,” Leo confirms smoothly. “Pharmaceutical grade. No sketchy shit.”
Oh, well, pharmaceutical grade! Totally different.
Taking mystery drugs from a near-stranger, even a ridiculously charming one, is chapter one in the handbook of ‘How to End Up in a Vegas Horror Story.’
Doesn’t anyone remember The Hangover anymore??
“Uh huh.” I cross my arms, summoning my best skeptical PR face. The one I use when a client suggests releasing a statement blaming Mercury’s retrograde for their stock price plummeting. “And GHB is never sketchy, right?”
“What’s GHB?” Amara asks innocently.
“Bad news,” I reply firmly. “Sorry. We’re not those kinds of girls.”
That’s when Rossi’s voice cuts in, directed at Tatiana but somehow looping me into the challenge.
“I knew it,” he says, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “She’s too professional even for Vegas.”
Tatiana bristles instantly. “What exactly are you saying?”
Rossi shrugs, infuriatingly nonchalant. “Just that some people come to Vegas but never really leave the office. Mental handcuffs.” He smiles that killer smile. “Nothing wrong with that. Christopher values your… restraint.”
“You don’t know the first thing about me!” Tatiana snaps back.
“I know you alphabetize Christopher’s protein bars,” Rossi counters easily.
Ouch. Low blow, Rossi.
Well, I guess we’ll be going then.
Leo waves the vials between them. “Children, children. Less arguing, more partying.”
His eyes find mine again. There’s a challenge there, too. He thinks I’m uptight, maybe? Predictable? The responsible one?
Maybe I am.
The thought stings more than it should. It taps right into that private fear of being boring.
Tatiana defiantly locks eyes with Rossi.
Oh god, she’s going to do it.
No Tatiana, no.
I will her to back down, but I already know it’s too late. If she’s flashing those stubborn eyes, she’s committed.
Sure enough, Tatiana grabs one of the vials from Leo’s hand.
“Tatiana!” Amara gasps.
“When in Vegas,” Tatiana says. She uncaps the tiny container and tips the clear liquid into her mouth in one smooth motion.
Rossi’s eyebrows shoot up before a slow smile spreads across his face. “Well played, Tatiana Cole. I was actually teasing... normally I wouldn’t touch this stuff with a seven foot pole... but now...” He takes a vial for himself.
“That’s the spirit!” Leo says. He looks at me expectantly.
I sigh, then grab a vial from Leo, trying to project a confidence I absolutely do not feel. “Shit. Tatiana.”
I uncap the tiny container.
Jess and Amara exchange tentative glances before following suit. Leo looks delighted, like he’s just successfully corrupted a convent.
Which he essentially has.
“To temporary insanity,” Rossi says, raising his vial in Tatiana’s direction.
I lift my vial at the same time as everyone else .
But instead of drinking it, in a move smoother than any PR spin I’ve ever executed, I let most of it dribble down my chin and onto the front of my bikini top as I pretend to swallow, simultaneously turning my head slightly as if coughing. A faintly salty, chemically sweet taste slides across my tongue.
Gross.
I wipe my chin discreetly with the back of my hand. Hopefully, the damp spot on my top just looks like spilled water or sweat in the dim cabana lighting.
Beside me, Leo seems none-the-wiser. If anything, he looks delighted, like a wolf who just convinced a sheep to try on a straightjacket.
Meanwhile, my heart is hammering.
Why did I even pretend? What am I trying to prove?
Well, first rule of personal branding: control the narrative. At least now I’ll have full control of my sense and won’t do anything stupid.
Or that’s what I tell myself, anyway.
I still have to act the part. Shouldn’t be hard. A little extra laughter, maybe stumble slightly, widen the eyes…
Method acting, Sabrina. You got this.
Except… Leo is sitting beside me again on the plush cabana couch. His thigh is warm against mine, sending an unexpected jolt through me that has nothing to do with fake drugs.
“Feel it?” he asks, his voice a low murmur.
“Oh yeah,” I say, widening my eyes dramatically and injecting a little wobble into my voice. “Wow. Everything’s… sparkly.”
He laughs, a genuine, warm sound that crinkles the corners of his eyes. Damn him. “Sparkly? That’s a new one. I think you’re faking it.”
“I am not ,” I reply, feigning righteous indignation.
He shrugs, then leans closer, invading my personal space in a way that should be alarming but is instead weirdly thrilling. I should move away. I should make an excuse. I should remember every cautionary tale my mother ever told me about smooth-talking men who disappear.
Instead, I find myself looking into those ridiculously green eyes and feeling a pull I can’t quite explain.
Maybe it’s the Vegas effect.
Maybe it’s the tequila.
Maybe it’s just him .