Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
Erika
I t was time to party. I’d just wrapped up a deal on a fourteen-million-dollar property, and my commission would be close to six figures once my company took its cut. It had been a stellar month, with this being my third sale. Colvin, my assistant, had his moments—like texting way too much when he should have been focusing on details—but he wasn’t terrible. I suspected he was only sticking around to keep his uncle happy rather than pursuing a real estate career.
I walked through the door just after six and poured myself a generous glass of wine. Tonight was supposed to be dinner with Morgan, but she had canceled because her father was struggling with arthritis, and she needed to visit her parents. I couldn’t blame her for that. I understood all too well the pain of family issues, having lived through my parents’ nasty divorce. Even years later, the scars lingered.
Sipping my wine, I shed my clothes and tossed them into the dry-cleaning bag in my closet. I padded around my bedroom in just a black bra and panty set, feeling the need to do something other than stay in. I thumbed through my contacts, contemplating my options. There were plenty of acquaintances and exes to choose from, but I wanted more than just a casual hookup tonight.
I had recently ended things with a car dealership owner—too clingy, too fast. I wasn’t into commitment, only fleeting pleasures. I’d seen what happened when my mother let herself get tied down; she ended up heartbroken and almost penniless after the divorce. Meanwhile, my father was now married to a woman just a few years older than me. The thought of those holidays made me shudder.
My finger hesitated over the contacts until I landed on Wayne Kinsel’s number. We’d met after I broke up with my last ex. Wayne could be an arrogant prick, but he had connections to get us into Surge, the hottest new club in Manhattan.
His father was one of the partners in the place, and I remembered how it was being built when we’d last been in touch. Despite his constant texting—which had always irked me—tonight, I was in the mood to dance, let loose, and maybe even let Wayne get lucky.
I dialed his number, and he answered on the first ring.
“Erika? It’s been a while.”
I braced myself as I brought the phone to my ear. "Well. I thought I'd call to see how you were," I said, keeping my tone level and measured.
Wayne let out a surprised chuckle. "Really? I thought you said never to contact you again." The defensiveness in his voice irked me.
I rolled my eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. That was in the heat of the moment," I replied, unable to hide the exasperation in my words.
An uncomfortable silence hung in the air for a moment before Wayne spoke again. "I've missed you," he admitted, his voice soft.
I cringed inwardly. "And I've missed you," I confessed, the words escaping my lips before I could stop them.
"You did?" Wayne's surprise was evident in his tone.
"You grew on me," I replied, a wry smile playing on my lips.
"Then why did you break it off?" Wayne pressed, his voice tinged with a hint of hurt.
I let out a heavy sigh. "We weren't dating," I reminded him, my frustration bubbling to the surface.
"I wanted to, but you wouldn't make a commitment," Wayne countered, his voice laced with frustration.
My gaze drifted to the window as my mind briefly wandered to my tumultuous family history. "You know my history," I said, the bitterness in my voice unmistakable.
Wayne's voice was gentle as he responded, "Your parent's history doesn't have to be yours."
I shook my head, refocusing on the present. "I was wondering if you wanted to go dancing?" I asked, changing the subject.
"Dancing?" Wayne echoed, a hint of confusion in his tone.
I couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah, you know, music plays and you move to it," I teased, a glimmer of amusement in my eyes.
Wayne's voice held a touch of amusement. "Cute. Where would you like to go?"
"Your choice," I replied, a hint of a challenge in my voice.
"Can I take you to dinner first?" Wayne asked, his tone hopeful.
I hesitated for a moment, knowing that a quiet setting with Wayne could be uncomfortable. But the prospect of a free meal and dancing afterwards was too tempting to pass up. "Where?" I asked, conceding.
"Anywhere you want, your choice. You know I'm making good money, and I can afford it," Wayne replied, a touch of pride in his voice.
I rolled my eyes, knowing full well that Wayne's wealth came from his father's jewelry store, a business he was ill-equipped to run. "All right, let's do it," I said, a hint of resignation in my voice.
“You choose,” I replied.
“Italian?”
“Fine. Where?”
“Trattoria Carmelo.”
“Sounds nice. I can meet you there,” I said.
“I can send my driver.”
I was beginning to regret calling Wayne at all. Now I knew why I ended it besides the constant texting.
“What time?” I asked.
“Say 8 p.m. He’ll be waiting in front of your building. Dress nice.”
“I plan on it.”
“Can’t wait to see you, Erika.”
I hung up first as I cursed myself for my poor judgement. Sitting around in my favorite red sweatpants eating a pint of pistachio ice cream would be better than spending the night with Wayne. On the bright side, I was getting into Surge without waiting. I’d read that the lines were typically around the block.
I gulping down what was left of my wine before I went to my closet to choose something appropriate for a night in a club. After some sifting, I found a short black dress with a plunging neckline. The last time we talked in-person, Wayne couldn’t keep his eyes off my tits, so I expected him to be just as obvious this time.
I took a deep breath as Wayne held up his glass of red wine. "What should we toast to?" he asked.
I glanced around the cozy Trattoria Carmelo, taking in the white-washed brick walls, yellow-brown tiles, and murals of the Italian countryside that decorated the space. The place was crowded, given that it was Friday night, but we were seated in a private booth in the back, away from the hustle and bustle.
"How about to new beginnings?" I suggested, raising my glass. We clinked them together, and I took a small sip, the last thing I wanted was to get drunk around Wayne.
"You look gorgeous, and I love that dress," Wayne said, his eyes lingering on my cleavage.
I bet you do. You haven't taken your eyes off my cleavage since I took my coat off.
"Thank you. That suit is very nice on you," I replied, though it really wasn't. The ill-fitting, brown pinstriped suit made it obvious that Wayne had gained a few pounds since we last went out.
He chuckled. "This old thing," he said, gesturing to the suit.
We chatted until our meal arrived, and I couldn't wait until we were at the club. Wayne droned on about his father's business and how much money he was making, and I mentally berated myself for calling him again. After tonight, I was going to block him.
"How is your meal?" Wayne asked as I daintily cut a piece of chicken from the cutlet in front of me.
"Delicious. How did you find this place?" I asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from his father's business.
He grinned. "I'm a stakeholder. My father gave me the money for the share."
Big surprise.
"The food is very delicious," I said, nodding.
"I'd like to bring you here again," Wayne said, snapping his fingers to summon the waiter.
The waiter, dressed in black slacks and a white shirt, hurried over and refilled Wayne's glass. I almost rolled my eyes, but he was watching me, or rather, my cleavage.
"Would you like another glass?" Wayne asked.
"No, thank you. Water is fine," I replied.
"Are you sure?" he pressed.
"Wayne, it's not necessary. Let's let him get back to his other customers," I said, nodding at the waiter.
The waiter gave me a closed-mouth smile before putting the bottle down on the table and hurrying away.
"This is his job," Wayne said, his tone slightly defensive.
"But the bottle is sitting on the table. You could've poured yourself a glass," I protested.
He shot daggers at me. "I see you haven't lost that fire."
“What should we toast to?” Wayne asked as he held up a glass of red wine.
“No, I haven’t. I doubt I ever will,” I said, letting my words hang in the air, daring him to challenge me.
“Someone should tame you,” Wayne said, leaning forward slightly, his eyes locked onto mine.
“I’m not a pet,” I shot back, my tone sharp, but I couldn’t help the smirk tugging at the corner of my lips.
He lowered his voice, a slow grin spreading across his face. “But it’s something I would love to do to you.”
I nearly choked on the bite of food I was chewing. The nerve. Wayne had never touched me in that way, and he never would. Tonight would be the last time I entertained his company. The most we’d ever done was kiss, and the minute his hands started to wander, I’d shut it down and called it a night.
“Do you want dessert?” he asked, his tone shifting back to something more neutral. “We make a wonderful tiramisu.”
“No, thank you. I’d love to dance,” I replied, eager to get out of this restaurant and into the pulsating energy of the club.
“Don’t worry, you will. Surge has some great DJs,” he assured me, as if that would put me at ease.
“Can’t wait,” I said, my voice laced with impatience.
Tonight wasn’t about Wayne. It was about the music, the movement, and the freedom that came with it.
The bass from Surge was already vibrating through my chest before we even made it through the door. The hulking doorman, a man with the build of a linebacker, spoke into his headset, and moments later, we were whisked inside and led to the VIP section. A bridal party was seated next to us, their laughter and high spirits contagious. I couldn’t help but think of Morgan—her own bridal shower was just a few weeks away. The thought made me smile.
Before I could even settle into my seat, Wayne grabbed my hand and practically dragged me downstairs to the dance floor. He was determined, I’ll give him that. He maneuvered us into the middle of the crowd, carving out a small space where we could dance—or rather, where he could show off his latest moves.
As he shrugged off his jacket, I noticed just how much weight he had gained since we last saw each other. His belly bulged over the waistband of his slacks, and his white shirt strained uncomfortably at the collar. I couldn’t help but wonder how he was even breathing as he tried to gyrate his body in time with the music.
Swallowing my pride, I tried to dance along with him, but the moment he pulled me close, pressing his sweaty body against mine, I felt a wave of revulsion. I wriggled out of his grasp, moving my arms in a way that made it look like part of the dance, all while keeping him at a distance. He frowned but kept moving, his short, lifeless brown hair already damp with sweat.
The lights flashed in sync with the pounding music, casting everything in brief, colored bursts. When they flickered clear for a moment, my heart skipped a beat. There, in the VIP section, was the man from the gym—the one who had ogled me so blatantly. He was sitting next to a younger version of himself, casually sipping a drink, his arms slung over the back of the banquette with an ease that spoke of complete confidence.
I pretended not to notice him, watching from the corner of my eye as he lounged in his seat, his gaze scanning the dance floor. Despite my irritation at his objectifying stare at the gym, I couldn’t deny that I was intrigued. Especially now, considering my current situation with Wayne, who was by now completely soaked with sweat, his damp skin brushing against mine more times than I could count.
The song finally ended, and I seized the opportunity to escape. “Let’s go for a drink!” I shouted over the music.
“Yeah?” Wayne yelled back, his face lighting up with relief.
I nodded, grabbing his sweaty hand and cringing inwardly as I led him off the dance floor. I could feel the blond man’s eyes on me as we reentered the VIP section. He was sitting on the other side of the bridal party, casually observing the scene with a detached amusement that only heightened my curiosity.
The women from the bridal party were in full celebration mode, passing around a bottle of Dom Perignon. As I watched them, a fleeting thought crossed my mind—one I hadn’t allowed myself to consider in years. Despite my aversion to the idea of tying myself to any man, I couldn’t help but wonder if marriage was something I’d ever want. But just as quickly as the thought surfaced, I pushed it aside, reminded of the damage left by my parents’ divorce.
"What do you want to drink?" Wayne asked, his voice still tinged with the desperation that had clung to him all night.
"I have showings tomorrow," I said, keeping my tone casual. "So, I'll stick to sparkling water with lemon."
He scowled, clearly disappointed. "Water? I was gonna get us a bottle of champagne."
"For what purpose?" I challenged, raising an eyebrow.
"To celebrate our reunion. Have a glass with me."
Before I could decline, Wayne waved over the waitress and ordered the champagne. I managed to catch her eye just in time to add my water to the order.
"One glass," he whined, pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket and mopping the sweat from his face. In the dim light, I noticed how flushed his cheeks had become.
"Are you okay?" I asked, masking my concern with mild disinterest.
"I should splash some water on my face. It's hot in here. Will you be alright by yourself?"
I let out a short laugh. "That's a joke, right?"
"Just asking," he muttered, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his tone.
"Go on," I said, waving him off.
Wayne awkwardly rose from his seat, hitching up his pants and fishing his wallet from his inner jacket pocket. He slipped it into his pants pocket as he walked away, a gesture that made my last shred of patience with him vanish. As if I’d steal his money while he was in the bathroom.
The waitress returned with our drinks, setting the champagne down with a flourish. I was tempted to pour myself a glass just to take the edge off, but I needed a clear head tonight. I sipped my water instead, trying to focus on anything but Wayne’s impending return.
That’s when I saw him—the man from the gym. He moved with the kind of grace that only comes from confidence, and as if on cue, he stopped right in front of me during a lull in the music.
"Hi, would you like to dance?" His voice was smooth, a perfect match for his demeanor.
I gazed up at his handsome face, fighting the urge to smile. "I’m with someone."
He glanced over in the direction Wayne had gone and then back at me, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "No offense, but you’re way out of that guy’s league."
"No kidding," I mumbled, unable to stop myself.
He didn’t miss a beat. Instead of pressing further, he sat down next to me and extended his hand. "Lincoln Elliott."
My mouth went dry, and I couldn’t quite find my voice. This was the man who had tormented me at the gym, and now, up close, I could see just how gorgeous he really was.
"And you are?" he prompted when I still hadn’t spoken.
"Huh?" was all I could manage.
He gently cupped my chin, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. His blue eyes locked onto mine, blazing with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. "Your name?"
His hand was warm on my skin, and the scent of his cologne, something rich and expensive, filled my senses. "Erika Bramwell."
"It’s a pleasure to meet you in the flesh after our negotiation."
"You’re Lincoln Elliott?" I asked, still processing the revelation.
He let go of my chin, though I found myself wishing he hadn’t. "Are you surprised?"
"Should I be?" I shot back, trying to regain some composure.
"You seem to be," he replied with a smirk.
Before I could respond, a heavy hand clapped down on Lincoln's shoulder, and we both looked up to see Wayne standing over us, his face twisted in anger.
"Get the hell away from her. She’s with me," Wayne growled, his voice low and threatening.
"Wayne, this is my old friend, Lincoln," I said smoothly, ignoring Wayne's tone. "We’re both agents."
Wayne's scowl deepened, but he grudgingly offered his hand to Lincoln. As Lincoln rose from the banquette, he towered over Wayne by several inches. When their hands met, I noticed the way Lincoln’s grip tightened, just enough to make Wayne visibly wince. Wayne’s shoulders slumped in defeat as Lincoln released him, their power dynamic instantly clear.
It was a stark contrast—Wayne, the man who couldn’t even keep up with a dance, and Lincoln, who seemed to command the room with a mere glance.
"Do you want to join us?" Wayne asked, his tone faltering, a clear sign he was starting to feel out of his depth.
Lincoln glanced over at the man he had been sitting with two sections away, and when I followed his gaze, I noticed the younger version of Lincoln was deeply engaged in conversation with two women from the bridal party. He’d be fine. I wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to get to know Lincoln better, even with Wayne buzzing around.
"Sure, thanks for the offer." Lincoln slid into the seat next to me, ensuring our sides touched as he settled in. The warmth of his body against mine was a pleasant contrast to the cool air conditioning in the VIP section.
"What brings you here?" Lincoln asked, his voice low and smooth.
"I’m celebrating," I replied, a playful smile curling my lips.
"And she called me to take her out," Wayne interjected, as if trying to stake his claim.
"I wanted to hang out," I clarified, brushing off Wayne’s attempt to assert dominance. My focus was entirely on Lincoln, who seemed more than happy to reciprocate.
We chatted easily for several minutes, Lincoln's charm effortlessly drawing me in. But Wayne, apparently not one for subtlety, started whining about wanting to go back on the dance floor. I sighed inwardly, dreading the thought of more awkward gyrating.
"I’d like to dance, too," Lincoln said, his voice cutting through my reluctance like a lifeline.
Relief washed over me as Lincoln placed a hand on my back, guiding me to the dance floor while Wayne led the way. His touch was light, yet deliberate, a gentle stroke of his fingers on my skin that sent a shiver down my spine. I couldn’t help but anticipate what was to come, suspecting that if Lincoln danced the way he walked—with the smooth, predatory grace of a panther—I was in for a treat.
I wasn’t disappointed.
On the dance floor, Wayne’s movements were clumsy and disjointed, resembling a drunk gorilla more than anything else. In stark contrast, Lincoln was all fluidity and control. He started by keeping a respectful distance, but as the music pulsed around us, he gradually closed the gap, his hand finding its way to my hip. The firm squeeze of his grip ignited something in me, a heat that had nothing to do with the dancing. In mere moments, Lincoln was turning me on in a way no one had in a very long time.
Suddenly, Wayne stumbled, losing his balance and nearly toppling over. Lincoln’s reflexes were quick, his hand leaving me to catch Wayne before he could fall.
"Fuck, my ankle. I twisted it!" Wayne cried out, wincing in pain.
"You should go home," Lincoln suggested, his voice steady and commanding.
Wayne turned to me, his face a mix of pain and desperation. "Come on, I’ll take you home."
"Lincoln can take me," I replied, the words spilling out before I could stop them. The thought of spending more time with Lincoln made my heart race, my body reacting in ways I hadn’t expected.
"But I brought you here," Wayne whined, his voice grating on my nerves.
"I can take her home," Lincoln smoothly interjected, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I promise she’ll be in good hands. I won’t let anything happen to her."
The promise in his words sent a thrill through me, my mind already racing ahead to what those hands might feel like on my bare skin. I wanted Lincoln Elliott more than I had during our negotiation, and the visual of what might come next sealed the deal in my mind.
"Let’s go," I said, turning to Wayne with a finality that left no room for further discussion. Wayne looked defeated, his shoulders slumping as he nodded in reluctant agreement.
Lincoln’s hand found its way back to my waist, guiding me away from the dance floor, and as we walked past the crowd, I could feel the weight of his gaze on me. The night was far from over, and I had a feeling it was about to get a whole lot more interesting.
The disdain on Wayne’s face was unmistakable, but there was nothing he could do. He was injured, and I had no intention of going home with him or even offering a consolation kiss on his sweaty cheek. I trailed behind as Lincoln helped Wayne out to his car, then split off to return to the VIP area. A few minutes later, Lincoln was back, sliding into the seat next to me.
"Will he be all right?" I asked, curious about how Wayne had taken his sudden dismissal.
"I think so. He was grumbling about spending money on you and getting nothing back," Lincoln replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.
My mouth dropped open in disbelief. "You’re kidding, right? He insisted on taking me out to dinner."
"I suppose he thought you owed him something. Where did you meet that guy anyway?"
"In my defense, he was in better shape and less obnoxious when we last hung out," I replied, shaking my head.
"So, you never dated?" Lincoln asked, his tone light but probing.
"Oh God, no. He’s not…" I hesitated, searching for the right words.
"Your type?" Lincoln finished for me, a knowing look in his eyes.
"Exactly. We’re friends, but he wanted more. I’m not the dating type."
Lincoln chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "That’s funny, because neither am I."
Before I could fully process that bit of information, the waitress returned, asking if I needed anything else. It suddenly dawned on me that Wayne might have stuck me with the bill for the drinks since he left in such a hurry.
"Is there a check?" I asked.
The waitress tossed her brown hair over her shoulder, her tone bordering on rude as she replied, "Why wouldn’t there be?"
"Add it to my check," Lincoln said, gesturing toward the section where he’d been sitting.
"Yes, sir," she replied, starting to leave.
"And there’s no need for the attitude," Lincoln added, his voice firm.
The waitress visibly shrank back. "I’m sorry, sir."
"I’m not the one you should be apologizing to."
She turned to me, her tone now apologetic. "I’m sorry, miss." With that, she hurried away.
"That wasn’t necessary. I’m sure she gets stiffed at times," I said, a touch of sympathy in my voice.
"But it’s not her place to question," Lincoln countered.
"You don’t need to pay for my drinks. I make good money," I replied with a smirk.
"I’m sure. How many other agents did you charm this week?"
"Is that what I did to you?"
Lincoln smirked, and the hint of dimples appeared on his scruffy face. "Possibly. I have a confession to make."
"Oh?" I leaned in, intrigued.
"I met you before."
I raised my eyebrows, trying to remember. "Where exactly? I don’t remember you."
I wracked my brain trying to remember exactly where I’d met Lincoln. I would’ve remembered if we’d come in contact at an agent’s meeting. It wasn’t that because I rarely spent more than an hour there, enough to show my face, grab a drink and head out the door.
"The gym. We didn’t actually meet, but I’ve seen you before."
"I have a confession too," I said, feeling a playful grin tug at my lips.
"Do you now? And what might that be?"
"I saw you looking at my ass in the mirror."
Lincoln remained nonchalant, leaning back against the banquette as he crossed his legs and stretched out his arms across the top. "And what a nice ass it is."
"Seriously? You’re objectifying me."
"I’m sorry. You’re beautiful."
My face grew hot with embarrassment, something that rarely happened to me. There was something about Lincoln that intrigued me, despite his ability to catch me off guard.
"I bet you say that to all the girls."
He reached out, his thumb gently stroking my cheek. "Not all the girls."
The music's volume increased, forcing us to shout to hear each other. After some playful banter, Lincoln leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear as he asked if I wanted to go somewhere quieter for a bite to eat. I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest as he excused himself and walked over to his brother, who was still engrossed in conversation with the bridal party women. After wrapping up with him, Lincoln located the waitress and handed her his credit card to settle the bill for the drinks.
It was clear the night was far from over, and I couldn't wait to see where it would lead.