Chapter 12 #2
A woman with blonde hair, and heels she’s going to regret later, floats nearby in a sparkly blazer, visibly glowing with approval. She’s grinning manically like she just lit the match that’s about to burn the whole place down.
Rishi and another guy who’s styled like a Temu version of a Ken doll with a trust fund hover behind Nolan like background dancers waiting for their cue.
Nolan’s gaze slithers down my spine before I even look.
That smirk of his is all slow-burn confidence and ruthless precision, saying:
I warned you. Big Stream sets the pace.
Now watch me prove it.
My fists clench at my sides.
Oh, no you fucking don’t.
“Nolan Rhodes is with Asher Cross,” I say.
Maya nearly chokes on her cocktail. “Seriously?”
“Yep.” I turn to Jeremy, brows raised. “Did you do what I asked?”
A wicked grin blooms. “Girl, who you talking to? It’s locked. It’s loaded. It’s Broadway with a garnish.”
Tension in my shoulders loosens just enough to let a smirk slip out. Nolan “Big Panties” Rhodes thinks he’s got this account in the bag. Cute. But if I’ve learned anything lately, it’s that success doesn’t wait for permission. You don’t win by waiting your turn. You win by taking it.
And tonight I’m taking everything.
“I’m going over there,” I announce.
Maya grips my arm. “Wait, Rorie. What’s the actual plan here?”
“To make sure Asher Cross remembers my name. Not theirs.”
Before she can say anything else, I glide toward the bar. The bartender spots me instantly, nodding like we’re sharing a secret. Because we are.
“It’s time,” I say.
He grins. “Want a show?”
“Not just a show. A headline.”
And just like that, the bar transforms. Dry ice spills over the counter, mist from a dream. Neon liquids swirl like galaxies. A suspended sugar garnish spins gently above a flickering flame.
Maya appears beside me, eyes wide. “What is happening?”
Jeremy sips his drink with a flourish. “Honey, you’re witnessing artistry.”
The bartender sets down the tray, now branded with Asher’s placeholder logo. A tray of magic and misrule in equal measure.
I pick up the lead glass—the Titan—and smile. It’s not just a drink—it’s a revolution.
Let’s see how Nolan Rhodes likes being outplayed.
The moment I step onto the patio, the energy shifts. Nolan’s gaze locks, and his spine stiffens.
I’m coming for you, Rhodes.
Asher Cross sits at a corner table, his posture loose, but there’s a spark of attention in his eyes. He’s used to people begging for it, but tonight, I’m not begging. I’m commanding.
He’s a movie star and beach rebel in one—buttoned-up in crisp linen, but with perfect hair and that signature golden glow that screams I don’t chase, I choose.
I carefully set the tray in front of him and sink into the seat across from him like I belong there.
He leans in, voice smooth, with a low husk of authority. “You certainly know how to make an entrance.”
I smile. “You have no idea.”
Nolan’s glare practically burns through the glass, but I don’t acknowledge him. Not yet.
Asher’s attention dips to the drink. The Titan crackles softly, flames dancing across the sugared rim.
“And what exactly am I drinking?” he asks.
I settle back in my seat, crossing my legs and letting the anticipation build. “It’s called The Titan. A bold blend of aged scotch, honeyed citrus, and a touch of smoked vanilla.”
“And the other?”
“Oh, that’s the real showstopper.” I motion toward the suspended purple and blue sugar garnish above the second drink, still delicately spinning.
“The Mirage. A cocktail so smooth it’ll have you questioning whether it ever existed at all.
We took inspiration from your most iconic roles.
Titan’s Fall was raw power. Mirage at Midnight…
irresistible deception. You weren’t just acting—you were branding emotion. And we captured that.”
Asher’s brow quirks.
“Imagine having the hottest, most iconic beverage brand on the market. Drinks served in every movie theater your blockbusters play in. Release parties. Not to mention households across the nation, bars in every city. You’d make millions. Maybe billions.”
Nolan shifts in his seat, clearly about to interrupt, but Asher doesn’t break eye contact with me. His interest is locked in place.
Keeping my posture poised, and my expression confident, I continue, “If you’re serious about expanding your reach, then you don’t need tired ideas.
You need flash. You need execution. You need someone who doesn’t hesitate to take a risk and make a statement.
” I gesture lightly toward the elaborate drinks between us.
“You need the unexpected. The unforgettable. Something so absolutely you.”
Asher nods thoughtfully, drumming his fingers against the table with a smile dancing across his full, very perfect, leading man lips. “And you can make that happen?”
I meet his smile with one of my own. “I already have. Take a look around. The moment these were placed in front of you, this party followed suit. Now, everyone is crowding the bar, demanding to drink exactly what Asher Cross is drinking.”
His laugh is low and genuine. “I love it. What’s your name?”
Before I can answer—
“Rorie Adams,” Nolan cuts in, voice flat and sharp as a blade. “Brand Strategist at The Laurel Group. Be warned, Cross. She’s pitching you a tacky product that comes a side of circus. It lacks class.”
I want to yell, You lack class! But then that wouldn’t be classy of me, would it?
Asher glances between us, clearly entertained. “That so?”
I give Asher a sweet smile. “I don’t like to think of it as a pitch. I like to think of it as a strategic acquisition.”
Nolan leans back, deceptively calm. But the twitch in his jaw, and how his thumb taps once, then stills, is all the tell I need. He’s so mad right now. I fucking love it.
Asher lifts The Titan and takes a sip. He raises a brow.
Then he slides The Mirage toward me. “If I’m drinking, you’re drinking. Fair’s fair.”
He would give me the stronger one.
I meet his gaze and raise the glass. It smells like dusk, floral, faintly sweet. The first sip is soft, almost shy. Velvet on the tongue. Lychee, white tea, and a whisper of lavender swirl together.
Then, just when you think you’ve got it—bam.
A snap of pink peppercorn. A tease of heat at the back of the throat.
Gone just as fast. A memory you’re not sure ever really happened.
It’s smooth, deceptive, dangerous in the way only beautiful things can be.
Exactly like the roles Asher built his empire on.
Exactly the kind of drink that earns its own cult following.
He leans in, eyes gleaming. “What’s your story?”
“Just a girl, with some bad bitch energy, offering the man in front of her the world.” I set my glass back on the tray. “Little birdies say you’re ready to stretch your brand. I’m here to make sure you do it the right way.”
“And why should I hire you?” he asks. “Besides the fact that you can make some very mean cocktails.”
“Because I didn’t wait for a meeting. I made one.”
A beat of silence. Then Asher smiles.
“I do love it when a woman takes charge.”
“I bet you do.”
The tension is interrupted—again—by Nolan. “Rorie’s audacious, I’ll give her that.”
Asher’s gaze doesn’t waver. “And what are you, Rhodes? Jealous?”
Nolan stiffens. His response is a shade too slow. And just like that, Asher clues in.
He raises his glass in a mock toast. “To competition. May the best win.”
I lift mine. “Oh, I intend to.”
Jeremy materializes like a magician, presenting a gold-foiled envelope. “The grand finale,” he declares, handing it over.
Asher opens it slowly—inside, numbers, projections, profits. Proof of concept. He flips through the pages, brow lifted in interest.
Then he looks up at me. “Let’s talk.” He stands, extends a hand.
I rise, placing my hand in his. Nolan watches, silent and simmering. And I swear—just before I turn away—a new emotion flashes behind his eyes.
It isn’t anger.
It’s fear.
Fear that for once, someone else might win.
And Asher sees it too. His knowing grin deepens as if he’s just found his new favorite game.
Step right up ladies and gentleman. Welcome to my mother fucking circus.