4. Emily
4
EMILY
Nightfall doesn’t do a thing to alleviate the humidity, and I’m thankful that the inside of the Zebra Club is at least air conditioned. Or as air conditioned as it can be with the number of bodies packed in its tight space.
The six of us in matching lavender dresses—me, Nadia, Meghan, Clara, Jennifer, and Heather—make our way to the dance floor. Red lights shift to blue, and the undertones of our outfits change to match it. Slowly, everyone in the room becomes the same saturated color.
I don’t recognize the song playing, but it doesn’t matter; it’s got a good beat and that’s all I need. Nadia catches my eye, her teeth glowing in the lights as she dances. We’ve worked up a sweat when a woman flags us down. She’s wearing a pair of black shorts and a white crop top bearing the club’s name across the front.
“Your table is ready!” she yells.
“What?” Nadia yells back.
“Your table?—”
“We didn’t get a table!” I cut in. I originally wanted to, but it was way out of my budget.
The woman jabs her painted nails over to our right. “Someone did!”
Pursing my lips, I follow the woman to an area just off the dance floor. There are a number of booths here, their black surfaces glossy as wet tar. The round table in the center hosts a huge ice bucket with several dark glass bottles sticking out.
“Holy shit, someone bought us bottle service?” Clara asks.
I’m the closest to the table, so I spot the note before they do. Picking up the matchbook-sized square of paper, I read it with wide eyes. It’s the same neat and tidy handwriting as the note that was left in my bag.
I knew that dress could drive a man crazy. Sometimes I hate being right.
And then to top things off, there’s a Hello Kitty’s face drawn at the very bottom of the note.
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
It’s from him .
Nadia snatches the note from my fingers, reading it an inch from her nose. Laughing, she smacks me on the arm with it. “I told you! He’s got it bad for you, Emily!”
“Nadia …”
“Ladies.” She faces the other four girls with her hands on her hips. “Back me up.”
Meghan lifts a bottle from the ice. “I mean, if a guy bought me Dom Perignon, I’d take that as a hint he liked me.”
“Did you girls know that I caught that guy coming out of our room when I landed? And Emily here insisted that they weren’t doing anything even though she was soaked in sweat and her hair was a mess.”
A chorus of overlapping voices rises, and I do my best not to sink into the couch. I can’t muster an argument. I don’t want to.
“And believe me,” Nadia continues. “That man was F-I-N-E. Fine! ”
“Emily, you have to go thank him for all of this!” Clara yells as she gestures at the couch and the table and the bottles of champagne.
“I don’t?—”
“Yes, you do.” Nadia holds her hand up. “He must be around here somewhere. Hey, do you think he owns this place or something?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, go find out, then!” Meghan interjects.
Nadia collects the glass flutes, passes them around, and gestures at Meghan. “Pop the cork! We’re celebrating my maid of honor getting laid tonight!”
“I thought we were here to celebrate you getting married in six weeks?” I remind her as my glass is filled.
“We can do both. Besides, we have three whole days ahead of us to celebrate me! Right now, you have a mission.” She holds her glass high. “Remember my order?”
“I’m trying my best not to.”
Leaning close, Nadia clinks her glass on mine. “Too bad! Because I’m ordering you as the bachelorette to thank him and then climb him like a goddamn tree!”
My stomach folds in half as the other girls echo Nadia’s words. Each of them is grinning at me excitedly. The pressure to agree to Nadia’s terms is overwhelming. They’ve allowed themselves to become invested in this silly scenario where I end up in bed with a hot stranger who buys private tables and a whole bucket of Dom Perignon like it’s nothing.
It’s absolutely ridiculous.
What’s the worst that can happen?
With their eyes on me, I tip my glass to my lips, drain it, and stand up to the sound of their cheering.
Moving through the club is like trying to wade through sand. The numerous bodies bounce me back and forth, not noticing me, or not caring. Sucking in stale air, I push toward the first opening I spot. It’s a gap near the service door and bathroom. Men in stained white wifebeaters run in and out with new trays of glasses to stock the bar, avoiding the long line waiting to get into the stalls.
Standing on tiptoe, I put my hands up to my face, squinting through the strobe lights that are determined to leave me disoriented. Every face is the same reddish shade, so I can’t pick apart features or clothing. It’s impossible. I’ll never find Mr. Sex-on-Legs in this madness.
“Hi,” I wave at the bartender. “Who can I speak to about table services?”
A crisp, familiar voice suddenly rises behind me. “Was one bucket not enough?”
I don’t have to look to confirm, but I’m already turning. Mr. Sex-on-Legs is standing just a foot away. He’s dressed in an expensive-looking tan jacket over a blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up to expose his muscular forearms. If possible, he’s more attractive than I remember.
His eyes fall on me, and I swallow as I stand up straighter.
“Fancy seeing you here, Kitty Cat.”
Ugh! Somehow, a stupid-sounding nickname like that manages to sound sexy coming from his perfect lips.
Before I can say anything, he raises two fingers to get the attention of the bartender.
“Another two buckets for the bachelorette party,” he says. “On me.”
“Right away, Mr. Siderov.”
My heart is doing a tango as I turn to him. “Should I also call you Mr. Siderov?”
“Konstantin is fine.”
“Konstantin,” I repeat, just to feel the letters on my tongue. I like the way that sounds. I extend my hand. “I’m Emily.”
He takes my hand in his, and I’m overwhelmed by the same warmth that I felt at the airport when he helped me up from the ground.
“I think I prefer Kitty Cat,” he says.
I do my best not to imagine those fingers pressing against my thighs, or fantasize how good it’d feel like to have them push my legs apart while those gorgeous eyes look at me from below.
Jesus, calm down! Just thank him and be on your way.
“Do you own this place or something?” I ask him. “Is that why you’re here?”
“No,” he replies. “I happen to know the owner.”
“That sounds familiar,” I muse. “Do you happen to know the owner of every establishment here?”
His smirk is like a crescent moon. “Not every one of them, Kitty Cat. But close enough that it doesn’t matter.”
“So why are you here? And I don’t mean here in this club. I mean the Amalfi Coast.”
“I told you.” His smile dips slightly, but doesn’t fully leave his face. “Work.”
I wonder what kind of work he does. But before I can ask, someone suddenly bumps me hard enough to send me stumbling to the floor.
I spin around, ready to tear into the asshole, but Konstantin is already standing between us. He’s not looking at me, but at the man who just knocked me down.
“Apologize.” Konstantin’s voice is hard as iron, audible even over the pounding bass reverberating through the club. “Now.”
The man curls his lips, ready to say something foul. At the last second Konstantin shifts his body, like he’s adjusting his jacket. The guy freezes, glancing down at something I can’t see. The knob in his neck flexes before he looks over at me.
Even in the club’s odd lighting, I can tell his face is pale.
“I’m sorry,” he stammers. “It was an accident! I swear!”
He backpedals before I can respond.
Weird.
“So, Kitty Cat.” Konstantin smooths the front of his jacket. “Were you looking for me?”
Yes.
But I won’t let him win this easily. So, I cross my arms, cock my hip, and smirk. “That’s bold of you to assume.”
His lip curls into a heart-stopping smile.
“My mistake, then,” he says. “I’ll leave you to it.” He starts to push through the crowd. “Enjoy the Dom.”
“Wait!” I try to keep the desperation from my voice and fail horribly.
He stops, giving me a side-eye and that sexy smile of his widens, sending butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Climb that man like a goddamn tree …
“Yeah, okay,” I admit. “I was coming to find you. I wanted to say thanks for the table.”
“Happy to help your bachelorette have a good time.”
“Well, she’s loving it.”
“And you? Are you having a good time?”
I spread my hands. “That bottle of Dom is the best thing so far.”
“Is that your drink of choice when you go clubbing?”
“Not a fan of clubs, actually, if you can believe that. But what the bachelorette wants …”
“The bachelorette gets.” He rubs his sharp chin, considering me like I’m a fascinating flower he just discovered. “If clubs aren’t your thing, I happen to know somewhere that’s more suited to your tastes. Come.”
My jaw drops at the audacity. He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t wait for my permission. Instead, it’s like he’s issuing a command that I’m expected to follow. Somehow, I get the feeling Konstantin Siderov has never heard anyone tell him no.
My feet stick to the floor. Peering over my shoulder at the table, I search for Nadia. I don’t want to leave her behind. But if I tell her I thanked Konstantin and have nothing to show for it …
“Well, Kitty Cat?” He extends his hand to me, lips curling up in a playful smile that sends a shiver of excitement down my spine.
Fuck it.
I unlock my knees. “Lead the way.”