Chapter 7 #2
To my surprise—or dismay—my dark-haired boss was nowhere to be seen when I made my way through the busy main floor to the much quieter lounge room.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a pang of disappointment at the fact that he was gone.
Maybe this was my sign from the universe that I need to stay away from men, like I said I would. Especially powerful men like him.
The lounge is separate from the rest of the club. It’s quieter, more relaxed. Decorated the same, but only a low hum of music and quiet chatter between men in suits who act like they don’t want anything from the girls fills the room. It’s soundproofed.
Only a few can afford to book the lounge—the men are more respectful up here, which is why I chose to serve up here over the main room.
My phone buzzes incessantly in my back pocket as I saunter across the black carpet over to the table of men waiting for their drinks. They all eye me hungrily as I approach, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. They clearly don’t fit the more respectful description of the others here.
I bend slightly at the waist, probably giving the people behind me a nice view of my ass in these tiny shorts, placing their drinks on the table.
An attractive middle-aged-looking man with closely cropped brown hair leans towards me. “Can I get another one of your most expensive whisky, darling?”
My left eye twitches as I place the last drink on the table, skin crawling.
“Call me darling one more time, and I’ll make sure you’re cut off for the rest of the night,” I caution, then straighten my spine. He follows my movement, and I give him a sickeningly sweet smile before walking back over to the bar with my empty tray.
“Another whisky, please, Fred,” I request, sliding the tray over to him.
“Are you good?” he asks, blonde brows knitting with worry.
Fred can tell when a customer bothers me, and he likes to check in to make sure I’m okay. I’ve never gotten into trouble with anyone, but Fred is good at reading body language. The first time he asked me and I dismissed him, he pressed until I had no choice but to give in.
“I have it all handled,” I reply, giving him a wink.
“You let me know if anyone’s bothering you,” he smiles, showing his straight, white teeth, freckled cheeks pinching up.
The lounge is busier than usual today, so he scurries off to make the drink, swerving around Jessica, who’s also working the bar tonight.
Sitting on the bar stool, I pull out my buzzing phone.
Luke’s calling.
My stomach twists with nausea. Having a text from him is one thing, but when he calls, it’s another. It’s futile blocking him at this point. He’ll always find another way to contact me. I might as well save him the trouble.
A large frame slides into the stool next to me, filling the air with a heady scent of musk and sandalwood.
“You dance like you’re mad at the world, Camila,” a deep, husky voice murmurs in my ear, sending shivers down my arm.
I stiffen for a few seconds at the use of my real name.
Lowering my phone to the counter—screen down—I spin a fraction in my stool and glance up. His glacier blue eyes are already on me, his body dominating the space between us.
All at once the air seems thinner. My heart picks up pace, and I swallow as I stare at him, unable to speak.
My traitorous eyes trace along his exposed, tattooed forearms, and I find myself wondering just how far those tattoos stretch.
I trail up to the sharp contours of his face.
His mouth curls up into a smirk, gaze still focused on mine.
I snap out of my thoughts, suddenly all too aware of his presence in front of me.
“That’s creepy,” I comment, trying to keep my voice steady—though I’m not sure it’s working.
He seems momentarily taken aback by my comment, his jaw ticking lightly.
“And yet, you haven’t walked away,” he purrs. His voice lands straight in my core. It sounds like he’s whispering the dirtiest secrets into my ear.
“I’m curious.” I shrug.
Real fucking bold.
He is turning me into a disoriented mess. What the fuck?
I clear my throat and attempt to slide off the stool.
I say attempt, because Xander fucking Warren’s hand lands on my knee, shooting electricity up the right side of my body at the contact.
His presence is suffocating. It’s like darkness follows him around wherever he goes, and he commands the very air around him.
Which is why I’m currently scooting back into my seat.
“Xander Warren,” he drawls, reaching his hand out towards me.
“I know who you are. I don’t offer private services. As my boss, you should know this.” I cock my eyebrow.
His eyes light up, that sensuous mouth quirking up once again.
His hand moves from my thigh and grips my stool. “Is that what you think I’m here for?”
My skin heats. All I can feel is the side of his hand resting against my outer thigh; all I can smell is the spicy scent of his cologne.
And I hate that. I hate that he’s having this kind of effect on me.
Men like him… They’re dangerous. I trusted once. Never again.
“I want to know you.”
I don’t know when it happened, but he’s so close now. There’s a shine in his eyes that I can’t figure out. He’s gazing at me so intently, as if he can pull all my secrets directly out of my lips.
His eyes dip down to my lips, and without thinking, I lick them.
I shake my head, snapping myself out of a lust-filled daze. “I don’t date. And you’re my boss,” I state bluntly, flicking my eyes to the bar. My tray is back, and there’s a single drink on it. I don’t even know when Fred brought this over.
Xander leans back, gaze still locked on me.
Men normally look at me like they want to possess me… He looks like he already does.
And the most concerning part about it all—I don’t think I mind it.
“You don’t need to know everything about me,” I say as I successfully slide out of my seat, my hips brushing against his knee with the movement.
He glances down, then back up at my face.
Even when I’m standing in short heels, his frame still seems to crowd me.
And I feel even smaller as he straightens from his seat.
In a blink, my head is level with his chest, his muscular body caging me against the bar top.
My breathing picks up as his eyes trace every inch of my face. As if he’s committing me to memory.
“I don’t need to know everything about you. But I’m sure as hell going to find out, Angel.” His silky voice caresses me.
“Where’s that drink, love?” A booming English accent cuts through the taut air between us.
Xander’s head snaps towards the sound of the voice.
He lets out a lengthy sigh as he pushes off the bar and takes long strides towards the customers I’ve been serving.
Xander hooks his foot on the chair leg and drags the man’s chair out towards himself, and the cards he’s holding go flying as he stares up at Xander, eyes wide with fear.
Xander grips his shirt, practically pulling the man out of his seat.
His head moves as if he’s saying something, but I can’t quite make out what it is.
The man wildly shakes his head, and Xander drops him back into the leather chair.
The lounge is completely silent as we watch Xander disappear down the stairs.
After a few seconds, the chatter resumes, and I finally exhale air out of my lungs.
My whole body is still alive with his touch. His presence.
And that thought is a scary one.