4. Zara
The bartender sets down the delicate flute of champagne with a polite nod, and I slide my fingers around the slender stem, feeling the chilled glass against my skin.
One sip, and it’s clear the bubbles are far nicer than anything I’d normally splurge on.
Then my gaze drifts across the room, landing on the man responsible for the drink.
Sitting across the bar, he exudes the kind of raw, effortless confidence that turns heads without trying.
I could use the excuse that it’s my birthday, or maybe it’s just his dark, penetrating eyes, but something in me decides I might as well thank him in person.
If nothing else, a conversation could save me from paying for the rest of my drinks tonight.
A birthday girl shouldn’t foot her own bill, after all.
I slip off the stool, the smooth fabric of my dress brushing my thighs as I steady myself.
My mind flickers back to earlier in the night.
I met my monetary goal, tipped everyone I needed to, and packed up as quickly as I could.
Dancing for faceless men is fine when it pays the bills, but not tonight.
Tonight, I needed something different, something that feels.
..good. Searching for five-star hotels in the area led me here.
No, I can’t afford to stay at The Garrison, but sitting at its polished lobby bar for a drink lets me pretend, if only for a while, that I belong in a place like this.
As I circle the bar, I let my eyes sweep over him.
He has tattooed hands, strong yet manicured as they rest on the bartop, a Rolex glinting on one wrist. His dress shirt is perfectly fitted around his broad shoulders beneath his tie, the jacket draped over the back of his stool adding an air of casual elegance.
His hair looks slightly tousled, like he’s been running his hands through it in frustration or deep thought, and the dark strands only highlight a face that could have been sculpted by Roman artists.
That jawline could cut glass. Clean, angular, commanding.
His deep brown eyes hold a warm mystery to them, something quiet but dangerous, the kind of gaze that makes you feel seen, exposed.
And those lips. Full, plush, and absolutely criminal on a man.
I almost lose my nerve, but tonight isn’t the night to hesitate. I’m thirty today, and I didn’t escape a lifetime of being a prisoner just to hold myself back from living.
Taking a deep breath, I cross the room, heels clicking softly on the marble floor as I approach him. His gaze catches mine before I can even speak, and the sheer intensity in those eyes makes my heart stutter. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Or maybe, it was the best idea I’ve had all day.