Chapter 4
Chapter Four
AUDRA
The Vault is packed—wall-to-wall bodies pressed together in a way that feels deliberate. Curated. This isn’t just a club; it’s a spectacle. Money. Power. People who expect to be noticed.
Bass reverberates through the sidewalk, a deep, insistent pulse that travels up through the soles of my heels and settles somewhere beneath my ribs.
The line stretches down the block, a carefully curated mix of money and confidence—tailored jackets, dresses that promise trouble, laughter that spills too easily into the night.
Levi waves us through with a nod, already peeling away toward the bar like this is just another errand on his list.
Jamie exhales. “Oh. Oh no. This place is absolutely designed for poor decisions.”
Shannon grins, eyes already scanning the room. “I love a place with a mission statement.”
The lighting inside is deliberate—low and warm, shadows broken by flashes of gold and sapphire. The air smells like citrus, heat, and expensive cologne. Bodies move with purpose here, not urgency. Everyone looks like they expect to be seen.
I remind myself why I’m here.
To observe.
To remind myself that Derek Pierce is just a man.
And then I see him.
He’s near the bar with Mark and Alex, jacket gone, sleeves rolled the way he always does when he’s not pretending to be untouchable, posture loose in a way I’ve never seen at the office.
He throws his head back at something Mark says, laughter unguarded and real, and the sight lands harder than it should.
Women linger nearby. Bold. Interested. Comfortable in his orbit. A brunette in a glittering dress leans in to say something against his ear, her hand resting with ease on his forearm like she belongs there.
My chest tightens—recognizable jealousy—and it annoys me.
Jamie follows my gaze and hums. “There he is.”
“I wasn’t looking for him,” I say automatically.
Jamie gives me a look that says sure, Audra, and I refuse to dignify it with a response.
We claim a table just off the dance floor. Drinks arrive quickly. Shannon takes hers with a pleased sigh while Jamie immediately starts narrating the room like she’s a sports announcer.
“That guy is definitely lying about his age,” she says, pointing subtly. “And that one has commitment issues.”
Shannon snorts. “You can tell that from across the room?”
Jamie taps her temple. “I’m talented.”
I take a slow sip, letting the burn settle me, telling myself this is no different than any other night out.
Across the room, Derek looks up.
Our eyes meet.
Something shifts.
The smile he’s wearing fades—not entirely, but enough that I notice. His attention sharpens, like the rest of the room has dimmed. I don’t look away immediately. I should, but I don’t. It’s not a challenge exactly—more like a refusal to be the one who flinches.
Then he glances away first, turning back to Mark like the moment meant nothing.
Jamie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, he felt that.”
“I’m ignoring him,” I say, even though my pulse says otherwise.
“Mmhmm,” Jamie replies, unconvinced.
The music swells as the night deepens. Shannon is halfway through a story about a disastrous first date when a familiar presence slides into my awareness—warmth at my side, the faint brush of cologne, the unmistakable gravitational pull that has nothing to do with proximity and everything to do with him.
“Ms. Sullivan.”
I turn slowly, setting my glass down with care.
“Mr. Pierce.”
Up close, he’s different. Less polished. More dangerous. The confidence is still there, but something beneath it now—attention without complete control.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he says.
“Funny,” I reply. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
He acknowledges Jamie and Shannon, exchanges polite greetings, then looks back at me.
“This place isn’t exactly… HR approved.”
“Good thing I’m off the clock.”
His mouth curves. “Is that so?”
“Very,” Jamie adds helpfully.
Derek’s gaze returns to mine. “Can I buy you a drink?”
I hesitate. Just long enough to feel the invisible line between us.
“One,” I say. “Then I’m going back to my friends.”
His smile deepens—not offended. Impressed. “Fair.”
At the bar, it’s louder. Hotter. Derek stands close but careful, and it’s the carefulness that feels most dangerous.
The bartender slides my drink toward me. Derek’s hand brushes mine—accidental. Electric.
My fingers jerk back.
“You always this careful?” he asks quietly.
“Only when it matters.”
“That implies I matter.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
A soft laugh leaves him. “You don’t make this easy.”
“Good.”
The crowd surges. Someone bumps into me. Derek’s hand comes up instinctively, hovering near my waist—stopping just short of touching me.
The restraint is louder than contact would be.
“This is where I walk away,” I say calmly.
“Because you want to.”
Because I have to.
“Because I’m not making questionable decisions tonight.”
Jamie makes enough for all of us.
Back at the table, laughter resumes. Music swells. The night rolls on.
I came here to observe.
To prove he was just a man.
Instead, I’m realizing something worse.
He might be the kind of man who makes me forget the rules I wrote for myself.