9. A Bad Idea?
Time- 8:23PM
"Clara, I don't think this is a nice idea." I say, as she refused to listen to my protests and dragged me to the club. "We aren't supposed to be spying on her! We should give them privacy!"
"Jeez! Ama, chill! We'll just pretend to be there at the same time. We'll just act as if it was a coincidence." Clara threw me an exaggerated look of annoyance, and there's no stopping her.
"A coincidence? We're calling that now?" I nearly shout, stopping myself before I create a scene.
Flashback-
Time: 7:18PM
"How long has this been going on for?" I asked her, to which she just shrugs and said, "That my dear is what we are gonna find out."
"Okay, but how do we do this? We can't just follow Sophie!" I said, trying to remove the idea of it from her head.
she smirked, stirring her coffee like a true mastermind. "Oh, we won't follow her. We'll just... be in the right place at the right time."
I narrowed my eyes. "You already have a plan, don't you?"
"Maybe." She batted her lashes innocently. "Sophie's been very secretive lately, but I heard her mention this club downtown today– when she thought no one was listening." Before I could ask anything, Clara continued. "Get ready, we are leaving. I am wearing your clothes."
Back to present-
I agreed with her, well yes I did. But I am not at fault. Completely. I didn't regret it, until I glanced at the club. This place is too cool for us.Way too... cool. Its like for celebrities who don't care about anything but their next big connection.
The kind of people who never have to pay for their drinks, because the bartender knows their name, their brand, their latest scandal.
But Clara is still tugging me along, the sparkle of her excitement lighting up her face. We're dressed in black bodycons and boots- hers reaching just above her knee, mine a little shorter, stopping at mid-thigh with boots stopping right below my knees.
I glance at Clara, who's grinning like she knows something I don't, like she's loving every second of this. Me? I'm freaking out.
"Do you realize what kind of people come here?" I mutter, trying not to sound too paranoid. "We don't have connections. We don't even know how to make connections in a place like this."
Clara pauses for a moment, her grin widening. She flicks a lock of her blonde hair over her shoulder, her eyes gleaming with that mischievous sparkle she gets when she knows something I don't.
We enter the club, the heavy bass of the music vibrating through the floor, the lights flashing in time with the beat, and the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and alcohol. This was pretty common for me as my parents are high-classed fashion designers in Paris.
But this isn't Paris, this is New York, and I don't have any connections here.
"Okay, girl," she says, her voice lowering, "I might've played with you for quite a long time."
My heart skips a beat. "What do you mean-"
"We have connections." She looks me dead in the eye. "Logan Carter."
Logan Carter.
Of freaking course.
But as we move further into the club, a security guard steps up, his imposing figure blocking our path. His eyes scan us up and down, sizing us up. I can feel my pulse picking up, anxiety twisting in my gut.
"Who are you ladies?" he asks, his voice low, professional.
I open my mouth to respond, but before I can say anything, Clara steps forward, flashing her most confident smile. "Logan Carter. He's... my friend?" she says.
Her friend. Right.
"Logan Carter?" The guard repeats, then eyes us both, probably trying to decide if we're telling the truth or if we're just two girls who googled a name to get into a fancy club.
Clara, without missing a beat, pulls out her phone and taps a few buttons, showing the guard something on her screen. I couldn't see what she was showing him, but the guard's eyes flick to the phone and then back to her.
A long pause. Then the guard gives a sharp nod. "Alright, go ahead. But stay in the VIP section. No wandering around."
She smirks and winks at me as she walks past him, dragging me along with her.
And then-
I freeze. Mid-step. Mid-breath. Mid-everything.
The air suddenly feels ten degrees hotter and thicker, like I've stepped into a sauna in the middle of a panic attack. My fingers instinctively grip Clara's arm.
"What-" she starts, turning to me, but I cut her off, my voice a harsh whisper. "Clara. Don't look now, but I think I just saw him."
She blinks. "Who?"
I swallow. "Xavier."
Her eyes widen. "Xavier Xavier?"
I nod slowly. "The Ring Lord."
Clara whips her head around faster than I can stop her.
"Clara!" I hiss.
"Sorry! I panicked!" she whispers back. "Where?!"
I subtly tilt my head to the elevated VIP section. And there he is. Leaning against the bar like he owns the goddamn city. Dark shirt. Leather jacket. One hand swirling a drink, the other lazily tucked in his pocket.
"I came to spy on Sophie, not have a damn heart attack," I mutter, trying to look anywhere but at him. "Why is he even here?"
Clara shrugs like it's no big deal, like this is just another Tuesday night. "It's Xavier Hayes, babe. He doesn't need a reason."
"Girl, no. Every incident, Every encounter we've had is a disaster." I say, then I shook my head reliving those awkward situations.
"Well, thankyou for your advice, Sherlock. Maybe next time don't stand in the middle of the sidewalk like a roadblock." I had shot back, I had a really bad day at rehearsal and then I had to bump into him and he was like– Watch where you are going.
And then I meet him at a cafe whose coffee I despise, but their pastry? Heaven. So of course I had to get that, and then again.. I bumped into him.
And at the gym– I sent Clara away to let her check the yoga classes she had been yapping and crazing about, so obviously I went to the Ring. And saw him.
"Guess that explains why you didn't even apologize after you ran into me the other day."
"You ran into me."
"Yeah, but–"
And then the– "You are no lady."
Ugh. So ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous.
"So no," I say firmly to her, tugging at the hem of my dress. "I can't let him see me here. He probably thinks I'm stalking him or something. At this point, it's like fate's out to make me look like a literal stalker"
"Didn't you say that if fate had a face then you'd throw chocolate pastry on it?" she reminded me.
"Right." I did say that.
We walk to the bar, trying to act casual, though I can feel the tension building in. He's somewhere away from us—thankfully. I try not to let my gaze wander too much in his direction.
"Two drinks, please," Clara announces confidently to the bartender, who gives us a skeptical look. But then, he goes to prepare them anyway.
I drop onto the bar stool and tap my fingers on the edge of the counter. "Clara, are you sure about this?"
She just smirks, clearly enjoying my discomfort. "Relax. We're just here to have a drink."
Right, as if our motive wasn't actually to spy on Sophie and Kai.
The bartender sets down two glasses in front of us, and Clara takes hers without missing a beat. "See? No big deal," she says, clinking her glass against mine. "You wanted an adventure. Well, here it is."
I stare at the drink in my hand, I swirl the cup gently, "Adventure doesn't usually involve running into my most awkward encounters."
Clara takes a sip, her grin widening. "What's life without a little chaos, Amara? Besides, Xavier is distracted."She says, her tone casual.
Her voice yanks me out of my thoughts. "Also, girl, you know that art gallery opening where I met Logan for the first time?"
"Yeah?" I respond absentmindedly, my eyes still flitting between the crowd.
"So there's this art exhibit. And guess what?" She leans in, her voice practically vibrating with excitement. "He invited me! So of course, you are tagging along!"
I blink at her,"Wait. What? An exhibit?"
She grins wide, clearly loving how I'm processing this information. "Yes! And it's at this super exclusive space in Tribeca."
"It's this Sunday. He got me two passes—one for me, one for a friend. Babe, you're the friend. There's no debate."
I narrow my eyes. "Are you sure it's okay? I don't wanna third wheel you and Logan."
"Girl chill," she says, completely unfazed. "I told him about you and he seems excited to meet you!"
"Ugh.. fine." I say, "I'll be there."
Just then, her gaze shifts—sharpening. "Okay, okay. Not to alarm you, but he's walking this way."
"What!?"
"Smile," she whispers. "And maybe... try not to insult him this time?"
"Clara."
But it's too late. I feel him before I even see him. That slow, measured walk. The shift in air pressure. And then, that deep, familiar voice.
"Well," he says, stopping beside us. "Didn't expect to see you here, ballerina."
I look up slowly. Meet those maddening grey eyes.
"Oh," I say with a smile that might be more teeth than charm. "Didn't expect to be stalked, Ring Lord."
He lets out a short breath, almost like a scoff. "Don't flatter yourself. You're not that interesting."
Clara lets out a tiny oooh beside me under her breath.
I ignore her and say, "Well," I lean back in my seat, sipping my drink. "You did show up at the exact same exclusive club as me. Coincidence? Or are you following the scent of my expensive perfume?"
He doesn't answer right away. Just gives me a look like I'm more of a headache than he signed up for. Probably I am.
And I smile wider.
Xavier just slid his hands into his pockets like he's not the center of attention at this entire club now. His gaze flicks from me to Clara and then back to me again. Unimpressed. Like he's bored, even though his jaw ticks ever so slightly. Caught you, Sherlock.
"Didn't take you for the type to visit clubs." he mutters, finally.
"Aww, and I didn't take you the type to talk to me." I shrug, "But look, here we are."
"You done?" he asks after a pause, voice clipped.
"Never." I sip my drink again, all smug. "But feel free to walk away if you can't handle the heat, Ring Lord."
He leans in slightly. Just enough to make my breath catch, even though I try to play it cool. "I don't walk away, ballerina. I win."
My smirk falters just for a second. Just long enough for him to notice, I think. Because the way his mouth curves after he says it? Oh, he knows. He knows exactly what he's doing.
I blink up at him, still holding my drink, "Wow," I murmur, tone mock-sweet. "That was dramatic. Do you rehearse these lines before showing up or do they just come to you when you see me?"
Xavier's jaw ticks ever so slightly, and his eyes scan my face like he's trying to figure out what my deal is. As if he's the one who's confused here.
"Trust me," he says coolly, "you're not the inspiration."
My lips twitch. "Good. Because I'd hate to be the reason you wake up and choose violence."
He shakes his head slightly, muttering "Unbelievable." something under his breath and turns and walks away.
But I'm feeling bold.
"Hey, Ring Lord," I call out, and he pauses mid-step.
When he glances back over his shoulder, I flash him a sarcastic smile. "Next time you stare at my legs, try not to make it so obvious."
He doesn't smile. But he doesn't walk away either.
His gaze drops again.Quick, sharp, unapologetic. Then lifts again, locking on mine. "If I wanted to stare," he says, low and even, "you'd know." Before I could respond, he continued, not even letting me speak–
"Also if you're trying to show off," he says, voice smooth but laced with something like playful malice, "you might want to consider a different look next time. That dress? Too... obvious."
I blink, not sure if I'm hearing him correctly. "Excuse me?"
He crossed his arms over his chest, "You might want to tone down the desperate vibe. You've got enough legs for it, but it's screaming a little too much attention, don't you think?"
I open my mouth, but he raises a hand, cutting me off. "Just a thought," he adds, his voice almost bored. "Maybe you should try something that doesn't scream for attention."
I can't even process what just happened. This man really just gave me fashion advice. I manage to choke out, "Oh, and I suppose you're some kind of fashion expert?"
"No. But I know a thing or two about people trying too hard. And trust me, you're not the vibe you think you are." He responds back with an unfazed shrug.
Then, before I can even come up with a snarky comeback, he gives me one last glance, his eyes flicking over me one more time before walking away.
I sit there, stunned.
Clara is trying her hardest not to burst into laughter. "Well, that's one way to get called desperate for attention" she says, clearly fighting a grin.
"We were supposed to be here for Sophie and Kai. Not him!" I hiss, turning to Clara, who is now gleefully sipping her drink like this is the best night of her life.
"I mean... priorities change." she responds back with a casual shrug
I groan and sink further into my seat.
Well, I'm somewhat thankful that I didn't have to actually 'spy' on Kai and Sophie. That would've been embarrassing. Like who even does that?
Oh, right. Me. I do. Because Clara convinced me with her big blue eyes.
But now? Now I'm sitting in a fancy-ass club, in a dress that apparently screams being desperate, after being insulted by a man who punches people for a living.
What a night.
I sigh. "I just want to see Sophie kiss Kai and then leave with zero further encounters."
"Clara?" we heard a very familiar voice- "Amara? What are you guys doing here?"
Uh oh. I knew this was a Bad Idea.