Chapter 1 #2
“Now?” I ask.His brow lifts slightly. “Unless you’d rather stay and bid on someone else.”
“I—no. I mean. No.”
Elizabeth kicks me under the table.
“I mean,” I add, scrambling for something that sounds like a complete sentence, “I did just win you. It would be weird to immediately replace you.”
“That would be a blow to my ego,” he says mildly.
“Good to know you have one.”
“Only a small one.”
Elizabeth snorts again. Traitor.
I glance back at her. “You’re good?”
She waves me off. “Go. Live your overpriced fantasy.”
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
I do.
Unfortunately.
I grab my purse, standing up a little too quickly, smoothing down my dress like that’s going to somehow make me less flustered.
Douglas steps back slightly, giving me space, but his hand hovers at the small of my back as we move away from the table.
Awareness sparks along my spine anyway, even though he isn’t touching me.
We weave through the crowd, the noise of the auction fading as we step out into the hallway. The air feels cooler out here, quieter, like we’ve stepped into a different world entirely.
“So,” I say, because silence suddenly feels dangerous, “is this part of the package? Immediate exit?”
“Depends,” he says. “Are you regretting your purchase already?”
“I’m still deciding if it was a good financial decision.”
“Fair.”
We walk toward the bar just off the ballroom, a smaller space with low lighting and plush seating. It’s quieter here, more intimate, the kind of place that feels like it exists slightly outside of time.
He pulls out a stool for me before taking the one beside it.
I notice.
Of course I notice.
“I feel like I should warn you,” I say as I slide onto the seat, “I’m very picky.”
“About what?”
“Everything.”
His mouth curves. “Good. So am I.”
A bartender appears, and we order—something light, something easy, something that gives me an excuse to wrap my hands around a glass and pretend I’m not hyper-aware of the man sitting next to me.
“So,” I say, turning slightly toward him, “you’re new to Vegas.”
“I am.”
“Voluntarily?”
“Depends on the day.”
I narrow my eyes. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting right now.”
“Are you always this evasive?”
“Only when I just met someone.”
“Wow. You’re really selling this date.”
“You already bought it,” he points out.
Rude. But fair.
“So what do you do, Kathryn?” he asks.
“Marketing.”
“That explains it.”
I frown. “What does that mean?”
“You’re clearly observant.”
“I feel like that was almost a compliment.”
Now he frowns. “It was suppose to be.”
I tilt my head. “Almost.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh, and something in my chest flips.
Uh oh. This is exactly how it starts.
A little banter. A little chemistry. A little maybe this time will be different.
I take a sip of my drink, steadying myself.
“So,” I say, “if you’re not going to tell me why you’re in Vegas, can you at least tell me if you’re planning to stick around?”
“For a while.”
“That’s vague.”
“That’s intentional.”
“Do you enjoy being mysterious?”
“Not particularly.”
“You’re very good at it.”
“Comes with the job.”
There it is.
I lean in slightly. “Which is?”
He holds my gaze for a beat. “Complicated.”
I exhale a laugh. “You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
The drinks arrive, and for a moment, we fall into something easier—small talk that doesn’t feel small, questions that lead to more questions, the kind of conversation that flows without effort.
He asks about my favorite spots in the city.
I ask about where he’s lived before.
He deflects some things, answers others. It never feels like he’s shutting me out, but it’s cagey.
And weirdly, it makes me want to learn more.
“So,” he says after a while, his voice a little lower now, “you mentioned being picky.”
“I did.”
“What made you bid on me?”
I open my mouth. Close it.
Because I could say something flippant. Something that keeps this light.
Instead, I find myself saying, “You didn’t look like you were trying.”
His brows lift slightly.
“Everyone else,” I continue, gesturing vaguely, “they were… performing. You just stood there like you didn’t need to.”
“And that worked on you?”
“Unfortunately.”
His gaze drops briefly to my mouth before coming back up. “Good to know.”
My stomach flips. This is bad.
This is very, very bad.
He straightens, like he’s made a decision. “Let me take you to dinner.”
I blink. “Tonight?”
“Tonight.”
“Isn’t that—” I glance back toward the ballroom “—jumping ahead?”
“I don’t see a reason to wait.”
There’s something in the way he says it.
Simple. Direct. Certain.
No games.
No hesitation.
And, damn it all, I like it.
“Okay,” I say, before I can overthink it. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
His mouth curves, satisfied in a way that sends heat curling low in my stomach.
We settle the tab, slipping back out into the hallway, and for a moment, it feels like we’re the only two people in the world.
His phone rings.
I see it happen in real time—the shift. The focus. The way his entire body seems to lock onto that sound like it matters.
Like it means something.
“Sorry,” he says, already pulling it out. “I need to take this.”
“Yeah, of course,” I say quickly, even though something in my chest tightens.
He answers, turning slightly away, his voice low. “Yeah.”
A pause. Then—
“I’m on my way.”
My stomach drops.
He ends the call, turning back to me, and there’s something different in his eyes now.
Something urgent.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and he sounds like he means it. “I have to go.”
“Oh.” I try not to sound disappointed. “Everything okay?”
“It will be.” He hesitates for half a second, like he wants to say more—but doesn’t. “I’ll call you.”
There it is. The phrase I’ve heard too many times before.
“I—okay,” I say anyway.
Because what else am I supposed to say?
He steps closer, just enough that I can feel the heat of him, his gaze searching mine like he’s trying to make me understand something he’s not saying out loud.
“I mean it,” he says quietly. “I’ll call you.”
I nod, because what else can I do?