Chapter 2 Two

Tessa

Of all the people in the world, why him?

Julian Sinclair stood on the stairs like he owned the whole street. The bouncer's face had gone pale, and the hand that had been shoving me a second ago now hung stiffly at his side.

"Mr. Sinclair," the bouncer said quickly. "I didn't realize she was with you."

"Clearly."

Just one word, cool and flat, but the bouncer looked like he'd been slapped.

Julian came down the steps without hurrying. Not a single wrinkle on his suit. Meanwhile, I was dripping puddle water onto the pavement.

My cheeks burned.

'Say something. Tell him off.'

But before I could open my mouth, his eyes slid up to the dark sky.

"It might rain again tonight," he said calmly. "Heavy, from the look of it."

Then he looked straight at me.

He didn't say it out loud, but the message was clear. Stand out here and get soaked again, or come inside.

I hated how well it worked. My feet hurt. My stomach was empty. I had nowhere else to go.

"Let her in," Julian told the bouncer.

I walked past the man with my chin up and bumped his arm on purpose. Petty, maybe. But it felt good.

Inside, the bar was nothing like I had imagined. Dark wood, golden lights, soft music rolling through the room like smoke. The people in the leather booths looked like they had never worried about money in their lives.

A few glanced at me. Their eyes lingered on my clothes before sliding away.

Julian stopped at the edge of the bar and looked me over, one eyebrow rising.

"You're still in those clothes."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I gave you money. Enough to buy something decent. Yet here you are, still wearing mud."

The nerve of this man.

"You didn't give me anything," I snapped. "You threw it. Out of your window. Like I was a stray dog."

His expression didn't change.

"And I don't take money from arrogant men who toss cash at people and drive off. I'd rather wear mud."

Silence. A woman at the nearest table coughed into her drink.

Great. Now I'd insulted the owner of a bar I wasn't even supposed to be in.

I waited for him to throw me out.

Instead, something flickered in his dark eyes. Surprise, maybe. He looked at me like he was seeing me properly for the first time.

"Marla."

A young woman in a neat black uniform appeared so fast she must have been waiting.

"Take her upstairs. Get her something to change into."

He didn't say another word to me. He just walked off toward a group of men in suits, as if the matter was settled.

'Unbelievable.'

Marla led me up a curved staircase and pushed open a door at the end of the hall.

I stopped in the doorway.

It was a room built for a queen. Racks of dresses in every color. Shelves of shoes lined up like jewelry. A glass case of sparkling necklaces, and handbags that probably cost more than my whole building.

"This room is for our female guests," Marla said with a smile. "Mr. Sinclair owns most of the club, so he keeps it stocked. Take anything you like."

Of course he did.

I thought about Jordan's face. About the bouncer's hand on my shoulder. About the cash floating in that puddle.

Why should I feel guilty?

I picked a simple black silk dress, strappy heels, and a small clutch. Nothing flashy. I didn't want to look like I was trying to impress anyone. Especially not him.

When I stepped in front of the mirror, I barely recognized the girl looking back. The silk made my skin glow. Even the tired shadows under my eyes looked softer.

For the first time all day, I actually looked pretty.

My eyes stung, and I blinked fast.

'Don't. Not again.'

"How much do I owe for this?"

"Nothing, miss. Mr. Sinclair is covering your outfit, along with your food and drinks tonight. He said it was compensation for earlier."

Compensation. So he hadn't forgotten the incident.

Taking anything from him made my skin crawl. But my pride hadn't paid my rent, and it hadn't put food in my stomach either.

He owed me. Nearly hitting someone with a car had a price.

"Fine," I said. "Tell him thanks."

'Not that I mean it.'

Downstairs, I held the clutch in front of me like a shield. Julian stood near the bar, talking with an older man in a gray suit. As I came down the last step, his eyes flicked up and found me instantly.

A quiet sweep from my hair to my shoes and back again. His face gave away nothing.

Then he turned back to his conversation.

No comment. Not even a nod.

Good. I didn't want one anyway.

I slid onto a stool and ordered a gin and tonic. One sip, and I let my eyes close. Cold, sharp, a little bitter. Perfect.

For the first time all day, nobody was yelling at me.

"Beautiful women shouldn't drink alone."

A man had taken the stool beside mine. Middle-aged, with thinning hair combed carefully over his forehead and a tan that looked a little too orange. His watch was huge and shiny. His smile was bigger.

"Mark Schaffer."

"Tessa," I said, because I was raised to be polite.

"I'm in business," Mark went on, leaning closer. "Real estate, mostly. I know everyone worth knowing in this city. I have a place in Aspen, another in the Hamptons, and a forty-eight-foot yacht. You ever been on a yacht?"

"No."

"I'll take you sometime."

He winked.

Did he honestly think this would impress me? After the day I'd had?

"That sounds nice," I said, as politely as I could. "But I'm not looking for company tonight. Excuse me, I need the restroom."

I walked away before he could answer.

In the ladies' room, I braced my hands on the cold marble sink.

"Give it ten minutes. He'll get bored and bother someone else."

When I came back, Mark had moved to the far end of the bar. Good. But my gin and tonic was gone, and in its place the bartender set a tall red cocktail with a cherry on top.

"I didn't order this."

"It's from the gentleman. Mr. Schaffer already paid."

Mark raised his glass at me, grinning.

Ugh.

Refusing it meant a scene, and I couldn't handle one more scene today. A few sips to be polite, then I'd leave it on the bar.

I took one sip. Sweet and strong, with a faint taste of cherry. Not bad. I took another.

Everything seemed fine.

Until it wasn't.

A strange warmth crept up the back of my neck. The music grew too loud, and the lights above the bar stretched like melting candle wax.

"Okay," I muttered. "That's weird."

My fingers went numb against the glass. When I tried to stand, my legs wobbled and the whole room tilted sideways.

'No. No, no.'

I had barely finished one cocktail. That wasn't enough to make anyone feel like this.

Something was wrong.

"Whoa, easy there."

A hand closed around my arm. Mark's face hovered in front of mine, too close.

"You've had too much, sweetheart," he said loudly, for the people around us. "Don't worry, I've got you."

"Don't..." My tongue felt thick. "Don't touch..."

"She's a friend of mine," he told the bartender with a laugh. "I'll take her home."

I didn't know him. I didn't know him at all.

I tried to scream, but only a weak, broken sound came out. His arm wrapped around my waist and steered me toward the door, my feet dragging like they belonged to someone else.

'Somebody help me. Please.'

"Where do you think you're going?"

The voice came from right behind us. Low. Cold. Deadly calm.

Mark froze.

Julian stood between us and the door, and every person nearby had gone quiet.

"Mr. Sinclair," Mark said, his voice suddenly too bright. "Just helping this young lady home. She's had a bit too much to drink."

"Did you?" Julian's gaze dropped to the arm around my waist. Then he turned his eyes on me.

"Tessa. Do you know this man?"

It was the first time he'd said my name. I hadn't even told it to him.

I wanted to scream no. But my body was floating, and the words felt miles away.

So I shook my head. Slowly. Weakly. Once.

That was all it took.

The calm cracked on Julian's face, and what lay underneath was pure, controlled fury.

"Take your hand off her."

"Now, listen-"

"I won't say it twice."

His voice never rose. It didn't need to. Mark's fingers peeled away, and I swayed, nearly falling.

A strong arm caught me before I hit the floor.

Warm. Steady. That sharp, clean cologne.

"I've got you," Julian said quietly, close to my ear.

"Security." He never looked away from Mark. "Escort this man out. And find out what was in that drink."

Two large men appeared from nowhere. Mark's face turned a sickly gray.

"Do you know who I am?"

"I do," Julian said. "That's the problem."

The room spun, and the last thing I saw was Mark being dragged away.

After that, everything came in pieces.

Cool night air. A car door. Soft leather, and the low hum of an engine. My head rolled against something warm, a shoulder maybe.

"Stay with me," a voice said, far away. "What's your address?"

I knew that. I'd said it a thousand times.

"The green... past the bakery... fourth... no, fifth... there's a cat..."

A long pause. Then a quiet, frustrated breath.

"Change of plans. Take us to the hotel."

Everything felt warm and heavy, like sinking into a deep bed. I shifted, searching for something to lean on, and my cheek found his chest.

His heartbeat. Strong and steady. The first thing all day that felt solid.

I pressed closer, my nose brushing the warm skin of his neck, and breathed in.

He went completely still.

"Tessa," he said, his voice lower than before. "You're not well."

"Stay..."

The word slipped out before I knew I was saying it. Soft. Almost a plea.

****

His body stiffened. For a moment, he started to pull away, his hand lifting as if to push me back. Then it stopped, hovering in the air. His breath hitched.

His hand lowered and rested lightly against my back, as if he wasn't sure it was allowed there.

In the darkness of the car, Julian Sinclair looked down at the woman clinging to him. The one he had thrown money at only hours ago. The one with muddy hair and a sharp tongue.

She was soft and warm against him, and she smelled like rain.

And for the first time in a very long time, the man who had everything had no idea what to do.