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“I think I’m going to head home soon,” I call across the table to Angela. The words feel thick on my tongue, like my brain is moving half a beat slower than usual. I’m more drunk than I meant to be and the warm fuzziness has tipped into a spinning edge I don’t like.
She pouts dramatically. “Noooo, Lila. It’s your birthday drinks. You can’t leave yet!”
We had already celebrated my birthday last week, but decided to come out tonight to get some B-roll for an upcoming bar promo for the club, which happens to be one of Catalyst’s biggest clients.We’ll pretend it’s a night out and get some organic footage,Carter had said.
“I’ve got a headache,” I say.
“Give me twenty minutes, and you can crash at mine,” she offers.
I sigh, weighing the effort it would take to walk back to my single mattress in my tiny shoebox, compared to crashing in her king size bed at her parents’ place less than five minutes away.
“Fine. I need another drink then.”
She grins in victory as I pull myself upright and stumble slightly, catching myself on the edge of the booth.
I make my way to the bar, pushing through the crowd, focusing on keeping my balance. The bartender is swamped so I lean against the sleek countertop at the far end and dig my phone out, hoping that scrolling through Instagram will make the minutes pass faster. I’m midway through attempting to comment on a post when I feel the heat of someone brush against me. Too close. Too deliberate.
“Hey. Lila, right? Drew. From Meridian.”
I look up at him, taking a second too long to place the name. Then I remember – one of Meridian Capital’s ‘finance bros’ with over-gelled hair and cocky smirk. He had spent most of the meeting eyeing me up like a piece of candy. My stomach rolls.
“Hi,” I say, giving him a polite smile but looking over his shoulder for the bartender.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asks, leaning in a bit too close to my ear. He reeks of vodka and cheap body spray.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I say, returning my eyes back to my phone.
“Come on, why not? It’s just a drink.” His hand brushes my arm, and my entire body goes rigid.
“Sorry, I have a boyfriend,” I say, my eyes scanning the crowd for Carter or any sign of a familiar face. The bar has grown even more crowded, bodies pressed together three rows deep - a sea of strangers without a single recognizable face among them.
A sickening grin spreads across his face, making my skin crawl. “He’s not here now, is he?” His voice drops lower, more intimate. “So let me buy you a drink.”
“No. Thank you, but I’m good,” I say firmly, trying to push past him, but he blocks me with his body. His hands find my waist, and a sharp bite of bile rises up the back of my throat. The panic that spikes through me slices clean through the fog of alcohol.
“One drink.” His voice is insistent, edged with entitlement. “Come on. You look like you could use some fun.”
“I saidno,” I repeat, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands as I push him off me.
His expression shifts – that dangerous moment when rejection morphs from disappointment to anger. His jaw tightens and his eyes darken.
I tense, calculating my options.
Then, a shadow materialises behind him, a good six inches taller, with broad shoulders I recognise instinctively, blocking out the ambient light of the bar like a storm cloud.
“Pretty sure I heard her say no,” Marcus says, his hand clamping down on Drew’s shoulder. His tone is calm and firm – but the danger in it is unmistakable. His eyes pierce the smaller man with an icy coldness that sends a shiver downmyspine.
Fuck. Remind me never to get onhisbad side.
Drew’s eyes dart back and forth between us.
“Whatever,” he mutters, the bravado deflating. “She’s all yours,” he says as he turns and walks off. I swallow a lump in my throat.If only.
As he disappears into the crowd, I release a shaky breath, the tension in my body slowly uncoiling.
“Thank you,” I say, looking up at Marcus as our eyes meet.
“Are you alright?” he asks, his icy glare softening as he scans my face.