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“The meeting went as planned,” I say to the cocktail table as I pick up my tumbler and drink.

“You don’t have to fuck anything that?—”

I turn off my earpiece and don’t let her finish. The mission for tonight is done. I don’t need Gardenia playing my conscience in my ear the rest of the night.

“Mr. Archer, would you be dining with us?” A server appears in my line of sight and gestures to the bottle service.

“Not tonight, thank you. But I would like to buy the lady a drink.” I don’t even have to point at the woman at the bar, he knows who I mean—probably because every goddamn asshole in the room is eye-fucking her from a distance.

The thought puts all kinds of violent ideas in my head. I have no reason to feel protective of her. She isn’t even mine. And I don’t have time for something as complicated and mundane as a romance.

I glare at the security camera knowing full well Gardenia is watching me. A drink can’t hurt anyone, I tell myself as I amble toward the woman in the red dress. To my delight, she already has a crystal tumbler in her hand, and she’s regarding the bottle of Dalmore with appreciation in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she says with an air that almost implies “you’re welcome,” as if I said thank you to her and not the other way around. “Your friends left you.”

Her voice is angelic, hypnotic. And I can’t help but wonder if she comes to this bar alone often. She is too beautiful to be a coincidence. And then I remember Rex’s encouraging nod. I smile at my tumbler. Did Santino bring her here? For me? My cock flicks in painful anticipation.

“They did.” I meet her eyes and get lost in the golden specks mixed in with a few scattered green ones. This woman is pure perfection. And best of all she’s here for me. “And you? Where are your friends?”

“I have no friends.” She sips.

“I’m new in town.” I smile at her delicate features.

“I can tell.” She lets out a subtle laugh, a sweet sound that is musical and erotic. “You speak with a slight accent. Are you British?”

“American. I’ve been gone for a while.” I bite my tongue. This woman doesn’t need to know that I had to flee the States when I was eleven years old. That my mother hid me in a remote town in England until she felt it was safe for me to know the truth at the age of eighteen. “Come upstairs with me.” It’s not a request.

“Bring the bottle.” She slides off her barstool and stands to her full height. The top of her head barely reaches my chin.

She’s enchanting as she leans against me to whisper in my ear. “I only accept cash.”

“How much?” I ask without thinking. My cock is in enough agony as it is. I don’t have time to consider morality. I have never paid for sex before, but I need her now. And she’s willing. She’s fucking willing for a small price.

“Ten thousand.” She meets my gaze with so much angst in her golden eyes.

Her chest heaves as lust dilates her pupils. Jesus. I swallow and nod, unable to say the words that will make me the kind of desperate man who pays for a woman. I don’t give a shit in this moment, all I care about is getting a taste of her sweet cunt.

“We’re going to finish this upstairs,” I say to the bartender as I grab the bottle, not waiting for his response.

Placing my hand on her lower back, I usher her toward the grand staircase. A voice that’s not Gardenia’s, though it sounds very much like her, speaks softly in my head.

“You ought to be ashamed. You can’t fuck anything that bats her pretty eyelashes at you.”

I quickly retort with,“she’s not a thing. And she didn’t bat her eyelashes, she asked for money.”It’s comical and also freeing. Because come morning, I’ll have to let her go.

I make it to the elevator bay and hit the call button, while my thumb draws small circles on her exposed skin. She is soft and warm. And blushing. I glance at her as we step onto the elevator car. As soon as the doors slide closed, I turn to face her. I mean to devour her in a kiss. But she presses her small hand to my chest and halts me.

“What kind of man has ten thousand dollars in cash just lying around in his hotel room?” She smiles sweetly.

“The kind who likes to be prepared.” I run the back of my fingers down her cheek.

“Lucky us.” She takes the bottle from me and drinks from it. “You pay for women often?”

“You’re my first,” I confess.

The door dings open when we reach the top floor. I’m glad we didn’t start anything in the elevator. Something tells me that once I do, I’m not going to be done for a long while. I escort her to the end of the corridor to the corner penthouse suite. I have to believe she does this often. For one, she’s not afraid of me. And she isn’t concerned at all to be alone in a hotel room with a complete stranger.

“You visit this hotel a lot, Little Dove?” I scan my phone to the keypad and push the door open.