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“Would you like a drink?” he politely asks, leaning in, his voice low.
“Martini, extra dirty,” I reply.
Anticipation brews as the bartender approaches.
“Extra dirty?” he questions, his smile widening as he settles into the seat beside me. “Myfavorite.”
He places our order and turns his attention back to me. His gaze is steady and full of intrigue.
“How was your week?” he asks, inhaling my sweet skin.
“I met up with a friend for a couple of drinks on Wednesday. Work was fine, and I even deep-cleaned my apartment. Adulting at its finest.”
I keep the struggle with my blog to myself, a secret too precious to share. No one can ever find out who’s behind LuxLeaks. Right now, only a handful of people know—Lexi, Weston, Easton, and Brody. They’d never snitch.
“Did you tell your friend about me?” he inquires just as our drinks are placed in front of us, their crystal glasses gleaming.
I smile. “Actually, I did.”
Weston wasn’t happy about it and rolled his eyes when I showed him Trever’s photos.
“Yeah? What didshesay?” he asks, arching a brow.
Presumptuous to think it was a woman. I’m not sure he’d want to know Weston said he looked like a fuckboy. I smile, remembering how I told him he’d know, considering he’s the president of the fuckboy team.
“I was given agood luck, but I don’t think we’ll need it,” I reply, taking a casual sip of my drink and popping an olive into my mouth. The salty flavor mixes deliciously with the gin.
“You’re right,” he whispers, his breath warm against my ear.
Then Trever wraps an arm around the back of my barstool. Iwantto feel something—anything. Even a teeny-tiny spark.
Could he be the man to finally give me that elusive big O? He’s confident, like he possesses the skills to take me to the edge. But then again, I thought that about many I’d given chances to in the past, and they failed.
“What about you?” I ask, shifting the focus back to him.
He sighs, a deep, weary sound. “Work this week was difficult. So tiring.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” I respond with genuine concern in my voice.
“After I cut our last date short, I’ve been working nonstop,” he continues, his gaze drifting like he’s recalling a distant memory. The investment project he’s involved in consumes him.
I glance around the room, absorbing the dreamy ambience, distracted from his business jargon. The atmosphere inspires intimate conversation, yet here we are, entangled in corporate chatter. With the right person, this place would be romantic.
“And the outrageous import fees …” he adds, his voice trailing off.
I watch Trever intently, nodding when I think it’s appropriate while realizing how deeply he’s obsessed with his job. Within fiveminutes, I confirm he’s not boyfriend material, but maybe he can move into the fling category.
The night isn’t over yet.
“This deal could redefine how the market views manufacturing,” he continues, his passion undeniable. “The payoff could behuge.” He emphasizes the last word, then finishes off his drink while signaling for another round.
He throws around phrases likeleverage,assets, andreturn on investmentwithout taking a single breath, his words flowing like an unending waterfall. I can hardly keep up, mainly because I don’t care that much.
After thirty minutes, he finally pauses, and I take the opportunity to excuse myself.
“I think I need to visit the ladies’ room.”
“Sure,” he replies, already distracted by his phone as I tap out.