Page 3 of A Forbidden Arrangement

The bouncer’s wearing a suit and tie, but there’s something about it that’s a little less ballroom and a little more gangster. He steps back, letting me under the protection of the awning. His eyes drag down my body in one long, clinical sweep, and my stomach drops. My arms fold across my middle, like I can hide in plain sight.

His brows pinch, mouth flat. I shift back, bracing for him to shake his head and tell me to get lost.

Then his gaze lands on my face. Really lands. His expression eases, lines smoothing. My hair’s falling out of the bun I worked so hard on, and my eyes swollen. A wreck.

I start to turn away, a flush rising to my ears, but the door swings open. He tips his head toward the entrance.

I freeze. “Are…are you sure?”

His voice is flat but soft. “I’m about to be way less sure if you don’t move. You look like you need a drink. It’s late, and you shouldn’t be out there. Hell, I should be stuffing you in a cab and sending you anywhere else.”

I flinch at that because I have nowhere to go.

“Inside,” he says. “Before I change my mind.”

I slip by, but his arm shoots out, solid as a bar across my path.

“Don’t talk to anyone.”

The warning lands heavy. His chin flicks toward the lounge, and my stomach knots. Whatever’s waiting in there, I probably shouldn’t be walking straight into it.

I nod, letting him know I heard him, and force my mouth to curve upward. “I owe you one.”

“You remind me of my sister.”

It’s the only excuse he gives me, and I don’t wait for him to elaborate.

Shadows spill across leather chairs and polished wood. It feels expensive, exclusive. Businessmen sit back in tailored suits, cigars smoldering between their fingers, stunning women whispering in their ears.

It’s immediately obvious.

I don’t belong here.

I must stand there too long because the bartender’s waving me over.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

That’s putting it lightly. He’s on the younger side, a softness to his face that wasn’t present with the bouncer, but he’s holding himself in a way that says he belongs.

He takes pity on me and gestures to one of the barstools at the counter, a warmth taking over his face. “What can I get you?”

I hesitate for a moment, but the idea of turning around and fleeing is just one embarrassing moment too many for me to handle. So instead, I take my place, tucking my arms on my lap, fingers twisting together. I’m not much of a drinker, and there’s an awkward pause as I desperately search through the only ones I know, coming up short.

“How about this? If you trust me, I’ll make something just for you. All I need to know is if you like sweet or not.”

“Sweet, please.”

“I got you.” He turns his back to me, pulling bottles from the shelves, the way the bottles seem to dance in his hands showingjust how talented he is. I guess that’s a base requirement for working here.

The glass he places in front of me is tall, filled with a lavender bubbly liquid. I take a tentative sip and hum as the crisp bubbles mixed with a subtly sweet, fruity taste fill my mouth.

“Good, right?” He winks at me

“Really good.” I can’t help myself from taking a deeper drink, earning me one raised eyebrow. Without a hint of the taste of alcohol, I can already tell it has the potential to get me into trouble. But…isn’t that why I’m here?

“I’ll get you another…but don’t go too hard.”

This guy must be a few years younger than me but still manages to treat me like a kid. I’m half-impressed, half-despondent that I clearly appear hopeless.