Page 4

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Okay, so this bar was much harder to find than I previously assumed.

It makes sense why I've never been.

If I wanted a challenge to drink, I would call my mother to come stop me.

But walking around in circles to try and find an unmarked bar was not the way I wanted to spend my night.

Luckily, Kaia texted some of her friends more knowledgeable in the bar scene.

Even the low-key ones.

And in a matter of minutes, I was informed that the bar was in a bookstore.

Then I recalled a detail from the article.

Literature was something Dr. Leclair mentioned, so this all should've been obvious I guess.

But I also understand why she dropped the bar name so easily in a Forbes article—you can't find it unless you have a connection.

I let out a deep sigh as I walked into the old vintage bookstore.

The walls and shelves were made of mahogany wood with deep blue carpet spanning some of the wood floors.

Then the name came to me.

The Archive.

I think that has a relation to the bookstore.

Now I just need to figure out where to go, especially since the woman behind the desk is eyeing me very fucking suspiciously.

Probably because I look lost and she's never seen me before.

I assume this is a spot where everyone knows everyone, which is so not my scene.

I hate intimate places and gatherings.

I suddenly glanced down when my phone buzzed in my hand, opening Kaia's text immediately.

I immediately felt relief flow through me at the new information, now feeling a little less lost as I walked through the bookstore.

The red-haired woman behind the desk glanced up, her dark eyes narrowing as I passed,"Looking for something?" she asked me.

I awkwardly paused my walking, unsure if there was a wrong answer to her question.

"Just meeting a friend at The Archive," I said, hoping that was enough of an answer.

The woman studied me for a moment.

Until she nodded slowly, gesturing toward the back of the store,"Down the hall, last shelf on the right."

I nodded in return, thankful she didn't ask for more.

Moving quickly, my dark eyes traced every detail around me as I searched for an opening to the hallway.

It was deeper into the store than I expected.

Just as Kaia previously described, a bookshelf stood at the end, tucked at an angle.

It almost looked like it couldn't move, but the gold handle on the side gave it away.

I quickly wrapped my hand around the cold handle and pulled at it, feeling a slight resistance before it gave way with a soft click.

That's when I registered the camera above the door, the tiny red dot flickering green upon opening the door.

I furrowed my brows at the camera, determining that they must take this speakeasy thing seriously.

I slipped past the doorway, entering another long hallway as the heavy door fell shut behind me.

On the other side, the hidden door was painted the deepest color of cobalt with a typical door handle.

The wood floors in the hallway were lined with the same velvet cobalt carpet—expensive historic paintings lining the sleek wooden walls.

It was dim under the faintly lit chandeliers, following the hallway down toward the soft jazz music that got louder with each step.

The sleek bar was illuminated by a soft under glow, something I noticed immediately upon emerging from the hallway.

A small jazz band was off to the side, the overhead lights aimed at them and much brighter compared to the soft chandelier lighting.

There were bookshelves lining some of the walls, some of which I assumed were more fake given the environment.

The floors were purely wood and the velvet chairs were cobalt blue, matching the rug I previously walked down.

Above the bar lined with bottles was a neon-lit sign that read, The Archive, in blue elegant cursive.

It was filled slightly with people.

A few different groups of people sat over at the table area.

And then six people at the bar.

One who I recognized from my laptop screen.

Dr. Leclair was surprisingly here.

Or unsurprisingly since she quite literally mentioned this place was her go-to.

Still, her presence naturally made me smirk slightly, feeling like my plan was already off to a great start.

I found the feeling thrilling.

I just need to sit at the bar near her—I'll start with that, and then make the first move.

I suddenly stepped forward and casually walked over to the bar, refusing to look in her direction or anyone else's as I slipped my coat off and took my seat near her.

I purposely sat down right near her, only keeping a chair between us.

Even if there were at least ten open seats.

"What can I get started for you?" the man with brunette hair asked me, smiling warmly as he flashed his dimples.

"Just... a martini," I hesitantly said, unaccustomed to this atmosphere.

I would normally get a cosmopolitan or a shot, but for some reason, a martini felt more appropriate.

"One martini coming up," he politely said, backing away to get started on my drink.

I let out a soft sigh, getting comfortable in the plush velvet seat as I tried to keep my vision laser-focused on to bar in front of me.

But my eyes naturally wanted to wander to my left, curious as to what Dr. Leclair was doing so silently to herself.

Or if she has noticed my presence.

So I glanced over.

Very briefly.

At least until I noticed her attention placed on the glass in front of her, tracing the tip of her middle finger around the rim of her drink.

It was slow and calculated, her stare pinpointed precisely on the glass in deep thought.

That's when I got a closer look at her.

Her dark hair was down and cascading across her shoulders—with her bangs framing her sharp face.

She wore a white button-down with a black tie and a matching black pencil skirt, leaving her blazer draped over the back of the chair.

Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, displaying her silver watch and jewelry.

I couldn't get a good look at her face, only her sharpened side profile that looked to hold such a serious expression.

This is disappointing.

Not her appearance at least because I can't say she's not attractive.

It's more or less how boring she is at a bar.

At least I know what going out would consist of for her.

I definitely won't be mentioning any details regarding my club or bar hopping to her.

Then it'll be like hearing my mother 2.0.

"Your drink, ma'am," I heard the bartender suddenly call out, easily making her eyes snap up from her drink.

I glanced over to the waiter before I could locate where her stare was pinpointed, flashing him my signature smile as I took the drink from him.

I wasn't satisfied with my drink choice, but I took a short sip of it anyway.

Then I subtly glanced back over, wondering where her focus was now.

This time it wasn't placed on her drink, but instead her phone buzzing rapidly with a call she seemed to watch ring through.

Until she calmly reached over, rolling her shoulders back as she slid her thumb across the lock screen and pressed the phone to her ear.

"Sienna," she calmly spoke, her soft voice sending ripples of goosebumps down my spine.

Which naturally made my grip tighten around my glass, pushing the annoying sensation away.

She has a very nice voice—one that gives away her profession.

"It's after hours," Dr. Leclair spoke, her voice low and unnervingly smooth, now tracing the rim of her glass again, but this time with her index finger, "Your job will still be there tomorrow. You should go home."

I remained silent, slowly casting my stare forward as I unconsciously listened to her phone call.

Even if she was silent for a few moments.

"Sienna," she spoke again, her voice effortlessly calm among the light jazz music and soft chatter, "Go home. That's not a suggestion," she repeated her previous words, but this time it sounded like there was no room for whoever this Sienna was to disagree.

She must be a friend or possibly someone Dr. Leclair works with.

"Have a good evening," I heard her say, listening to her smooth voice so prominently despite the other noises around me.

It was nice.

Her voice, I mean.

And I've never fucking thought that about anyone.

I subtly glanced over, noticing that she was silent again.

She was long off the previous call, her phone sitting back on the white marble bar top as she eyed her untouched drink.

Until her eyes shifted over—

And met mine.

I quickly looked away, hoping she would believe I was only scanning the room.

But I could feel her stare like a physical weight on the side of my face, the heat of it sinking in around me.

She didn't think I was just looking around.

No.

She knew I was staring at her.

"Do I know you from somewhere?"

I suddenly glanced back over to her, meeting her deep blue eyes.

I unconsciously stared at her for a moment, caught off guard by the directness of her gaze.

"You wish you did," I smoothly responded, even if I contemplated the idea that she had a reference picture of me already added to my file.

Fuck.

Does she?

If she does then this plan is shit.

"Maybe I look familiar," Dr. Leclair said, snapping me from my rampant thoughts, and making my body surge with nerves at her words, "Otherwise, you wouldn't be staring so openly."

I blinked a few times, realizing she didn't know me from anywhere.

There wasn't a picture of me with my file.

She's just being fucking sarcastic.

I hate it.

"I couldn't help myself," I decided to say, meeting her dark blue eyes already pinned on me, "You look very lonely at this bar," I added, my lips twitching up as I eyed her face.

And if she was affected by my words, she didn't show it.

Her expression remained neutral, making me wonder if I had lost my fucking game.

This has never happened before.

"I prefer solidarity," she said, tilting her head just enough to look curious, "I haven't seen you here before."

I raised a brow, "Oh is this your bar?" I asked, throwing her sarcasm right back at her, "I didn't know they kept tabs on who comes and goes."

I unconsciously glanced down, noticing the subtle edges of her plump lips twitch up in a smile so small that I thought I hallucinated it.

"It seems you keep tabs," Dr. Leclair said, taking a brief sip of her drink.

I tilted my head in confusion, even if her words were annoyingly spot on.

Maybe she does know me?

"Why are you sitting here?" Dr. Leclair asked, swallowing the sip she took as I naturally glanced down at her neck, eyeing the way it shifted as she swallowed, "There are plenty of other seats. What made you choose this one?"

I shrugged, "You have a pretty face," I murmured, my lips twitching up slightly as my face burned.

Suddenly this feels really real.

More real than I had previously imagined.

"How old are you?" she asked me, her blue eyes locked on me as she shifted in her chair and faced me a little better.

I dramatically parted my lips, "You never ask a lady her age," I said, pretending to be offended by her question.

"A lady?" Dr. Leclair repeated back to me, the words sounding much more elegant from her lips, "In that dress?"

I raised a brow, "What's wrong with my dress?" I asked her, entirely amused by her previous words.

Dr. Leclair lazily shook her head one time, "I never said anything was wrong," she corrected me, eyeing my face before her stare inevitably dipped down to my body for the first time during our conversation.

The shift in her attention made a strange knot tighten in my stomach, but I don't know why.

I never get fucking nervous.

"We can agree it's suited for a more private setting," Dr. Leclair suddenly said, her light eyes shifting up to meet mine.

My lips twitched up, "Maybe we should see," I suddenly offered before I could think it through, now taking this a step forward, but maybe she would be a good fuck, "Take me to a private setting."

Dr. Leclair hummed, rolling her lips into an amused smile.

It was effortlessly attractive, her lips now capturing my attention.

Maybe this could be a win-win for me?

I fuck her and then bye-bye therapy.

It would be prettyungrateful of me to pass up a good fuck right?

"That's the best you can do?" Dr. Leclair suddenly asked me, making my satisfaction slowly recede away, "You act your age."

Who the hell does she think she is?

I scoffed at her words, taking a weird offense from them, "You don't even know my age," I pointed out, narrowing my eyes at her, "I doubt you're any smoother than me."

Dr. Leclair lazily raised her brows, and I couldn't tell where her thoughts were.

If she was challenged by my words or agreed.

Her face didn't give anything away.

It was almost like a poker face she had perfected.

"I could have you in the bathroom right now if I wanted," Dr. Leclair suddenly said, lifting her drink for a sip, "It's a single occupancy and the sink is low enough."

I clenched my jaw, feeling a warmth strike my lower stomach at her words.

It felt like I was being tugged back and forth.

Does she irritate me?

Or do I want to fuck her?

Probably both.

"Then let's go," I suddenly said, my voice unnaturally lowered.

I think her words genuinely caught me off guard.

That's the last thing I expected her to say to me.

"You think that's how this works?" Dr. Leclair asked me, setting her glass down with a soft clink, "You don't have any authority here."

I felt my face burn at her words, unaccustomed to anyone talking to me this way.

Especially a woman who I was currently flirting with.

They give in much fucking easier than this.

"You know what I really think?" I spoke, twisting her words back to her, "I think you talk a lot for someone who claims they could have me in the bathroom right now," I decided to say, purposely challenging her ego.

In this situation, she would at least attempt to prove her point.

But Dr. Leclair didn't move an inch and her expression is undoubtedly neutral.

She's officially back to irritating me.

"I think you're looking for a reaction that you're notgoing to get," she said, unsurprisingly ten steps ahead of my plan to challenge her ego.

I forget she's a fucking therapist.

I can't even hide that she's starting to get under my skin.

I'm severely unaccustomed to not getting my way.

"Is that a challenge?" I suddenly said, deciding I could get a reaction from her if it meant proving a point.

"It's a statement," Dr. Leclair corrected me, her expression calm, almost looking bored now, "You're what? In your early twenties? You think pouting and throwing out challenges makes you intimidating?"

I rolled my eyes, "Yeah, I don'tfucking pout," I quickly argued her point.

Sometimes I pout, but this is notme pouting.

Dr. Leclair's head tilted slightly, her expression unreadable, "Language," she corrected me, her voice smooth but carrying a sudden edge of authority.

I blinked a few times, "What?" I said, finding her correction unnecessary.

She didn't repeat herself.

She honestly didn't need to—I heard her.

Instead, she just stared at me, not speaking another word.

"You don't like cussing?" I decided to ask her, amusement creeping into my tone.

"No," she said blankly, now lifting her glass again to her lips.

I definitely didn't expect that one.

I rolled my eyes, "I'm sure you cuss sometimes," I said, knowing that everyone did.

Whether it was when they stubbed their toe or missed an appointment.

Dr. Leclair took a longer sip of her drink before saying—

"No."

That was it.

There was no explanation.

No irritation.

Just a single, blunt response.

And that somehow irritated me more than anything else she could've said.

I decided to lift my glass to my lips for a small sip given I hate the taste of this martini, "Well, I hate to break it to you, but I cuss a lot," I said, holding her stare.

Her eyes flickered with something unreadable, "I can tell," she said dryly, clearly disapproving of my habit.

I remained silent for a moment, feeling the shift our conversation had taken.

Her body language felt closed off, like one fucking cuss word had irritated her to a degree that she didn't even want to talk to me.

Whatever.

I don't even care.

Really.

I mean, it's not like she technically rejected me.

I let out a deep sigh, rolling my shoulders back as I decided to slide down from my chair.

It's clear I should leave before I lose this all to her.

At least right now, my ego is still intact.

I also flirted with her and got her to somewhat flirt back I think.

That's all that truly matters.

"Enjoy your solitude," I purposely said, matching her previous bored tone as I reached for my wallet to pay for my drink.

She only hummed in acknowledgment as I motioned the bartender over, slipping my card from my wallet.

"Maybe you'll find someone else to fuck in that bathroom," I decided to add, my tone now petty as the bartender approached me to politely take my card from me.

Dr. Leclair's lips twitched up, but barely enough to fully notice—refusing to give away where her head was.

"Maybe someone with a mouth as pretty as her face," Dr. Leclair said, finally saying a full sentence to me after being purposefully dry.

"My mouth is prettier when it's between your legs," I shot back, narrowing my dark eyes at her, "It's a fucking shame you won't be able to witness it," I purposely said, cussing again just to piss her off.

Because now she's officially pissed me off.

Dr. Leclair suddenly exhaled through her nose, the closest thing to amusement I'd seen from her so far.

"Your mouth would be far from pretty if I had a choice in the matter," she corrected me, her eyes burning into mine as she gauged my reaction to her bold words.

I could feel my face burn, but I refused to give her a reaction, "Now do us both a favor and put it to better use than childish arguments."

I drew in a deep breath.

Not because I was flustered or speechless.

Well, maybe a little.

Fuck.

But also because she's so irritating.

How she managed to find the upper hand is just fucking irritating, I cannot.

"Have a good night," the bartender suddenly said as he approached me, handing my card and receipt back to me.

I clenched my jaw, nodding once as I calmly took my card and the receipt from him.

My irritation was at an all-time high—almost as close as my mother could possibly push me.

I would throw a literal fit if I weren't in public at the moment.

I let out a deep sigh, hoping to regain my composure as I slipped my baby pink Chanel card holder away in my coat pocket—which was draped across my chair.

I grabbed my coat, silently pulling it back on as I watched Dr. Leclair calmly stare forward and away from me.

It was like I wasn't here at all.

Not on my fucking watch.

I'll win this one and leave her more irritated than me for nights to come.

I suddenly stepped toward her, naturally making her head turn slightly—her blue eyes locking with mine as I leaned into her.

That's when it hit me.

Her scent.

There was a sweetness to it—almost like soft velvety honey.

Until whatever perfume she was wearing hit me.

It was intense, darker, and less sweeter than the honey that had filtered in around me.

I naturally drew in a deep breath to inhale the scent around me, desperately trying to center my thoughts.

But her warm breath fanning across my exposed ear was not fucking helping me right now.

Why did she make this so complicated?

We could've fucked... a few times maybe.

Now I'll see her in therapy and that'll be the end of this.

No sweet reward andno fun.

"Fuck you," I suddenly whispered in her ear, clenching my jaw as I forced myself to lean away from her.

"You already tried," she responded with no hesitation, still holding the fucking upper hand.

It was enough to make me roll my eyes.

"Have fun pretending I'm not the best thing that happened to you tonight," I said with a sweet mocking tone, walking past her before she could possibly say anything else and have the last word.

Fuck.

She's more interesting than I originally thought, yes, but she's also a bitch.

One that I'm happy won't be my therapist.

I'll do everything in my power to ensure that now.