Page 41 of Doomed

“Bianca! Michelle!” A voice calls from a corner booth. Jess from Michelle’s marketing team waves us over, surrounded by familiar faces from previous happy hours.

Michelle hugs everyone while I slide into the booth next to David, Michelle’s coworker, who always wears interesting socks and actually asks questions about my art that aren’t just polite conversation.

“I was hoping you’d come tonight,” he says, sliding a cocktail menu my way. His dark curls fall shy of his eyes, and his smile is warm without any hidden agenda. “Michelle mentioned you’ve been buried in commissions.”

“That’s one way to put it,” I reply, grateful for the simple interaction. “How’s the app launch going?”

David launches into a story about their latest disaster, complete with animated hand gestures that make me laugh. His knee occasionally brushes mine under the table. When he offers to get me a drink, his eyes linger on mine a beat longer than necessary.

David’s hand brushes mine as he passes me a gin and tonic, his eyes hopeful. He’s attractive, smart, and genuinely nice—everything Knox isn’t. I should feel a reaction, any reaction. A spark. A flutter. But there’s nothing.

“I’ve been meaning to ask if you’d like to grab coffee sometime,” David says, leaning closer. “Just the two of us.”

I open my mouth to respond when my phone vibrates on the table. Unknown number. Normally, I’d ignore it, but with several commission deadlines approaching, it could be a potential client.

“Sorry, I should take this,” I tell David, sliding out of the booth. “Hello?”

“You look good in burgundy, princess.”

My blood freezes. Knox.

“What do you want?” I whisper, moving away from the table.

“I want you to stop batting your eyelashes at that pathetic excuse for a man.” Knox’s voice drops lower. “Unless you want me to end his miserable existence and dump him in a ditch somewhere. I don’t share what’s mine, and you know I have a proclivity for violence.”

My heart pounds against my ribs. “I’m not yours.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” His laugh is soft. “Look around, Bianca. You won’t find me, but I can see everything.”

I scan the bar frantically, searching for that familiar smirk, those piercing eyes. Nothing. I’m surrounded by strangers enjoying their Saturday night, oblivious to the predator watching us.

“How did you even know where I am?” I hiss into the phone.

“I make it my business to know everything about you.” His voice softens, almost intimate. “Your dress clings to you perfectly, by the way. But I’d rather see it on my floor.”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe. But I’m also the only one who makes your pulse race like it is right now. Tell your friend you’re leaving. Now.”

I glance back at our table, where David watches me with concern, completely unaware that Knox Blackwood has marked him for death simply for buying me a drink.

“You have thirty seconds to make your excuses,” Knox says, his voice dropping to that dangerous tone that sends a chill down my spine. “Or I’ll come in there and drag you out myself. Your choice.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” I whisper, but the certainty in his voice tells me he absolutely would.

“Twenty seconds, princess. Test me.”

I glance back at our table, knowing that if Knox makes a scene here, David could get hurt for being near me. The thought makes me sick.

“Fine,” I hiss into the phone.

I press the phone against my chest, forcing a smile as I approach our table. Michelle raises an eyebrow, instantly sensing my unease.

“Everything okay?” she asks.

“It’s Elliot,” I lie, the words tasting bitter. “Emergency at the gallery. One of the installations is malfunctioning, and he needs me there right away.”

Michelle’s eyes narrow with suspicion. “On a Saturday night?”