Page 8 of Intoxicating Pursuit

“Thanks, Oscar. Appreciate the heads up.” He looked down at his lame ankle, grimacing. There would be no quick escape from anyone tonight. He seemed to make peace with it, though. Security presence at the bar was strong.

A few minutes later, a commotion broke out near the elevator.

Raised voices and scuffling disrupted the otherwise peaceful night, and I swiveled to see what was causing the chaos.

A woman with slick blonde hair, a perfectly made-up face, and a petite, Hollywood-groomed body flailed her wrists and shoulders in a useless fight against the security team.

She must have seen me staring, because her wild, livid eyes latched onto me as uniformed men hustled her back into the elevator.

I couldn’t hear what she was shouting, but I doubted the words flying from her mouth were compliments. Yikes.

I looked at Gabe, a question undoubtedly on my face. He glanced over his shoulder, then returned his gaze to me. “Sorry about that. Sometimes, weird things—and weird people—come with a public life.” He shrugged.

“I bet.” I tried to sound casual, as though it were normal to have angry women following you around. “Who is she?”

“Someone trying to make it in the entertainment industry. She had a hit song, and now she has a role on one of those documentary shows, where they highlight the tourist stops in various towns.” He sipped his drink and looked toward the river.

“She dated our bassist, T.J., earlier this year and was backstage a lot, but she started acting really inappropriate. Showing up in my dressing room sort of. . . undressed. Not wanting to take no for an answer. That crap can rip a band apart, so I didn’t appreciate it, and T.J.

definitely didn’t. He broke up with her, banned her from backstage, the buses, the hotels.

He was just done with her, but evidently, she’s not quite done with us. ”

He tsked, clearly annoyed. “And for extra fun, her TV schedule means she can show up in any city, anytime. Plus, her erratic behavior attracts paparazzi, which is something we haven’t really had to deal with much before. She’s a bit of a problem, honestly.”

I nodded my head softly, looking into the fire. What a strange reality he lives in. I glanced back his way. “It’s wild that you have to deal with that.”

“Eh. I’m ridiculously lucky in most every way.

” He laid his head back against the cushions.

Closing his eyes, he seemed to just breathe the warm night air.

Maybe the oversized glasses of wine were softening his evening, too.

After a minute, he tilted his head lazily in my direction.

“Actually, Sammy, can I ask you a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Today in the woods. Tonight at the hotel. All of it. I’d appreciate your discretion.

There’s a lot of great things about my life, but there are challenges too, obviously.

” He took another swallow of wine, then looked me in the eye.

“Like, sometimes, I can’t do anything normal or talk to anyone outside the industry without it going viral.

Makes it hard to have a life.” He shifted around on the cushions again, resettling his air cast on the edge of the fire pit.

“So, I guess I’m asking if our connection can remain private and not make its way online?

” He absentmindedly stroked strands of my hair again, holding my gaze. “Wish I didn’t have to ask you that.”

But really, it was a tiny request. I used social media for the breweries but almost never in my personal life. “No, that’s fine. It’s good to know how important it is to you.” After a moment, I added quietly, “And for the record, I haven’t told a soul we crossed paths.”

A wicked grin crept across his face, and his eyebrows arched skyward. “So, I could take you away and ravish you, and no one would know it was me?”

“Yeah, don't push it. I’ve got pepper spray, remember?”

Gabe laughed, and we continued to relax and sip. The firelight danced, glowing in the coals and reflecting in a million shapes and shades off the hammered copper table.

“You know, I’ve got another question for you.

” He looked around. “This rooftop bar. . . We come up here each night, and I never want to leave. Your patio? It’s like heaven.

I could have moved right in. I’ve got a business in North Carolina, though, a little farm-to-table place.

It has a big wrap-around porch, and we tried to build a pretty outdoor space, but people don’t seem to make the drive from town as often as we’d expected.

Plus, they don’t stick around for dessert and coffee and extra drinks.

I can’t figure out what the secret sauce is, design-wise.

I mean, why do I want to curl up and move in at your place?

Why do I want to sit under the stars at this one?

And why, at mine, do folks leave before we expect them to? ”

“Hmm. That’s a complex question.” I took a moment to gather my thoughts.

“First, I think you have to reverse engineer the whole thing. Think about what you want people to feel, what their needs are, what you’re trying to accomplish.

For example, Forbidden Brews has always been about friends gathering in a beautiful setting for a great time—and of course, fantastic beer.

So, we built it for that, with all the nooks and crannies for small groups to reconnect, the open spaces for large parties, and the games for people who want to be active or maybe meet someone new.

” I looked around critically, taking in the details of the rooftop.

“This place, in contrast, seems like it’s all about luxury, and it looks like it was designed to host travelers and business groups.

It’s wide open—so there’s no sense of privacy, but that can be nice when folks don’t know each other, don’t have anyone to gather with.

Think of the proverbial restaurant bar. You can be all by yourself but still feel like you’re having dinner with people.

It also can be good when you have an event where everyone’s supposed to mingle.

The finishes here are also very high-end.

I think they want people to know their luxury room price comes with upscale amenities.

I’d say the only real miss is having a walk-up bar instead of waitstaff.

If people have to serve themselves, they won’t consume as much. ”

He looked at me incredulously. “How do you see all that so quickly?”

I shrugged. “The same way you probably pick up new music as soon as you hear it. You’ve spent an entire career doing it.

Plus, when I did my MBA, they talked about customer experience and business design.

So, it’s something I’ve always watched for.

And of course, we’ve consulted with really smart people.

No one figures out everything on their own. ”

He nodded. “You know, you’re so good at this, Sammy.

Is there any chance you’d be willing to come down and look at La Fermata with me sometime.

. . the farm-to-table place? We were hoping to invest in the outdoor space this fall, and I think your perspective would be really valuable.

We hired a design team, but after the first time, I’m not sure I trust them to get it right. ”

The wine spoke before I could think. “I would absolutely love to see it.” I was drunk on the magic of the night, the scrumptious Rioja, and this exquisite man. How could I not want to see something he created? How could I not want to see him again?

“That would be great. You have Charlie’s number, right? Can I have him reach out?”

“Of course.” I laid my head back again, the muscle of his forearm my impromptu pillow.

He looked over at me, heat in his eyes. I couldn’t help but return the smolder—it was so intoxicating to be near him.

His brows gathered in thought.

“Sammy, you know, I should have asked earlier. That man who burst in the side door today? He seemed pretty ticked off. What’s your relationship to him?”

“Ugh.” I shook my head, disgusted. “That was my partner, Marco. He was really rude, and the whole thing was my fault. I’m sorry about that.”

“No need. I don’t blame him.” He scratched his jaw. “Have you been together long?”

“We started the business about eighteen years ago. He had a great product but no capital to expand, and I was sort of the opposite. Flush with cash from a Silicon Valley job right out of college and looking for an investment—a way to lay down roots in Philly again. By the time I figured out I was pregnant, it just seemed like the only thing to do.”

I paused and watched the firelight flicker. The second glass of Rioja had me shimmering from head to toe, and the proximity of Gabe’s warm body was almost more than I could stand.

A last ounce of wine swayed in the bottom of his glass, and he drained it. Then he stood up slowly, propping himself on his crutch. He found my gaze and held it with a long, sultry look. “I think it’s time for bed. Come on, Sammy.”

He extended his free hand to me, and my world stopped.

I stared at his outstretched palm, which was broad, strong, and rough from a lifetime of playing guitar. My heart stuttered. Every nerve in my body stood on end, and the wine-softened city lights filled the background with twinkling light.

If I took his hand, I’d be breaking every rule I ever had: No out-of-towners. Never leave with someone from the bar. Only serious relationships.

Adrenaline coursed through my body, and a light tremble worked its way through my muscles. I took the last swig of my wine, set down the glass, and reached for his hand.

Rules be damned.

He steadied me as I stood. The amber glow of the firelight danced on his skin and reflected in his enigmatic eyes, which drank me in. His deep husky voice swept over me. “Let’s get you home,” he breathed. “Charlie can take you anywhere.”

He squeezed my hand, released it, and hobbled back toward the elevators alone.

What?

I stared as he made his exit.

Maybe I should have followed him, but I just couldn’t. I looked around at the bar, taking in the fuzzy lights and the people still talking and mingling under the dark sky as though nothing were wrong.

Did I misread everything? Could I feel like a bigger fool ? Shame burned hot in my cheeks.

Then a flash of anger rose in me. Was this all just a game to him? When he walked away from me at the brewery, it made sense. His ride had arrived, and he needed medical help. But now? Was he just trying to prove he could sleep with me if he wanted to?

Flustered, I grabbed the t-shirt and book, tossed them in the gift bag, and picked up the pepper spray. I wandered among the sea of strangers, before eventually finding Charlie. I explained where I needed to go, and he led me to the elevators.

Just before we stepped aboard, I threw the pepper spray deep into my purse, where it landed near a rip in the lining.

Over the coming days, it would slowly lodge itself between the silky fabric and the leather exterior of the purse, becoming all but unreachable.

I would never think about it again—until it was far too late.