Page 14 of Power

She bit her lip, fighting a smile. “Your intuition is awfully full of itself.”

“My intuition would also like to point out that we’re still blocking the door, and”—I nodded at the growing crowd trying to squeeze past us—“we can find a quiet corner, where you can tell me all about this list of yours.”

“And if I’m actually dangerous?”

I grinned. “Then this is going to be the most interesting drink I’ve ever bought.”

Her soft chuckle was worth every second of waiting. “You’re either very brave or very foolish.”

“I prefer optimistically reckless. Now, about that drink …”

Her eyes traveled to a woman emerging from the restroom, and when they met mine again, I could see something processing in her facial expression. Pretty sure she was debating taking me up on my offer, but after a few seconds, she flashed a smile that looked disappointed.

“Sorry. I’m here with a friend. It was … nice meeting you, Jace.”

After clearing her throat, she graced me with one final look before ambling away. My feet stayed frozen in place, my eyes glued to her delicate frame as she tore up the napkin and tossed its confetti-like pieces into the trash like evidence from a crime scene.

Which was when it struck me: For the first time in an eternity, work wasn’t consuming my thoughts. My mind wasn’t racing through acquisition strategies or market projections. It was entirely captivated by her. The smart play, the Lockwood business instinct that rarely steered me wrong, would be to let her walkaway. My life was already overflowing with complications, deadlines, and responsibilities. Adding a beautiful, intriguing stranger with a flair for creative revenge to that mix was the definition of a poor risk assessment.

But as I watched her weave through the crowd, something inside me shifted. Call it insanity, call it a desperate measure to avoid sabotaging this work deal by chasing this distraction, call it the worst decision of my life, but I knew with absolute certainty that if I let her walk away without finding a way to see her again, I’d regret it.

7

SCARLETT

“Holy smokes,” Dakota said, watching Jace amble to the end of the bar and toss his two fingers in the air to signal the bartender, the movement making his shirt pull across his broad shoulders. “Who’s the sex on stilts?”

“We should leave,” I announced.

“What?” She balked. “Why?”

“Because Sex on Stilts just read our secret revenge list, and I don’t care to be in the same room as someone who has evidence of my newfound evilness.” I tried to shrink behind my glass, which was particularly difficult, given that I could feel his gaze burning into me from across the room.

“You’re not evil.”

The hottest guy in human history thinks I’m evil.And I was being evil. Maybe I had a good reason to, but fantasizing over hurting someone? What lows had I sunk to, and why, why, why did Ear Sex/Sex on Stilts have to see it?

“And that little interaction you just had didn’t look like a guy repulsed by you.” Dakota’s eyebrows performed an elaborate dance of suggestion. “In fact …”

The bartender appeared in front of him with a fresh drink. Something amber in a glass with ice cubes, and then, to myhorror, Jace pointed in our direction. My pulse quickened as Sex on Stilts smiled (dear God, that smile) and pushed his credit card across the bar.

“He’s buying you a drink,” Dakota announced with unholy elation.

“How do you know it’s for me?”

“Because he hasn’t taken his eyes off you since I exited the bathroom. Trust me, I’ve been watching.”

Sure enough, the bartender approached us with two fresh drinks. “Compliments of the gentleman at the end of the bar.”

She gave me some sort of victorious smirk. I knew that smirk all too well; it was the one that appeared right before Dakota started plotting, and Dakota was nothing if not the queen of fun. It was one of the things I envied about her; she never took herself too seriously while I, on the other hand, liked to plan life out in multistep road maps.

“See? I told you! He bought you a drink, and he’s totally staring at you. Go over there,” she pressed.

“Did you not hear the part where he read the list?” I repeated. “You know, the one that included things likeshoving an ice pick into someone’s balls? Of course he’s staring at me. He probably thinks I’m a freak.”

“If he does, a freak is what he wants, based on the way he’s smoldering at you. You should go over there and talk to him.”

“That’s not going to happen.”