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Chapter Three

Cassie

I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror of my apartment, the buzz of four—five?—martinis warming my blood and loosening my inhibitions.

The black dress I've pulled from my sad, almost bare, closet is nothing short of scandalous. It's a whisper of fabric that clings to every curve, with a neckline that plunges dangerously low and a hemline that barely qualifies as decent.

I've had it for months, and tonight, I finally get to wear it.

"This is your moment, Cassie," I tell my reflection, swiping on another layer of red lipstick. "You're a goddamn goddess. A hot, employable goddess." I pause, wobbling slightly in my stilettos. "Probably. Whatever."

My phone buzzes on the marble countertop.

Jax: Club Nova. VIP section. Dress code: Destroy me, baby.

I snort-laugh, nearly smudging my mascara.

Cassie: Challenge accepted, muscle man.

Another buzz.

Jax: Shit. Am I gonna survive this?

I grin at my reflection.

Cassie: Unlikely. Bring a defibrillator.

Jax: Perfect. Dying happy sounds like a solid plan.

I bite back a smile and set my phone down, heart thumping.

What even is this?

I don’t know much about Jax, other than the fact that he’s hot, mysterious, and somehow managed to get under my skin without telling me a damn thing about himself.

And that’s… kind of refreshing.

No job talk. No LinkedIn braggers. No “my ex was crazy” sob stories.

The martinis might have blurred the edges of my mind, but for now… I shake it off.

It's not important.

What's important is that for one night, I'm not Cassie Hawthorne, desperately out of work event planner and daughter of a big shot hockey CEO.

I'm just a woman in Vegas making questionable choices with a man who looks at me like I'm the jackpot.

Thirty minutes later, I step out of my Uber, the Las Vegas Strip a kaleidoscope of neon around me. Club Nova pulses loudly, its entrance flanked by velvet ropes and mountains disguised as security guards. The bass reverberates through the sidewalk, vibrating up through my heels.

I spot Jax immediately, standing with two other guys. They're all tall, all built like brick houses. Like hockey players, except… different.

As I approach, everything else fades into the background. Jax is taller than I remember, his handsome face kissed by flashing neon lights, that big, burly chest stretching a black button-down shirt.

I feel my stomach flutter as his smile lights up his face. It's lethal . He turns on the spot and those bright eyes lock on me like I’m the only thing worth watching.

I smile and then his jaw drops. Like, full-on cartoon-style drops.

His eyes travel slowly from my silver heels up my bare legs, lingering on the hem that barely covers my ass, then continuing their journey north. When he finally meets my gaze, his eyes have darkened enough to make my entire body heat.

"Holy shit," one of his friends—the taller one with dark hair—exclaims. "Is that your date?!"

Jax doesn't answer. He's too busy staring.

I approach with what I hope is feline grace, but of course, as is my luck… the universe bitch-slaps me mid-strut.

My heel snags on the edge of the last step up to the VIP entrance. My ankle wobbles, my knee buckles and the next thing I know, gravity is dragging me down.

I lurch forward with a panicked squeak audible even over the loud bass coming from the entrance of the club. My arms flail, my clutch slips from my hand and my fucking boobs bounce around like a complete disaster in motion.

But just as I'm about to complete the stunning dismount, Jax lunges, catching me before I face-plant. His arms wrap around my waist in a blur of muscle and reflex, yanking me upright just inches before my face could intimately meet the concrete.

I freeze, palms splayed across his chest, heart hammering like I just survived a mugging.

“Nope, we’re good,” I announce to no one in particular, breathless and slurring slightly. “Just… testing gravity. What do you know… it works!”

His hands are warm against my bare skin, steadying me as I find my balance. The contact sends electricity zipping up my spine.

"Cassie… You look..." Jax shakes his head, apparently lost for words despite my less than graceful arrival.

I grin up at him, feeling powerful, my near-tumble forgotten already. "Well, the fact that you're speechless is a good start."

He takes my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine. "Come on, trouble. Let's disappear."

The club explodes around me the second we step inside. Bass vibrates through my bones as Jax guides me past the velvet rope, his hand warm against my lower back.

"VIP," he mouths to the bouncer, who nods like they've met before.

Inside, the air tastes like sweat and expensive perfume. Laser lights slice through artificial smoke, catching on mirrored columns and sequined dresses. All around us, bodies move in slow, hypnotic waves. Dancing, grinding, glowing under blue neon and champagne mist.

I pause at the edge of the chaos, clutching Jax’s hand like it’s the only solid thing in the room.

He leans in close, lips grazing the shell of my ear. “You okay?”

“Are you kidding?” I yell over the music. “This is totally my vibe.”

Except it's not. Not even a little bit.

My vibe is rooftop lounges with acoustic music and cocktails that don't glow in the dark. My vibe is private events with celebrities who sign NDAs and drink fancy champagne with gold flecks floating around in the bubbles.

But I have six rejection emails in my inbox, way-too-many martinis in my bloodstream, and this gorgeous man is looking at me like I'm the only woman in Vegas worth seeing.

So no, this thumping bass that's making my teeth rattle isn't my vibe, but his fingers are laced through mine, and right now that's enough.

The floor tilts slightly beneath my heels, and I grip Jax's hand tighter.

"Drink?" Jax asks, lips brushing my ear.

I nod, already swaying to the beat. "Something that burns."

He grins, then guides me past the velvet ropes to a roped-off platform above the crowd, where a VIP booth glows under a spotlight of liquid gold. A bottle of Moet chills in a glass bucket, surrounded by half-empty tumblers, glowing sparklers, and two very loud men.

“Cassie, meet the bad influences,” Jax says, motioning to the two guys from outside.

“Donovan,” the blond one says with a wink. “And that grumpy bastard is Keller.”

“Cassie,” I say, dropping into the booth beside Jax, my leg brushing his. “Professional over-sharer and martini enthusiast.”

“She’s perfect,” Donovan announces. “Keller, marry her.”

“I don’t do weddings,” Keller grunts, then eyes the bottle. “But I do shots.”

With a click of his fingers, the waitress arrives in tight black spandex, balancing a tray that glitters under the club lights. Tequila, salt, lime—the universal language of bad decisions.

"Compliments of the manager," she shouts over the music, setting down shot glasses that catch the blue lights like tiny sapphires. "He says welcome to Nova, Mr. Holt."

I glance at Jax, who gives a casual nod like being recognized by club management is an everyday thing. Rich kid? Trust fund baby? He doesn't feel like that. Not with those rough hands and that working man energy.

But who the hell gets VIP treatment and free shots just for showing up?

"Salt first, then tequila, then lime," Donovan instructs me like I wasn't born knowing the ritual.

"I'm familiar with the process," I say, reaching for the salt shaker.

The room tilts like a slow-moving carousel, lights streaking across my vision as the martinis stir up a low, sweet hum in my bloodstream. Everything feels... floaty.

"Though I should warn you all that tequila makes me either dance on tables or speak fluent French. It's a coin toss."

"You speak French?" Jax asks, his thigh pressing against mine as he leans closer.

"Absolutely not." I laugh, enjoying the confusion on his face. "That's the fun part."

The waitress finishes lining up our shots, and Keller raises his glass.

"To Jax," he announces. "May your future be as bright as your—"

"To new friends," Jax cuts him off, his eyes finding mine.

Something passes between us… a current, a warning, a promise.

I lick the tender spot between my thumb and index finger, sprinkle salt over the dampness, and hold Jax's gaze. His eyes darken as he mirrors my movements, tongue sliding over his skin in a way that makes my stomach flip.

"To bad decisions," I counter, raising my glass. "May we make plenty tonight."

The tequila burns a path down my throat, and I bite into the lime without flinching. The tartness explodes across my tongue, chasing away the alcohol's fire.

Jax watches me, impressed, as Donovan whoops and Keller signals for another round.

"What?" I ask, setting down my glass. "Did you think I'd cough and sputter?"

Jax leans in, his lips brushing my ear. "I think there's a lot about you that would surprise me, Cassie."

"Dance with me," I demand, grabbing his hand.

The floor is a crush of bodies, but Jax creates space with his broad shoulders. We start with respectable distance between us, but the music has other ideas. Each beat pulls me closer until my back presses against his chest.

His hands find my hips, tentative at first, then more confident as I melt against him. I close my eyes, letting my body move against his, my ass grinding into him with delicious friction. His breath hitches against my neck.

"You're dangerous," he murmurs, fingers digging into my skin.

I turn to face him, draping my arms around his neck. "You have no idea."

The lights paint his face in flashes of blue and red. His pupils are blown wide, desire written across every inch of his features. I watch his throat bob as he swallows.

His breath tickles my ear, competing with the bass thumping through my veins. "I should be staying away from you."

"Why?" I laugh, pressing closer until I can feel his heartbeat against my palm. "What do you have to lose?"

Jax's expression shifts, something vulnerable flickering across his face. "My whole life."