Chapter 9

9

L IZ

I touch up my makeup and run my fingers through my hair in the restroom before returning to the bar, my confidence soaring.

I'd lie if I said I didn't notice my flushed cheeks and burning eyes in the mirror as pheromones flew off my skin.

You can say anything about David Moore, but no matter how cold and difficult he is, he undeniably affects me.

I locate Keith, who looks at me with different eyes.

"Um… What happened?" he murmurs.

"Nothing," I say, suppressing a smile while glancing around the room.

A beefy man barks orders to a couple of employees not too far from us.

Keith notices the direction of my gaze.

"You want to leave?"

I spin to him.

"No. Not now. We've been invited upstairs. Do you want to come with me? They have food and drinks."

My words hardly register with him.

He watches my lips moving, zero attention going to my words.

"Yes, sure. If you say so," he murmurs when his phone lights up with a call, and he tips his gaze down. "Excuse me. I need to take this."

"Sure."

He answers the call, walking away from me and searching for a quiet area.

My eyes fly across the room, and my mouth falls open.

Is that…?

My stare dips as I notice Chloe's unmistakable outfit.

Oh, she looks pissed.

Instinctively, I slide my hand inside my purse and search for my phone.

Did she call me?

I find no notifications on my phone, which is odd, but there's no need for them since she moves quickly in my direction.

I wave at her.

She's already noticed me.

"What happened?"

"Uh…"

In her characteristic impetuous style, she pulls me to the bar without an explanation.

"I need a drink."

She gets her drink while I run my gaze over her body, trying to find an explanation for her unexpected return.

"Did he do something to you?" I ask when she slides her empty glass down and asks for a second drink.

"Oh. He is married…" I mutter.

"No."

She puts more alcohol in her body.

"We ran into his girlfriend outside. It didn't go well."

My heart sinks.

I take a seat next to her, forgetting about Keith and David.

"What?"

She nods, laughing hysterically, which only hints at her distress.

"Who does that?"

"Experienced men who think they can get away with it."

David comes to mind.

"Go on."

"There's nothing else to say," she mumbles, jerking her hand dismissively."They had a fight, and he insisted she wasn't his girlfriend, which annoyed me even more. Even if he had broken up with her, she was still very much in the picture."

"When did you run into her?"

"We walked out and headed to his car. She was waiting for him. I wanted to leave immediately, but he didn't let me do that."

I know Chloe. Nothing can keep her anywhere. Not even the strong grip of a man.

She must've really liked him if she stayed.

"So I stayed. I had to witness all their fucking drama. Eventually, she left, and then we argued, so here I am. I sent him away. I told him I couldn't make sense of that stupid situation, and he wouldn't be able to change my mind."

She pauses and looks at me.

"We haven't even slept together, and I'm in the middle of some domestic mess, which is not even my doing."

I slump against the bar, my elbow on the counter, my head prompted against my hand.

"What are you going to do?"

"Forget about him?"

I study her face, and something strikes me as weird.

We're doing all this ‘life stuff' when all we initially wanted was to have some fun tonight.

"You like him."

She flicks her gaze to me.

"Yes, I do. I wanted something different for a change. Different good, not different bad."

She seems defeated, and that is so not like her.

"I'll see how I feel about it tomorrow morning. I'm here another week. But I'll most likely give up on the idea of him. I don't have the time or disposition to deal with someone else's problems. If he's single, then he needs to be single. No woman would be as furious as she was if she hadn't been led on by a man."

I touch her hand.

"Listen, if it doesn't work out with him, you can always find someone like him."

A smile splits across her lips.

"As if that's easy to do."

"Speaking of that. Oh…"

My eyes move away from her as Keith heads my way.

"I'm sorry. It took me longer than I thought," he says. "I have to leave now. Are you still going upstairs?" he asks, and Chloe looks at me, waiting for my answer.

"I don't know about that. I need to be with my friend right now," I say, tilting my chin to Chloe.

"All right. It was nice meeting you," he murmurs before nodding his head and walking away.

"What was that all about?" she mutters, her eyes trailing him across the dance floor.

"Honestly, I'm not sure. It might be one of those situations you just dealt with. He seemed okay. Not okay to sleep with him, but okay as a friend."

I shrug.

"Things are misleading these days," I comment and pivot to the bar.

The bartender notices my hand held up and moves closer to take my order.

"A glass of water, please."

He walks away and brings my drink before I pay for the entire tab.

"What was he talking about?" Chloe asks when we're alone.

"What?"

"Your new friend. He said something about you going upstairs. Where were you supposed to go?"

I empty my glass and press a napkin against my lips.

"David Moore invited us to join him and his people for food and drinks upstairs."

A smile sprouts at the corner of her lips.

"Uh… What??"

I nod.

"Yes. He's upstairs, I think. He said a bouncer would take me there."

"Are you planning to go there?"

I ponder.

"No. I don't think so. The whole point was to take my ‘new friend' there. David wanted to see him. Don't ask. It's a long story. He is here with his date or girlfriend or whatever."

She laughs quietly.

"David Moore, you mean."

"Yes. Mm-hmm." I swallow hard. "So… What are we doing?"

"You are going upstairs," she says, fingering my chest.

"No way. I'm not going there alone. And no offense, I can't take you with me. It defeats the purpose. He wanted to see Keith because he thought Keith was my secret boyfriend."

"Only you, Liz. Only you… I've had enough drama for the night, so I'm calling a cab. But I'd go there if I were you. People-watching always works with writer's block. Besides…"

A puzzled look slides over her face.

"What?" I murmur.

"I find it strange," she says. "Men never do these things without a reason."

I shake my head in disbelief.

"What do you think it could be his reason?"

"I don't know…" She smiles naughtily. "Anything between six and eight inches. Sometimes even more."

I have no idea what she's talking about, and then I realize when she starts to chuckle.

I swat her shoulder playfully.

"Only you, Chloe… Only you. I wouldn't sleep with that man even if he were the last eight inches of hardness on the planet."

"I could argue with you on that topic till the crack of dawn. You have no idea what you're talking about but suit yourself. I'd still go. Eat good food, drink some wine, and be a princess. Ask him to take you home. Or have his driver do it. They love women like that."

LIZ

I dwell on it for a few good minutes before heeding her advice, and after a brief conversation with a bodyguard, I follow him to a large private area on the second floor.

The room is bigger than anticipated, with a sizable table in the middle. People indulge in food and drinks while I look around for the host.

David Moore talks to someone in the corner while the brunette occupies a seat near the end of the table, where he is supposed to sit, I imagine.

Frustration sweeps through me within seconds, and I realize this isn't for me.

Chloe made a compelling argument, but this experience is less enjoyable than I thought.

Without being noticed by anyone in the room, I spin around and make the trip back.

This time, I head straight to the exit, where I realize someone's on my tail.

A hand curls around my arm when I stop and turn around to meet his eyes.

Surprise doesn't even describe the storm lapping at my edges.

His hand falls away as quickly as it has made me stop.

"What happened to your man?" David asks, evidently outside of his comfort zone.

He's not used to chasing women around, not that this is much of a chase.

What should I tell him?

That I wanted to gag upstairs.

That drinking chamomile tea and watching the news on TV is more appealing than observing him and that woman?

"He had to go."

"Why did you change your mind?" he asks, more composed this time.

"You saw me?"

The pang of incredulity in my voice makes him smile.

He nods.

"You're hard to miss."

Mmm… Sultry ammunition at work.

"Flattering me won't get you far."

"Who said I want to get far with you?"

Cunning man.

I smile.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I say.

"Define this?"

"Trying to figure me out."

"What makes you say that?"

"Everything. You went out of your way for me. More than for anyone else, I suspect."

"You flatter yourself."

"I'm right."

He flashes a smile. I clearly am the itch he cannot scratch.

"That's me going out of my way?" he says, cocking an eyebrow.

"When was the last time you ran after a woman?"

"Never. And I didn't run after you. I wanted you to enjoy dinner and have some company. That's why I invited you and your friend upstairs."

A moment passes.

"I wasn't sure it was a good idea, but I went upstairs nonetheless. It was not a good idea after all."

"Why?"

His eyes glint with a smile, and I think it's time to come clean.

I pull closer to him and bring my finger to the lapel of his suit jacket.

"Because it wasn't… Besides, I know you, David Moore. The barista at the coffee shop told me who you were. It was rude that you wanted to buy me cookies and didn't even ask my name. You thought I was some random girl at the coffee shop. But we are more than two strangers. We belong to the same circle of people, and sooner or later, we'll run into each other again. And then, you'll know why it's not a good idea to befriend each other."

"You're interested in me," he says, ignoring what I just said.

"And so are you. That doesn't mean anything."

"Care to explain?" he says, an ounce of coldness threading through his voice.

"Listen, you have better things to do. Go back to your woman. I'll wait here for my cab."

"You don't need a cab. I'll have my driver take you home."

"No. We won't do that. One day, you'll know why."

"What about having a drink before you leave?"

My eyebrows go up.

He is relentless––I'll give him that.

Something flickers in his eyes.It's like my resistance only increases his determination.

"We'll have dinner and drinks. Only the two of us. And then, I'll arrange for you to get home," he says.

"I've had enough to drink for one night. And I ate earlier."

His stern look beams with impatience.

"What about your date?" I toss at him.

"Stop asking questions," he says humorously.

"I only go out with single men."

Breathing a chuckle, he takes my hand.

"We're not going out."

Which is neither here nor there, but I follow him inside.

He signals to a couple of people who go upstairs and do… I have no idea what.To my surprise, we're not following them.

Instead, we walk across the club, push through a side door, stroll down a long corridor, take a flight of stairs and an elevator, and enter what looks like the inside of a quiet hotel.

"Wait a minute. Where are you taking me?"

"To my place."

"For real?"

"Yes."

Something doesn't make sense, yet the electronic beep of a door cuts our conversation short.

He pushes it open before inviting me in.

I hesitate, and he looks at me, holding the door for me and quietly searching my eyes.

"It's drinks and dinner. I'm not going to force myself onto you," he announces in an icy voice.

"If you insist," I say and walk in.

Just as quickly, I pivot to him.

"Why is the table set for a dinner for two? Did you have plans with the other woman?"

He shoots me a scolding look before walking past me and pulling the chair for me.

"Questions… Questions," I murmur, no longer expecting an answer.

He removes his jacket and approaches the bar.

"What would you like to drink?" he asks, already pouring two fingers of bourbon for himself, his back turned to me.

He seemingly needs that drink more than I do.

"A glass of wine. White wine, please."

"Okay."

I slide into my seat and look around the spacious room.

Two walls of glass let in the view of the entire valley.

I've heard stories about these hotel rooms and the naughty things happening in them.

"I asked for dinner to be brought here when I trailed you to the front of the building."

My eyes go back to his broad shoulders and V-shaped torso, perfectly highlighted by his slim-fit dress shirt.

On his turf, his presence is even more overwhelming.

"You say you know me," he utters before returning to the table.

He holds my gaze as I mull over what to say next.

His eyes are distracting.

What can I possibly say?

That I'm a bit of a fan of how hard he likes to fuck, and how dirty he can be in bed?

It wouldn't be such a great conversation starter.

He hands me my wine and sips his hard liquor, standing, his eyes not leaving mine.

The wine is cold, and the aroma is light and enticing.

"I'm Thea Porter's cousin."

He's frozen for a second, struggling with the news. A frown creases his brow.

"Porter?"

"The future Mrs. Preston. Edward's wife."

If the news has stirred an ounce of surprise in him, he surely doesn't reveal it.

Calm and collected, he takes a seat across from me, not in a hurry to eat.

The room suddenly feels cold, his vacant stare floating over the table.

He seems unaffected, but now that I have learned more about him, I'd say the opposite has happened.

Let's say he's not enthralled with the news.

After all that buildup, the titillating back and forth igniting his imagination, he deals with an obnoxious stranger––me––and a crushing letdown.

I told him.

I tried to warn him.

"Are you coming to the wedding?" he murmurs, his dull voice confirming his displeasure with the news.

"Yes. You?"

I dip my eyes to the appetizers.

"Go on. Eat," he says.

All the fancy stuff has vanished, and now I'm just someone who needs to be fed. Or not.

Maybe he won't offer me a ride home either.

I doubt it, though.

More than ever, he needs to treat me like I'm one of them, even though I'm not.

Had it not been for Thea marrying up, David and I would've never seen the inside of this room.

"Are you?" I ask, lifting the platter and sliding a couple of eggplant rolls to my plate.

I'm suddenly hungry and not at all concerned with him.

The thing is, all these expectations going unfulfilled affect me as well.All that fantasizing about writing my book and needing some inspiration is beyond ridiculous.

What a joke.

"The rolls are good," I say around my food. "You're not hungry?" I murmur, gesturing with my fork at his empty plate.

His eyes shift from being blank to struggling to focus.

"Yeah… No. Eat," he says before downing his drink.

"Are we in a hurry?" I ask, noticing how quickly he's emptied his glass.

Maybe I need to fill my stomach and get lost as things go from bad to worse.

"No hurry," he says, preoccupied, before reaching inside his pocket and retrieving his phone.

His gaze dips as he slides his thumb over the screen to peruse the notifications.

And we're back to what has been more or less my normal dynamic with men.

They're always concerned with their phones as if they open a portal to a different world, and their silence is predictable and thicker than concrete.

"I can finish and leave. You don't need to keep me company," I say.

Not that this is too much company.

"How come I've never seen you before?" he says flatly––not accusatory but not particularly warmly either.

"Maybe you have never noticed me. You looked familiar at the coffee house that day, but I couldn't place you either."

He lifts his phone and does the most unusual thing.

He powers it off before sliding it onto a wall table nearby without showing it too much love.

That's unexpected.

"You probably didn't see me because I'm not a regular at James Sexton's house. We didn't have the opportunity to meet."

I run a napkin over my lips.

"You seem disappointed," I point out.

"I'm not."

His gaze trails down as he leans back in his seat.

"You're no longer interested in me," I add.

His neutral expression dissolves, and a smile tugs at his lips. A bit pensive and softer.

"What else do you know about me?" he asks.

"Everything that matters."

He rests his elbows on the table, his gaze pinned on me.

"I'm listening."

Slowly I finish chewing, suck in a long breath, and sag back in my seat.