Chapter 1

• The chandelier overhead sparkles as I step into the absolute bougiest bar I’ve ever seen. Gold crowning decorates the ceiling with red velvet spread out on the floor as if we’re on some sort of red carpet. I almost laugh at the absurdity of it.
• “Isn’t this place great?” Courtney asks, elbowing me gently.
• My eyes still wide in surprise, I simply nod. Sure. Sure it’s great. If overpaying for drinks with a bunch of rich people is your idea of a good time. Which, for a Friday night in Seattle, isn’t the worst way to spend your time. I’m just already dreading seeing what my bank statement will be after buying one or two drinks here.
• Besides, tonight we have something to celebrate, as Courtney had put it earlier. Although, even if we weren’t celebrating, I’m sure she still would have come up with some reason to go out. But I’m starting a new job tomorrow and that seems celebratory enough.
• I’m actually excited for it. It’s a personal assistant job to the CEO of King Technologies, one of the biggest companies in the Seattle area. I still can’t quite believe I got it. And it’s paying more than my previous personal assistant jobs paid, so I’m thrilled. Money’s been tight, especially after—
• “I had to pull so many strings to get us in here,” Courtney goes on, pulling me from my thoughts. “I’ve been wanting to come here for months!”
• I chuckle. Courtney’s always got a scheme up her sleeve. We met in college, and back then she was always the one who knew of the best parties, the best ways to get booze, and the best clubs in town. She was a real riot, and probably the main reason my college years were so fun. And now, just a few years later, she’s still the life of the party.
• Or, more accurately, the one who brings me to the parties. Because if it weren’t for her, sometimes I wonder if I’d ever have any fun at all.
• “How much are the drinks gonna cost here, Courtney?” I ask her quietly with a little laugh. “I can probably barely afford half of one.”
• She shoots me a look. “Olivia,” she says, drawing out the word as if it contains vastly more syllables. “You’re not going to be buying any drinks.”
• I furrow my brows in confusion.
• “That’s what all these rich men are here for.” She giggles, and before I have time to open my mouth and object to that worrisome statement, she grabs my hand and pulls me deeper into the bar. We make our way through the crowd of men dressed in suits and women in cocktail dresses.
• I suddenly feel woefully underdressed in my simple, black, cotton dress. I’d bought it at TJ Maxx for about eighteen dollars. Glancing at just a few of the women here, I’d guess their dresses are hundreds of dollars. The kind of price tag I’d only be willing to spend if the dress was for a wedding or something.
• Courtney blends in much better. Somehow, she always manages to look put together, effortless, and expensive. As if she belongs in these circles. Sometimes I wonder how much money she makes. It seems as if her job is always changing—and it’s always something weird too. She’ll brush off my inquiries, saying she’s in between jobs or starting some new, exciting opportunity. But then I never get any real answers.
• Regardless, she’s managed to at least make it look like her life is the greatest compared to everyone around her. It’s part of what makes her so alluring.
• There’s a dancefloor in the middle of the bar, and Courtney pulls us right into the middle of it, twirling me around and laughing. She sways her hips, and I already see a few guys glancing our way. Self-conscious, I simply bob to the music, not trying to draw an inordinate amount of attention. Most of it falls on Courtney anyway, so I manage to avoid most of the stares.
• After a few minutes, though, my tension dissolves and I start having more fun. The kind of fun I’m used to having around Courtney—throwing caution to the wind and just enjoying myself. We dance to the music, spinning each other around from time to time and laughing. Soon, though, a couple guys end up sidling up to Courtney and dancing with her as well, and eventually she chooses one and dances with him.
• I smirk, taking the opportunity to duck out of the dance floor and get a drink. I wade through the people and up to the bar. A line of glittering, probably expensive-as-hell liqueurs line glass shelves behind the bar, and a handful of bartenders, all dressed in black, are taking orders and making drinks.
• I catch the eye of one of them, and he leans toward me. “A whiskey sour,” I request.
• He nods and gets to making it.
• I turn away from the bar and glance across the crowded room. Couples sway together on the dancefloor, and groups of friends chat and laugh at tables and couches scattered around the perimeter. I take the opportunity to people watch. Where else do I get the chance to observe Seattle’s elite?
• The elite of the elite.
• God, I must stick out like a sore thumb here.
• I wonder if everyone can tell.
• Look at that girl over there wearing an eighteen-dollar TJ Maxx dress and ordering a drink with the cheapest whiskey the bartender has to offer.
• I smirk to myself. Whatever. It’s going to be a fun night regardless.
• I hear the bartender calling my attention, and I turn around to grab my drink. “How much?” I ask, pulling out my purse.
• “Twenty-two,” the bartender replies.
• I almost laugh out loud. Jesus. I guess it’s a one-drink night for me.
• “Put it on my tab,” I hear a deep voice say from beside me.
• I glance to the side, surprised. And when my eyes land on the man attached to the voice, my heart almost stops. Standing next to me is the absolute hottest man I have ever seen. Tall, dark hair, his eyes a piercing blue. He’s dressed in slacks and a cream button up, his sleeves rolled up just a few inches past his wrists. On one of those wrists sits a watch that I’m sure cost more than my car.
• I regain my senses and shoot him a perplexed look. “You don’t have to—” I start, but he waves away my concerns.
• “Let me buy you the drink,” he presses.
• I close my mouth and nod simply. I guess Courtney was right. If you’re a young woman in a bar like this, some rich guy will buy you a drink.
• I take the whiskey sour from the bartender and take a sip. “Thank you,” I say to the mystery man.
• He smiles, his blue eyes twinkling. “You’re welcome. So, you’re here alone?”
• I shake my head. “I came with a friend. She’s off dancing with someone.” I glance across the dancefloor, and it takes me a few minutes to spot her. I can’t tell if the man she’s currently entangled with is the same one from earlier. Either way, she’s having a blast and I’m not about to interrupt her.
• Besides, I might just end up having a fun night too.
• I shoot a surreptitious look along Mystery Man’s physique. Fuck, he’s hot.
• “What are you drinking?” he asks me.
• “A whiskey sour,” I respond.
• His eyes light up. “Whiskey,” he says. “A girl after my own heart.”
• I laugh, feeling butterflies dance in my stomach. “Yeah, I’ve always liked it.”
• He grins. “You know, I’d take a whiskey sour right about now.” He turns to the nearest bartender and orders himself one. In a few minutes, we have matching drinks in our hands.
• “So, what brought you and your friend here tonight?” he asks.
• I shrug. “She said she ‘pulled some strings’ to get us into this place so we had to check it out.” I make a show of looking around. “Seems exclusive,” I admit.
• He shrugs. “It kinda is.”
• I raise my eyebrows. “Oh, so you must be pretty fancy to so casually be hanging out here.” There’s a slight edge to my tone. I’m teasing him, and I want to see how he takes it.
• To my delight, he laughs. A dimple on either cheek appears, and I feel myself go weak in the knees. God, how is this man so hot?
• “Not fancy, just … connected,” he settles on.
• I smirk. “Connected, huh? That must be fun for you. Friends with all the rich Seattleites?”
• “Maybe Iama rich Seattleite.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me.
• “Oooh, even better.”
• The minutes tick by as Mystery Man and I continue our conversation. One whiskey sour turns into two, and I find myself enjoying my time more and more. I cast glances toward the dancefloor every so often just to check in on Courtney. She and the guy she was dancing with eventually move off to a couch on the sidelines, chatting and flirting away.
• And as much as I’d expected the crowd here to be stuck up and boring, Mystery Man is … kind of great. He’s funny, charming, and nice. I find myself leaning closer and closer to him, reaching out to touch him when I laugh.
• Suddenly I feel someone large bump into me from behind, and I tip forward from the impact. I hear loud, boisterous laughter, and I turn to see that I’ve also got spilled drink sprayed across the side of my dress. I huff. Good thing it’s already black.
• I move to get out of the way of this drunk asshole, but Mystery Man stands, moving beside me and sternly taking the shoulder of the man who’d bumped me.
• “Hey,” he says, his voice commanding. “Watch where you’re going.”
• The guy looks bewildered at the intrusion, glancing between me and him before sheepishly saying to me, “Sorry.”
• Mystery Man lets go of his arm and stares him down until he walks away.
• He turns back to me, shaking his head. “You okay? Did he spill his drink on you?” He glances over me.
• I shrug. “It’s no big deal.”
• He nods then stares at me for a long moment. Long enough that the butterflies in my stomach increase. He’s got this intense stare. A slow smile spreads across his face, and he looks slightly uncertain. “Would you wanna … get out of here?” he suggests.
• I grin. After the long conversation we’ve been having, I’d been hoping he’d eventually suggest that. “Yeah,” I say.
• His smile widens. “Then let’s go.”
• I quickly gather my purse, shoot off a text to Courtney letting her know I’d snagged a guy for the night—not an uncommon message from ei
• ther of us on a night out—and follow Mystery Man out of the bar.