Hannah

HANNAH

"DON'T GIVE ME THAT FACE." Sterling runs a finger down my arm.

I jerk away, feeling as if a bucket of ice water dumps over my head.

"I'm not giving you anything."

The music blares, and our table is busier than ever. No one pays us any

attention. Each person is drunker or higher than the next, dancing or fondling one another in the dimly lit alcove.

"But you are," he coos, removing his mask and revealing the strong, porcelain features beneath. Amusement dances in his eyes. "I think I'm feeling some moisture on my knees."

"You're disgusting." I shoot to my feet, looking around for my shoes. "You think this is some kind of game? It's not. We're done."

I snatch my short heels before I plot my behind on the cushioned seat, avoiding his gaze.

"Stop being so overdramatic. What you saw—you know I can explain if you'd actually let me."

Anger pumps through me, and I shove my foot into my shoe roughly. "I'm overdramatic? Okay. Well, you're delusional. Delusional that you think there's any explanation at all that would fix the fact that you cheated. on. me."

When I burst back to my feet, so does he.

I make to storm off, but he grabs my arm and squeezes hard. "You're the one playing games, babe. Don't pretend you didn't take what you saw as an opportunity to make me chase after you. It's what all girls like you do."

What?

 He's so twisted, so fucked up in the head. As if I'm some mastermind after his money. I couldn't care less about his money or his company. I don't want anything to do with him or his family, not that he cared enough to introduce us or tell me anything about them.

I hate the tears that well up in my eyes as a month-old memory floods into my mind.

He sits at my apartment's dining room table, his blond hair slicked straight back, wearing sporty shorts and a T-shirt.

I told him earlier at the office that we should go to dinner tonight. He had nodded like always, nose deep in his phone, looking at something I couldn't see as he informed me his dry cleaning was ready for pickup.

Sometimes being my boyfriend's personal assistant leaves a sour taste in my mouth, especially when his tasks feel so demeaning.

Dry cleaning. Tidying up his apartment. I know it comes with the job title, but I've never once sat in on his meetings, which is the only reason I took this job before we started dating—to learn how a large-scale business is run, from close up.

I sigh.

We're clearly not going out together. Nothing new there. I don't know why I got my hopes up. We'll stay here, pretend to watch some movie and then fuck. It wouldn't be all bad if our sex wasn't so one-sided.

I lean against the kitchen counter. "So, are we not going out to dinner?" I'm wearing my most form-fitting dress, and he's not even looking at me.

He finishes sending whatever text he's working on. "Oh." His eyes meet mine. "I didn't know we had plans."

My heart sinks.

When did he stop noticing me in the office? When did I become so invisible to him?

"I asked you today. You agreed." My voice is nearly a whisper. I turn away, fighting back the tears threatening to surface. "Are we not... serious?"

"Of course, we're serious, babe." His body presses against me from behind, his arms looping around my center. "I'm under so much stress at work right now. I get little free time, and when I do, I just want to relax."

I sniffle, some of the ache in my chest lifting. "And your friends? Your family? Don't you think it's time I meet them?"

 He frees a substantial breath. "My family's so busy running the conglomerate right now. You know I don't want to bother them. The timing isn't right."

The club's music blasts me back into focus.

He’s a liar—a liar and a cheat.

I'm a fool for putting up with him for so many months, letting him string me along, waiting for affection he's incapable of giving. I'm tired of the explanations. The diplomatic answers. And being the idiot who believes them.

Trying to love Sterling Bass is like trudging down a one-way street, with one step deep in hope and the other in disappointment.

I resist, yanking hard and breaking free from his grasp. I'm over the bickering, the need to please him or best him in a battle of wits that will resolve nothing. I'm done. We were already done, but somehow when I look him dead in the eyes, it feels like I'm breaking up with him all over again.

"Goodbye, Sterling."

I turn before I see his expression, slipping underneath the rope and letting the crowd swallow me. Faintly, I hear him shouting my name, anger edging his words. He must be hot on my trail, so I push further, shouldering people, my adrenaline too high to offer apologies.

Bursting through a swarm of people, I crash straight into a hard object. "Oof." I grasp against it, steadying myself on what feels like solid muscle underneath silky fabric.

I come to my senses, realizing I’ve pummeled into the back of a poor stranger seated on a barstool.

"Sorry! I'm so sorry." The apology flies from my lips, my heart racing.

Get it together.

He turns to face me, and I'm met with warm green eyes that are somehow calming in such a climactic place. A black mask covers the upper third of his face, but there's no mistake. He's gorgeous. With tousled brown hair and a strong frame, his jawline could cut through glass.

A second passes.

And another.

"Easy there." His deep tenor breaks our silence. "Wouldn't want a little

thing like you getting tossed around in that crowd."

My heart contracts, and I wobble, the alcohol going straight to my head.

He grabs my arm gently, his hand warm and calloused.

 “Let’s get you some water,” he says, motioning to the empty stool beside him, before waving to the bartender. “Sit.”

It's a command, not a question.

I listen, trying to tame my hair as I'm suddenly conscious of my appearance. I can't imagine what I must look like after dancing for who knows how long and booking it through a crowd of sweaty bodies.

We're so near, my shoulder grazes the sleeve of his navy suit, and an unexpected wave of comfort washes over me. A complete stranger has decided I need watching over.

I smile.

"Something funny?" Amusement laces his words. He takes a sip of what appears to be straight bourbon, a large, spherical cube of ice clinking against the glass.

"No—nothing."

"Are you sure?" His eyes bore into mine.

Heat rushes to my face, and I wonder if he can spot the redness

underneath my mask. "It's just that... You found a way to be caring in a place like this." I wave my hand, particularly at the stage and dancers.

A gloom casts over his features before he looks away. Tipping his glass skyward, he finishes the remainder of his drink. "I'm not the kind of guy you think I am."

"Maybe not. We did just meet." I nurse my water, my head beginning to clear. "But you're better than who I was running from." I’m unable to stop the wobble in my voice.

He sits straighter, wearing an alarmingly serious expression as he reaches for my arm. "What do you mean? Did someone hurt you?"

"No!" I lurch back. "It's not like that. My ex-boyfriend just can't take a —"

"There you are, babe!" A cackling voice like razor blades sounds behind us, eliciting goosebumps to scatter up my spine. My body goes cold, completely numb. "You think you could hide from me?" His mask is off, his blue eyes wild.

I peer back at my new companion to offer an apology, not wanting to bring him any problems. But I find him giving Sterling a calculated murderous look.

"Maybe she prefers my company over yours."

My lips part—the man who speaks is different. The tenderness and concern in his voice are gone, replaced with a dark authority that has my heart thumping.

Sterling freezes, a frown forming on his face. "This doesn't concern you, Damien."

Shock courses through me. They know each other?

Damien... I don't recognize the name.

"Please." When my voice comes out small, I cringe. "I said it's over. I don't want to be around you."

"You don't..." He sways, knocking against someone next to him, before he stabilizes himself against my chair. "You don't know what you're doing." He points at me. "No one in my world would ever associate with a girl so common."

"That's enough." Damien clenches his jaw.

"You're lucky, and you know it. I could have ten girls just like you." Smiling, he grips my bare thigh, the alcohol on his breath blasting through my senses. "So, tonight, you're going to quit being such a brat and apologize." His hand travels higher, the tips of his fingers sliding underneath my dress, making my stomach lurch with nausea. "By opening up that mouth of yours that's only good for catching my cu—"

Glass crashes against his skull, shattering on impact. Sterling's eyes roll back before he slumps over, colliding with strangers until he hits the ground hard.

Gasps spark around us, and my breathing stalls. Patrons sitting at the bar turn their heads and stare at the man appearing lifeless on the dirty floor. Others pay him no mind, stepping over him while they dance.

Damien retrieves a towel from over the bar top and holds it in his hand, blood bleaching through the white cloth.

I stand on shaky legs.

But his free hand reaches out in front of me. "Don't go. Sit and look at him." Venom spews from his lips. "It's important that you know. That's how a man who disrespects you should look. On the ground, unconscious."

I whip my head, searching the unwavering gaze of the man I just met.

He’s serious.

Returning to my seat, my mind runs empty on an explanation. No one's ever spoken to Sterling like that before, let alone laid a hand on him. That doesn't happen to a man with that kind of power. But there he is, sprawled out like a bag of sand with his mouth drooping downward. Harsh flashes of light shine our way and drag down to Sterling's body, before two security guards approach us. One grabs Damien by the arm.

"Oh." Startled, he releases his grasp, looking him in the eye. "Sorry, sir." What the fuck? Did I hear him apologize?

The man faces me, and I straighten in anticipation.

"She's with me."

When the guard snaps his attention away, no questions asked, my shoulders slouch as a surprising sense of security envelops me.

With a single command, I’m off limits.

"Understood." The guard nods, glancing down at Sterling. "What should we do with him?"

"Get him out of my sight."

The two men hoist Sterling's body between them, carrying him away through the crowd. Then it’s like nothing happened, as if he's just another club rat kid causing trouble.

The bartender comes over with another glass of bourbon, setting it on the counter in front of Damien.

What is going on...? Who is this guy?

On the one hand, I'm filled with shock and hesitation that I should be around this man. But on the other... I'm drawn to him by such a visceral force that it's impossible to ignore.

Waving down the bartender, I remain in my seat. "A tequila sunrise, please."

Damien places the bloody rag back behind the bar.

"You should get that looked at."

He smirks. "Not my blood."

I bite the inside of my cheek, stifling a smug grin, right as the bartender

returns with my drink, setting it on a square napkin. Unzipping my purse, I —

"It's on the house."

"Oh..." I say, unable to finish my sentence before he's whisking along to the next customer. "Okay."

This night keeps getting weirder and weirder...

My head has sobered up in record timing, and I don't know if it's because of the water or witnessing possibly the most satisfying thing I've

 ever seen—Sterling Bass being denied the final word.

Laughter bubbles deep in my gut, spilling outwards. I shouldn't feel so

happy, but I do. Damien side-glances at me, taking a sip of his drink. A widening smirk lines his lips, too, and it only fuels my hysteria further.

I tilt my head back, tears brimming my eyes. "I guess I should thank you."

"No need. He's had it coming for a while."

"So, is he a friend of yours?"

He pauses, squinching his brow.

"Not quite, but you could say that." His smile fades. "We had a... falling

out. You shouldn't give a guy like that a minute of your attention." He's closer now than ever, leaning towards me on the edge of his stool. "I take it you didn't know he was here?"

A whiff of his cologne dances its way into my nostrils. I breathe deep, basking in the allure of citrus and smoky undertones.

"No, I didn’t. He wasn't a part of tonight's plans." I wet my lips, noticing the slow thrum beating between my legs. As his green eyes capture mine, I'm unable to look away.

"And how was tonight supposed to go?" His tone strains, eyes flickering to my lips.

Feeling like prey under the stare of an experienced predator, my voice shrinks to a near whisper. "I was supposed to forget it all. This one night, I didn't have to be me. I could slip on a mask and be someone else entirely."

He grabs underneath my knee, applying a subtle pressure. "And what would that someone do, coming to a place like this?" Grazing higher, his hand slips underneath the seam of my dress. And this time, with this man, the move washes arousal over me.

I'm liquid putty in his grasp.

I uncross my legs. "Sh-she would..."

"Tell me." His thumb runs across my inner thigh, prompting my legs to

widen.

My breathing hitches as he explores further, an agonizing need building

inside of me that forces me to confess. "She would fuck the pain away." "Would she? Hmm." His finger reaches the corners of my panties, scarcely missing my most sensitive spot and causing torturous friction.

"Ask me."

 Shock reverberates through me. He wants me to cross the line. He wants me to offer myself to him... and I'm surprised that I want to. Desperately want to.

"Would you—"

"Say my name." He presses against my clit, hard.

I buckle in my chair. "Damien." His name leaves my lips on a breathless

moan. "Would you fuck my pain away?" Mindlessly, I grind against his hand.

"Fuck. You don't know what you're asking." His voice is thick and dripping with desire. He leans in close, his lips grazing my ear. "For one night, you'd belong to me."

"I know my limits."

"Do you?" He hikes up my dress, uncaring of who may watch in the club's darkness. It only heightens my arousal, blood screaming in my ears. "I'll ruin you for all other nights. Are you sure you want that?"

He tugs harder, and my ass makes cold contact with my chair.

I haven't touched my drink. I'm dead sober at this point, yet keenly aware of the train we're on that's barreling ahead at full speed, threatening to run off the rails if we don't pull the brakes.

But desperation tugs at me. "I need it. Just this once."

Who are you convincing? Him or yourself?

Grabbing a fistful of my ass cheek, he reaches into his pocket. He dials someone named John, holding the phone to his ear as our eyes lock in a smouldering gaze. 

"Enigma in five, and book me a suite......Yes,The Ritz."