The city never slept, and neither did Mia. After a day of boardroom battles and barking orders at underlings who couldn’t keep up with her razor-sharp mind, she needed an escape. Her stilettos clicked against the polished concrete floor of Vibe, the upscale club buried in the heart of downtown. The bass-heavy music throbbed through the dimly lit space, vibrating in her chest as the clink of glasses and murmur of flirtations filled the air. She didn’t come here to dance or mingle—she came to drink, to drown the stress that clung to her like a second skin.
Mia’s tailored blazer hugged her curves as she strode toward the bar, her crimson lipstick a stark contrast to the icy glint in her hazel eyes. She was a predator in a den of prey, and she knew it. The crowd parted for her instinctively, sensing the authority that radiated from her every step. She slid onto a barstool, crossing her legs with deliberate precision, the slit of her pencil skirt revealing just enough thigh to turn heads. Not that she cared. She wasn’t here for anyone’s approval.
“Whiskey. Neat. And don’t make me wait,” she snapped, her voice cutting through the hum of the club as she tapped her manicured nails on the polished bar top. She didn’t even bother looking up at first, too consumed by the tension knotting her shoulders. But when a low, gravelly chuckle answered her command, her gaze flicked up—and locked onto him.
Jake. The name tag pinned to his black tee confirmed it, but it was his smirk that caught her off guard. It was the kind of smirk that could melt steel, cocky and knowing, as if he’d already sized her up and decided he liked the challenge. His dark hair was tousled just enough to look effortless, and his jeans—God help her—were doing a piss-poor job of hiding the impressive bulge straining against the denim. Mia’s throat tightened, but she masked it with a cool, appraising stare.
“Whiskey neat, coming right up, boss lady,” Jake drawled, his voice dripping with playful mockery as he reached for a bottle on the shelf. His rough hands moved with a confidence that made her pulse quicken, and when he glanced over his shoulder, those piercing green eyes pinned her in place. “Rough day, huh? You look like you’ve been chewing nails and spitting bullets.”
Mia arched a brow, her lips curling into a smirk of her own. “And you look like you’ve been pouring cheap shots for frat boys all night. Don’t waste my time with small talk. I’m not here to be your therapist.”
Jake laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down her spine despite herself. He turned back to her, sliding the glass of whiskey across the bar with a flick of his wrist. “Fair enough. But if I’m not your therapist, what am I? Your servant? ‘Cause you’re ordering me around like I’m on your payroll.”
She leaned forward slightly, her fingers brushing the glass as she held his gaze. “If I say jump, you’d better ask how high. But don’t worry—I tip well for good service.” Her tone was sharp, laced with a challenge, but the heat pooling between her thighs betrayed her. She couldn’t ignore the way his tight shirt clung to his broad chest, hinting at the hard lines of muscle beneath. Damn it, why did he have to look like he’d just walked off a construction site and straight into her dirtiest fantasies?
Jake didn’t flinch under her scrutiny. Instead, he leaned against the bar, his forearms flexing as he braced himself closer to her. The scent of him—clean sweat, a hint of bourbon, and something distinctly male—hit her like a punch. “Oh, I’m all about good service, sweetheart. But I’m not the type to just roll over. You want me to jump? You’re gonna have to make it worth my while.”
Mia’s breath hitched, but she covered it with a scoff, sipping her whiskey. The burn of the liquor was nothing compared to the fire igniting in her core. “Sweetheart? Careful, bartender. I eat boys like you for breakfast and spit out the bones before lunch.”
He grinned, unfazed, wiping down the bar with a rag that did little to hide the way his biceps strained with every motion. “Boys, huh? Darlin’, I’m all man. And I’m betting you’d enjoy the taste more than you’re letting on. Why don’t you try me and find out?”
Her eyes narrowed, but a flush crept up her neck. She hated how his words made her pulse race, how his cocky charm was unraveling her carefully constructed control. Setting her glass down with a deliberate clink, she leaned over the bar, her cleavage on full display as the neckline of her blouse dipped low. She didn’t miss the way his gaze flickered down, just for a split second, before snapping back to her face. Gotcha, she thought.
“Keep talking like that, Jake, and I might just take you up on that offer. But let’s get one thing straight—I don’t play games I can’t win. So, unless you’re ready to be on your knees begging for mercy, I suggest you pour me another drink and keep that pretty mouth of yours in check.” Her voice was low, dangerous, a velvet-covered blade that dared him to push her further.
Jake’s smirk widened, and he didn’t back down an inch. He grabbed the whiskey bottle, pouring her another without breaking eye contact. “On my knees, huh? Tempting. But I’m more of a ‘take what I want’ kinda guy. And right now, I’m thinking I want to see just how far I can push a woman like you before she cracks.”
Mia’s fingers tightened around her glass, her nails clicking against it as she fought the urge to drag him over the bar and show him exactly who was in charge. The tension between them was electric, a live wire sparking with every word, every glance. She could feel the damp heat between her legs, her body betraying her mind’s iron grip on control. She wanted him—badly. And the hungry stare in his eyes told her he knew it, too. He wasn’t just serving cocktails; he was serving up a promise of something raw, something primal, and she was dripping with the need to find out if he could deliver.
She straightened, forcing herself to break the moment before she did something reckless. “Keep dreaming, bartender. I don’t crack. But if you’re lucky, I might let you watch me shatter someone else.” Her words were a taunt, a dare, as she tossed back the rest of her whiskey and slid off the stool. But as she turned to walk away, she felt his gaze burning into her back, and she knew this wasn’t the end.
Not by a long shot.
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