At the bar, Max ordered a stout and two tall daiquiris. Their bartender, who looked like he was barely twenty-one, raised a brow and asked, “Glass or bottle for the stout?”
Max’s response was immediate. “Bottle.”
The man nodded and glanced at both Vivienne and Drew before going about getting the drinks. Vivienne looked to Drew, trying not to mimic her friend’s expression of discomfort with the place. Max had brought them there, and he’d never take them somewhere unsafe.
“Relax.” Vivienne started before realizing it was Max who crowded her. “Just relax. If Vivienne doesn’t like it, we’ll leave. No one is going to hurt us—just calm down.”
Although she nodded, Vivienne continued to survey the place. Although sizeable, she’d seen the outside of the building. It was huge, at least four stories. There had to be some other private rooms upstairs, probably for exclusive VIPs or something. She looked to the walls, searching out a door or doors. She found only one and in front of it stood another bouncer. He wasn’t large, like the ones she’d encountered getting into the club, but he was tall with broad shoulders, and muscular. He was dressed in black: black fitted T-shirt with the “Fangs” logo on it, black jeans, and, from his leaning stance and sloping shoulders, he seemed quite bored.
She was just about to look away when the man suddenly moved, straightening as if shocked, and stepped away from the door. With curious eyes, she watched as the door opened inward, and a tall man walked through. He was followed by two other men, but her eyes were drawn to him. He was now facing the man who’d been guarding the door, obviously conversing with him. His back was to her, and she could not make out his face though she felt an uncanny need to do just that.
Who is he? Vivienne wondered, as her heart began to race. Her body went on alert, as if live wires were shooting under her skin. Her breathing grew hitched. Anticipating seeing his face, she had an irrational thought that seemed rational at the same time. She knew this man—maybe.
“Here, Viv. Your drink,” Max was saying and she heard him as if he were far off. Something cold settled in her hand and she briefly looked down at the pink-colored drink with chipped ice cubes floating around in it, and a small toothpick umbrella off to the side. Her eyes lifted to man again. He was now addressing one of the men who’d followed him through the door.
“Are you staring at the guy with the red ponytail, too?” Drew’s voice brought Vivienne’s eyes to her friend, who was looking in the direction of the men, a similar drink in her hand.
She heard a snort, a very male snort, and turned to Max, who glared at both of them. “And that’s my cue to leave. You ladies have fun. I’m going patrolling.”
“I hope he doesn’t expect us to wait around while he deals with his slut-of-the-night ‘cause we’re not doing it. Tonight is not about Max—it’s about you. So whenever you want to leave, tell me. I’ll call the cab and leave him right here. Viv, are you listening to me?” That was followed by a pregnant pause as Vivienne tried to remember the question. “I wouldn’t listen to me either, if I had to choose between that and the redhead.”
Vivienne had no idea what Drew was saying but kept waiting for the man to turn in her direction. Resting her drink on the bar, she began to move closer, so she could see him better.
She was in the middle of the place, he at the back. She knew Drew was next to her as her friend was saying something about her drink. Vivienne contemplated walking past him and turning to see his face when the man stilled. It was a subtle reaction, but she was watching him so closely that she immediately noticed the stiffness of his back and shoulders. Instantly, the men around him shifted, eyes swarming as they looked for…something. The redhead reached behind his back and she had a good idea of what he stored there.
Are they his bodyguards? she wondered briefly, and all coherent thought stopped there. In one fluid moment, the man swiveled and looked directly at her. Although she’d only seen his face for seconds before fainting, Vivienne would remember him anywhere. Black hair, sharp but handsome features, piercing eyes. His head lowered, and straight black hair fell forward into his face, leaving it for the most part obscured. She could only make out his lips, which were set in a line—neither smile nor scowl.
What is he doing? Her pulse quickened. Did he remember her? Even as that question of doubt filled her mind, she found it oddly easy to dismiss it. She didn’t know how she knew or why, but there was no doubt in her mind he had not forgotten her. As if of their own accord, her legs moved, one red suede boot before the other, as she took a step toward him.