Marcus
The expression on Hailey’s face is utterly priceless, a mix of shock and amusent. Her eyes widen in disbelief, and her lips part as if caught between a laugh and a gasp.
"Excuse ?" she exclaims, her voice a blend of incredulous laughter and astonishnt. "Did you really just say that to ?"
I respond with a slight, nonchalant shrug, my lips curling into a faint, unapologetic smile. "I thought you’d appreciate the honesty," I say, my tone casual and unbothered.
Her eyes narrow, the laughter vanishing like a blown-out candle. "Honesty? Marcus, that wasn’t honesty, that was arrogance."
I tilt my head slightly, studying her face, the way her jaw tightens and her hands ball into fists at her sides. "I wasn’t trying to offend you. I just figured we are adults. And I like to go straight to business."
Her lips part, stunned. "Straight to business?" she echoes, her voice cutting sharper now. "Marcus, I am not a business deal. You don’t just stroll in, toss a proposition at like I’m so contract you’re closing, and expect a thank-you."
I shrug again, more defensive this ti. "I’m being upfront. You’re beautiful and smart. I like you. What’s wrong with putting that on the table?"
"What’s wrong," she says, stepping in closer, eyes blazing, "is pretending that casual disrespect is confidence. You didn’t complint , Marcus. You reduced . You turned into so... so accessory you want to try on for a night and then toss aside."
"That’s not fair," I mutter.
"No, what’s not fair is you thinking you can say that to and still walk away with your pride intact."
I fall silent.
Her voice drops, steady and cold now. "Here’s a truth for you, Marcus. I’m not impressed by power. Or suits. Or whatever curated version of charm you think won fall for. I’m impressed by integrity. Respect. Actual interest—not lust in a nice wrapper."
The crowd shifts around us, oblivious to the tension. But in this little pocket of space, it’s suffocating.
She leans in slightly. "You are very creative, intelligent," she says, almost like a confession. "But now? Now I just see you for what you are. Just so sleazy scumbag."
I can’t help it. I flinch at the nickna.
She steps back, chin high. "Excuse . I have soone waiting for . Soone who sees as more than a checklist."
And just like that, she turns and walks off—head high, hips swaying, like she never once entertained the idea of .
I grin slowly. So this one’s going to be challenging, huh?
She wants control. Respect. To be seen. I get it.
But she also wants the tension—the push and pull. And that...that I can work with.
I adjust my collar, letting my gaze drift toward the bar where Josh stands with a drink in his hand, still scanning the dance floor. He sees her approaching and straightens imdiately, his eyes softening as she slips into his arms like she belongs there.
It should bother more than it does.
I take a slow sip of the drink so assistant handed earlier, letting the burn steady my thoughts. Let them think they’ve won this round. Let them get comfortable.
Hailey’s fire just made this personal.
And I don’t lose when things get personal.
Let the gas begin.
A light touch on my arm snaps out of my thoughts.
"Rough night?" a honeyed voice purrs beside .
I glance sideways. It’s Brielle, one of the newer models from the Paris shoot. Legs for days, a dress stitched from silver light, and a smile that suggests she knows exactly how good she looks.
She tilts her head, twirling a strand of her blonde hair. "I saw that little scene on the dance floor. She really chewed you out."
I give her a slow, asured smirk. "Did she? I hadn’t noticed."
Brielle laughs, soft and teasing. "Co on, Marcus. You’re not used to rejection, are you?"
I arch an eyebrow. "Not particularly. But I’m a quick learner."
"Mm." She steps closer, her shoulder brushing mine. "Well, if you’re looking for a distraction... I happen to be an expert in that departnt."
Her hand trails lightly down my arm. She’s gorgeous. Fun. Bold. Exactly the kind of woman most n would fall over themselves for. And under any other circumstances, I might’ve indulged—might’ve pulled her into a corner booth and let the night take us sowhere forgettable.
But I’m not looking for a distraction.
I’m looking at Hailey, still.
She’s tucked beside Josh now, laughing at sothing he said, her hand resting on his chest like it belongs there. Her smile is genuine. Relaxed. Unaware of the ga that just began.
I turn back to Brielle, offering her my best disarming grin. "Tempting offer," I say, voice like velvet. "But I’ve already got my sights set on sothing a little more... challenging."
Brielle follows my gaze, then scoffs with a pout. "Her? Please. You can do better."
I chuckle low under my breath, eyes never leaving Hailey. "No, sweetheart. I can’t."
Because she’s the first woman in years who’s looked dead in the eye... and walked away.
And I’m not done with her yet.
Not even close.
Brielle lets out a sharp, breathy laugh. "Well, suit yourself," she says, stepping back with a toss of her hair. "But don’t co crawling back when she cuts you down again. That girl’s not playing gas."
I sip my drink again, eyes trained on Hailey. "Neither am I."
Brielle rolls her eyes and disappears into the crowd, already turning her attention to so pro athlete near the DJ booth. I barely notice. Because Hailey just glanced over her shoulder.
For half a second, her eyes flicker to mine. Then she turns back to Josh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear like it’s nothing.
But it was not nothing.
It was a warning. Or maybe a test. Either way, I’m not walking away.
I finish the last of my drink and set the glass down. The music shifts—sothing slower, richer. Josh leads her onto the dance floor, and she lets him. She laughs at sothing again, but this ti it doesn’t reach her eyes.
She’s distracted. Unsettled.
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