PAIGE.
"One more please," I ask for another glass of whisky.
"You’ve had one too many cups of that, I might have to charge you," Leon says with a hint of concern in his voice.
He was right, I have had way too many, but that didn’t stop from drinking, cause I know even if I pass out he’d take ho and make sure I’m safe.
I clinch the poured glass of whisky, cursing the Ristones for putting in such an awful place.
"Last minute Leon, the fucking last minute!" My jaw tenses, " I’m one hundred percent sure the Ristones are behind this," I chug what’s left in the glass, slamming it on the bar table.
"Girl...you need to calm down, your emotions are all over the place." he tries to calm down, "it’s not the end of the world, darling... just try again, even if those mothers fuckers try to screw you over, just try again."
The Ristone family, my family, has made it their life’s mission that I never get a job. The last-minute calls and emails to cancel long-anticipated interviews, it was all them. It’s been like this ever since I left them and ca here to the United States. All because I didn’t want to marry a stranger they chose.
"So fucking stupid," I curse-muttered to myself, staring into the club and everything happening tonight.
He sighs, "I’m almost done for the night." he smiles, "We could binge through F.R.I.E.N.D.S. again when we get ho."
Leon always knew how to lighten up my mood, he always knows what I need and what to say to cheer up.
But this ti it wasn’t working, I’m so drowned in the abyss that is my thoughts that I cannot even hear what he’s saying.
The Ristone family had done it again. They canceled another interview for . It’s been like this for the past year and a half; whenever I score a job interview it gets cancelled.
It didn’t take much to know that my family was behind this.
They want to fold, to co back begging and bend to their term. "Not on their lives," I scoff.
"Hey... look on the bright side, at least you have an interview at Daki Tech next week, all goes well, and you’ll be back on the train of employed people," he says, trying to cheer up.
He was doing a good job though. But the seeds of doubt that the Ristones have planted in over the past year have grown into a mighty oak tree.
"They stopped from getting the small fry, and you think they can’t stop from getting the big gun?. My hope is the size of a peanut," I say with an eye roll.
"There’s also the possibility that they might not have the resources to stop you from getting an interview there, you know it’s Daki Tech we’re talking about– the biggest tech company in the country. Just a little bit of hope darling," he says with a wink.
"Maybe you’re right," I finally sigh, running a hand through my hair. "But right now, I just need to get out of here." I push myself off the barstool, my legs feeling a little unsteady. "I’m gonna get so air."
"Don’t go too far," he calls after , already turning to serve another custor.
I don’t answer, just weave my way through the crowded Manhattan club. The bass is pounding through the floor, and colored lights cut through the hazy air. Everyone is laughing, dancing, and having a good ti. It just makes feel more alone.
My head is still spinning, my thoughts a ssy storm of anger and self-pity. I don’t even watch where I’m going, my eyes fixed on the exit sign in the distance.
I’m so lost in my own head that I don’t see the tall figure stepping directly into my path.
I collide with a wall of a man. A sharp gasp escapes as the glass of whisky I didn’t even realize I was still holding flies from my hand.
Ti seems to slow as the amber liquid arcs through the air before splashing directly across the front of an impossibly expensive-looking Tom Ford black suit.
The glass shatters at our feet.
"Shit," I curse, my head snapping up. My eyes travel up, and up, over a broad chest now stained dark, past a sharp jawline, until I et a pair of dark, unreadable eyes. He’s towering over , well over six feet tall, and his expression is cold, completely closed off. He doesn’t look angry. He looks... calculating.
Flustered and humiliated, I grab a napkin from a nearby table. "I am so sorry. So, so sorry," I mumble, leaning forward to pat clumsily at the growing stain on his jacket. I only succeed in saring it, making the wet patch bigger.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. He just stands there, letting fumble, his intense gaze fixed on my face. It feels like he’s looking right through , and a strange, cold shiver runs down my spine.
There’s sothing familiar about him, but my whiskey-filled haze makes it impossible to place him.
Finally, his hand cos up, not to push away, but to gently but firmly stop my frantic dabbing. His fingers wrap around my wrist, and his touch is electric. His eyes hold mine for a heartbeat longer, and I see a flicker of sothing in their depths—recognition?
But just as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone, replaced by that sa icy mask. He releases my wrist, says nothing, and simply turns away, walking toward the roped-off VIP section as if nothing happened. The bouncer imdiately lifts the rope for him without a word.
I stand there frozen, surrounded by the pulsing music, my heart hamring in my chest, watching his retreating back. He never even told his na. But the way he looked at ...
He knew exactly who I was.
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