Chapter 1 - The air in the VIP lounge tasted like expensive cigar smoke, crushed mint, and bad decisions.
Norah Bennett hated working the closing shift, especially when her brain felt like damp cotton and her tongue was dangerously loose. It was supposed to be a simple drop-off. One glass of neat bourbon. One silent walk to booth four. One polite nod to the most feared man in the city.
Instead, she called him baby.
The bodyguards froze.
Roman Gallagher leaned back against the leather booth and smirked.
“Say it again,” he said. “Slower.”
The bass from the main floor pulsed through the velvet-lined walls, but inside the private suite, everything had gone unnaturally still.
Norah stood with one hand hovering above the crystal glass she had just placed in front of him. Condensation dampened her fingertips. Her pulse hammered so hard she could feel it behind her eyes.
She looked at the four men surrounding Roman.
None of them smiled.
One had already slid his hand beneath his jacket.
Norah swallowed.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I meant to say, ‘Here you go, sir.’”
Roman’s slate-gray eyes stayed on her face.
“That isn’t what you said.”
“No.”
“What did you say?”
The question was soft.
That made it worse.
Norah shifted the tray against her hip. “I’m exhausted.”
“So am I.”
“My boyfriend has been texting me all night.”
Something changed in Roman’s expression.
Not much. A slight tightening at the corner of his mouth. A brief stillness in his gaze.
“Your boyfriend,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“He calls you baby?”
“Only when he wants money.”
One of the guards coughed, disguising what might have been a laugh.
Roman turned his eyes toward him.
The guard immediately looked at the floor.
Norah wanted to disappear.
Roman picked up the bourbon but did not drink. His fingers rested around the glass, broad and scarred, the gold ring on his right hand catching the amber glow from the lamp.
“Say it again,” he said.
Her mouth went dry. “Sir—”
“Not that.”
“Mr. Gallagher, I really need to get back to the bar.”
He watched her for another second.
Then he smiled.
It was not a warm smile.
It was the kind of smile a wolf might give a rabbit that had accidentally wandered into its den and begun telling jokes.
“Go,” he said.
Norah did not wait for him to change his mind.
She turned, crossed the room, and pushed through the service door with enough force to make it strike the wall.
Only when she reached the bar did she breathe again.
Her coworker Mia stared at her.
“What did you do?”
Norah grabbed the damp rag and began wiping a spot that was already clean.
“Nothing.”
“The guards looked like they were about to bury someone.”
“I called him baby.”
Mia blinked.
“You what?”
“It was an accident.”
“You called Roman Gallagher baby?”
“Keep your voice down.”
“Are you suicidal?”
“No. Just tired.”
Mia leaned over the bar. “Did he threaten you?”
“He told me to say it again.”
Mia’s face changed.
“That’s worse.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Mia lowered her voice.
“Roman Gallagher hasn’t been seen with a woman in almost three years.”
Norah gave her a flat look. “That sounds healthy.”
“His fiancée died.”
Norah’s hand stopped moving.
“What?”
“Car bombing. Everyone knows that.”
“I don’t.”
“You don’t know anything. That’s why you’re always in trouble.”
Norah’s phone buzzed again.
She pulled it from her apron.
David: Bring cash. We need to talk.
Norah stared at the message, feeling something cold twist in her stomach.
She typed back: I’m working.
Three dots appeared immediately.
David: You always have an excuse.
Norah locked the screen.
Across the room, the VIP door opened.
Roman stepped out first.
His jacket was back on. His expression had returned to the remote, carved stillness that made people move out of his path without being asked.
The guards followed.
As Roman passed the bar, he slowed.
Norah kept her eyes down.
He placed something on the mahogany surface.
A hundred-dollar bill.
Then another.
Then a third.
Norah looked up.
“For the drink?” she asked.
“For the entertainment.”
“I don’t want it.”
His eyes sharpened.
Most people probably never refused Roman Gallagher anything.
Norah slid the bills back toward him.
“I made a mistake. I’m not accepting three hundred dollars for embarrassing myself.”
Roman studied her.
“What do you make in a night?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“About ninety dollars?”
“Still none of your business.”
“And your boyfriend wants cash.”
Her cheeks heated.
“You heard that?”
“You said it.”
“I shouldn’t have.”
“No,” Roman said. “You shouldn’t have.”
For one suspended second, neither of them moved.
Then he took one of the bills and tucked it into the pocket of her apron.
His fingers did not touch her.
Somehow, that made her more aware of the distance between them.
“For the bourbon,” he said.
He left the other two bills on the counter.
“For saying no.”
Then he walked away.
Norah stared after him until the black doors of the club closed behind his men.
Mia appeared beside her.
“He tipped you three hundred dollars?”
“He tipped me for refusing the tip.”
Mia looked toward the exit.
“I think Roman Gallagher likes you.”
Norah snorted.
“Roman Gallagher doesn’t know me.”
From somewhere outside came the low growl of engines.
Norah looked down at the money.
She should have felt lucky.
Instead, she felt watched.
At three fifteen in the morning, Norah left through the employee entrance.
Rain had polished the alley into black glass. Neon from the club sign trembled in the puddles. She pulled her coat tighter and started toward the bus stop.
A man stepped out from behind a dumpster.
Norah stopped.
David.
He wore the same gray hoodie he had been wearing when she left for work twelve hours earlier. His hair was damp, his eyes bloodshot.
“You ignored me,” he said.
“I was working.”
“You could have called.”
“You could have paid the electric bill.”
His jaw flexed.
“Give me what you made.”
“No.”
He laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“Don’t start.”
“You spent the rent money.”
“I said I’d replace it.”
“With what?”
David stepped closer.
Norah smelled beer.
“Give me the cash.”
“No.”
His hand shot out and closed around her wrist.
Pain flashed through her arm.
“Let go.”
“You think you’re better than me because rich men tip you?”
“David.”
“Who was he?”
Norah’s heartbeat quickened.
“What?”
“The man you were serving. I saw the cars.”
“You followed me?”
“I came to get you.”
“You came to get my money.”
His grip tightened.
Norah twisted her wrist, but he only pulled her closer.
“You’re hurting me.”
“Stop making a scene.”
A black SUV rolled into the mouth of the alley.
David looked over his shoulder.
The headlights stayed on.
Two rear doors opened.
Men in dark suits stepped into the rain.
David released Norah.
Roman emerged last.
He held no umbrella.
Rain darkened his hair and spotted the shoulders of his coat. He looked from Norah to David, then to the red marks already forming around her wrist.
His face became completely blank.
That was worse than anger.
David swallowed.
“Private conversation,” he said.
Roman kept walking.
“Did she ask you to touch her?”
David backed up half a step.
“She’s my girlfriend.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Norah felt the entire alley narrow around them.
“Roman,” she said.
His eyes moved to her.
It was the first time she had used his name.
Something quiet passed through his expression.
Norah shook her head.
“Don’t.”
Roman stopped.
David looked between them, suspicion curdling his features.
“You know this guy?”
“No.”
Roman’s gaze did not leave Norah.
“She served me a drink.”
David laughed bitterly. “And now he’s following you into alleys?”
Roman turned toward him.
“I was leaving my club.”
“Your club?”
David’s face lost color.
Norah could see the moment recognition arrived.
Roman Gallagher.
The name did not need to be spoken.
David’s posture changed instantly. His shoulders dipped. His hands opened.
“I didn’t know who you were.”
Roman’s voice remained calm.
“You didn’t need to know who I was. You needed to know who she was.”
Silence pressed down with the rain.
Roman reached into his coat.
David flinched.
But Roman only removed a white handkerchief and held it toward Norah.
She stared at it.
“For your wrist,” he said.
“I’m fine.”
“No,” he said quietly. “You aren’t.”
The words landed harder than they should have.
Norah took the handkerchief.
Roman looked at David again.
“You are going home.”
David nodded quickly.
“Without her.”
David hesitated.
Roman took one step closer.
David ran.
He splashed through the alley, nearly slipping before disappearing around the corner.
Norah wrapped the handkerchief around her wrist.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
Roman looked down at her.
“Yes, I did.”
“No. You chose to.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if the distinction interested him.
“Get in the car.”
“I can take the bus.”
“It’s raining.”
“I’ve survived rain before.”
“Your boyfriend followed you to work, demanded your money, and put his hands on you.”
“Ex-boyfriend.”
Roman’s gaze sharpened.
Norah lifted her chin.
“He is now.”
For the first time, Roman looked genuinely amused.
“Good.”
“I’m still taking the bus.”
Roman glanced toward the empty street.
“The next bus comes in forty-three minutes.”
“How do you know that?”
“I own the company.”
Norah stared at him.
“You own the bus company?”
“I own part of the city.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
One of the guards opened the rear door.
Warm light spilled onto the rain.
Norah hesitated.
Then she got in.
Roman followed.
The door shut.
The city disappeared behind tinted glass.
The SUV smelled like leather, cedar, and Roman’s tobacco.
Norah sat as far from him as the back seat allowed.
Roman noticed.
“You think I’m dangerous.”
“I think four men with guns follow you into alleys.”
“They follow me everywhere.”
“That does not make it less concerning.”
He looked out the window.
“Where do you live?”
She gave the driver the address.
Roman’s eyes returned to her.
“That building is owned by Weston Properties.”
May you like
“Do you own that too?”
“No.”
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