But try telling that to the fire clawing at my chest, to the sharp tension in my jaw, and to the heat pulsing in my hands like they’re looking for something to break.
I can’t watch them slow dance a second longer.
I turn and walk. Calm on the outside, storming on the inside.
Straight to my private suite upstairs—same one I’ve kept for years. The one with the same ghost of my old life tucked into every corner.
How poetic. That they chosethis placefor the party.
The Supper Club—my stomping ground, my kingdom.
The scene of a thousand late nights, whispered deals, all-night flings, and earth-shaking power plays.
But ever since Eslin Saunders crash-landed into my life, this place has all lost its shine. The women, the drinks, the power—it all feels muted without her.
If she’s not here, I don’t want to be either.
But tonight, sheis. She’s here.
I take a few minutes in my suite to get myself together before heading back down to the banquet. I need to look composed by the time Marlow arrives—like I’m not on the verge of imploding over her best friend. Like I’m not unraveling every time I see Eslin laugh at someone else's joke. Especially his.
I keep telling myself she’s better off with someone like Darren Jones. But every time I repeat that narrative in my head, I startfantasizing about running the man over with my truck, dumping the body off the side of my boat, and pulling a full-onDexter.
I push the thought down and head into the banquet room. And that’s when I see it—seeher. Sitting at our table. Positioned like a temptation straight out of scripture.
Right between me and Darren.
Let’s see who leaves the strongest impression by the time this night is over.
Let’s see who she remembers when the lights come up.
Let’s see who Eslin Saunders won’t be able to forget.
I take my seat and settle in calmly. Like I’m sneaking up to my prey.
“So, Coach Jones,” I say, lifting my glass. “How are you enjoying yourself tonight?”
Eslin turns her head sharply, eyes cutting to me. “Don’t,” she mutters under her breath.
But I don’t even blink. My eyes stay on him. I didn’t ask her.
“Fantastic, actually,” he begins, smiling and clueless to the tension crackling around the table. “Got the hottest date here, Miss Poetic Justice herself, and the vibe’s incredible.”
I nod once and lift the glass to my lips, letting the bourbon burn a slow trail down my throat.
It feels like fire.
“You’ve got that right,” I say evenly. “You definitely brought the hottest date here tonight.”
“Grant. Please,” Eslin whispers through clenched teeth, her hand suddenly landing on my thigh beneath the table.
It's a warning. A quiet plea.
All it does is flip a switch.
“I see you went with the minimalist costume,” Darren says to me, his tone light, but nosy.
I don’t do costumes. But Marlow insisted it would help her image if I showed up “on theme” and supportive. So, I threw on a tux and a black masquerade mask and called it a compromise.