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“A member asked me to deliver this to you. She said she’ll be in Room 8.” She points in the direction of the hallway.
“Thank you, Maggie,” I say, reaching for the tumbler, but leaving the golden beacon of a keycard where it lies on the table.
I glance over at the now-empty dance area. It appears my girl has taken matters into her own hands—well, at least it better be her.
There’s only one way to find out.
Sipping my drink, I buy myself some time before heading to the room. I want her squirming with anticipation by the time I arrive, questioning whether I will show up. Wondering if she made the right decision to have this card delivered to my table.
Of course, the answer is yes to both. If she didn’t make the first move, I sure as hell was going to. But there is something so fucking sexy about a woman initiating such an intimate thing.
I throw back the last of my glass and signal for Maggie to drop off my check. Then, before I know it, I'm striding down the wide hallway shrouded with the same burgundy velvet curtains and frosted glass windows. Eli explained to me earlier that the room’s occupants can adjust the privacy screen on their door, ranging from completely opaque to full-on voyeur, enabling clear. Judging by the small gatherings scattered around several of the rooms, their occupants are putting on quite the show.
As I approach Room 8, I take note that the glass is partially hazy. Interesting…my girl wants to put on a show but remain anonymous. I'm game, Legs, for any and all of it.
The door’s keypad flashes green with a wave of my card, and I step inside.
“Took you long enough.” Her sassy voice sounds from across the room. She’s fucking gorgeous, standing there all flustered and sipping from her champagne flute.
I’m unable to stop my smirk as I take her in. “Well, hello to you too, Ava.”
One
A little over a year and a half later
Keep that head high, babe. I let my best friend Sloan’s voice repeat over and over in my head.
The fresh cut to my sleek blonde bob, paired with the brand-new outfit I spent way too much on at Bloomingdale’s this past weekend, is my warrior suit. I’m smiling because I know I’m good at what I do, and the nerves rumbling in my stomach are my reminder not to let the mask slip from my face. Never let them see you sweat.
Generally, I’m a self-assured person. I learned a long time ago that letting people see your weaknesses gets you nowhere. But today’s different… Today, I’m walking into a den of wolves. Bryant & Co is one of the wealthiest investment firms in the city, and you’d have to be dead not to be nervous about an interview with them. Especially with the most arrogant asshole of them all leading the pack.
I walk past my favorite café in the West Village, taking deep breaths as I summon more confidence with every step. It’s typically my first stop every morning before I am even fully functioning. But not today. I’ve seen way too many movies where the lead female character spills coffee all over her shirt before a big interview, and I am not about to let that be my luck.
Instead, I Doordashed a cup while I did my hair and makeup earlier this morning. The liquid gold is safely flowing through my veins and my cream blouse is perfectly intact. Win-Win.
A few blocks into SoHo, my heart thuds louder, knowing I am getting close.
This is my biggest bid yet, and it’s a literal dream project for me. The only downfall is the six-foot-four tattooed suit that just so happens to be heading the project.
If I don’t get it… Nope. Manifest good shit only.
When I get it, it’s going to change my career and, honestly, my life. Interior design has been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember, but I quickly realized making a name for myself without using family connections wasn’t going to be easy.
Two years ago, I left the design company I was working for and went out on my own. It was a huge chance to take starting my own business at twenty-six, but since then, I have had the opportunity to work on some really cool projects and be in complete control with my clients.
As I approach the front doors of Luxure, I take a second to admire the outside of the hotel’s building. They are halfway through the construction phase of the revamp, and it’s time to hire a designer that fits with the investor’s style and desires.
The brick exterior may only be five stories tall, but my mind has already created so many ideas to pack into the inside of those five levels. Lucky for me, they have a French theme in mind, and thanks to my aunt who now lives there, I visit multiple times a year. If there was ever another place I would live besides New York City, it would be Paris, France.
My eyes lift to the sky, grounding myself between all the tall city buildings. Deep breath, smile in place. Keep that head high, babe.
“Good morning,” an unfamiliar voice says from beside me as he reaches the handle and motions for me to enter. I say a quick “thank you” in response and walk through the open door.
“You must be Ava… I’m Logan.” He holds out his hand, introducing himself.
“Hi, yes, that’s me. How’d you know?”
Logan’s stare lingers on my face. “Just a good guess. You are our first interview of the day.” And then he’s on the move again. “Follow me, I’ll show you to our meeting room.”
