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“Don’t you dare! You are nothing like your mother. You’re nurturing and loving, and Theo is the luckiest kid in the world to have you as a mom.”
Marissa briefly closed her eyes to stem the surge of tears that appeared out of nowhere. “I want to give him the world,” she said thickly.
“And you do. That doesn’t mean you have to put your life on hold. You’re allowed to have fun.”
“I know, I know. You’re right. I’m in a rut, and I don’t know how to get out of it.” She fell back against the chair and stared up at the ceiling.
“Let your bestie help. Don’t worry your pretty little head about the details. Dress up. Make sure you look hot tomorrow night. Do you remember how to do that?”
“Yes, I remember, you bitch.”
Lark cackled. “Good. Do your hair, wear something sexy, and let’s have fun. For one night. You’re allowed.”
Marissa pursed her lips and then laughed. “You’re right. What would I do without you?”
“Fall. Apart.”
They both laughed.
“All right, bestie, what time should I meet you tomorrow?” Marissa asked.
They made the arrangements, and after hanging up, Marissa rested her chin on the edge of her palm. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone out just for fun.
Tomorrow night would be different, because Lark was right. She used to be spontaneous. She used to be fun. Now she was boring old Marissa.
She looked at the computer screen and warmth filled her chest when she saw Bruno Santana’s profile. With a double-click of one of the icons, his face filled the screen. Black hair, gray eyes, and a penetrating stare that conveyed an air of power. She could well imagine him in the kitchen barking out orders while everyone yelled “Yes, chef!” to his every command.
Marissa closed out his photo and picked up another Twizzler.
She knew why the meeting with him unsettled her and hated to admit the reason. She was attracted to Bruno. Deeply, unequivocally, and drastically attracted. She had been drawn to clients before, but this was different. Stronger. More… visceral.
Definitely a problem.
Chapter Six
Bruno approached the front of NV Lounge, a hot new night spot in the Atlanta area. Their motto was “NV Lounge, where every night is a night to remember.”
He didn’t typically frequent these types of places, but his sister’s fiancé—Andre Campos—opened the venue months ago, and Bruno had promised Monica he’d stop by.
When he had told Marissa that his family was close, he hadn’t been kidding. They were tight-knit, sharing in each other’s failures and successes, investing in each other’s businesses, and generally serving as confidants. Since Andre was going to be a part of their circle soon, he received the same support they all did.
NV Lounge was built in a renovated warehouse in an up-and-coming part of town where businesses were cropping up to accommodate the influx of residents buying the luxury condominiums and renting the stylish apartments being built in the area.
There were two entrances into the venue. One for the regular customers and another for VIPs. The regular line trailed down the side of the building with dozens of mostly Black men and women in their twenties and thirties. No one stood outside the VIP entrance, but a buff man dressed in a dark suit with pinstripes and a black shirt underneath blocked anyone from entering. He wore sunglasses and held his beefy arms crossed over his chest in an intimidating stance.
Bruno approached and pulled the purple and black VIP card his sister had given him from his wallet.
“Hello, sir,” the bouncer said, taking the card.
“Hello,” Bruno replied.
The bouncer unclipped a small gadget from his hip and scanned the code at the back of the card. When the device beeped, he handed it back and stepped aside.
“Have a good night.”
Bruno walked onto the main floor where the sound of thumping music greeted him above the hum of conversations. The place was packed, with standing room only and guests crowded around gleaming wood tables. Gyrating bodies moved on the dance floor in front of a crowded DJ booth that also contained dancing people. Waitresses dressed in vests and ties carried multi-colored drinks on small trays as they circulated among the crowd.
Edging his way along the perimeter, Bruno circled past the back-to-back bars in the middle toward a neon sign announcing the hookah bar at the rear of the space. He veered toward a staircase leading to the mezzanine level where a second large man in a dark suit stood guard before the VIP section.
