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I nod, cutting those thoughts short.
“And your date?” she asks, nodding at the spot beside me.
“She would like a Blue Hawaiian.”
Isla nods and hurries off, giving me a wonderful view of her rounded ass as she goes.
My date returns, her misgivings about the place clearly having melted away. That or she did something to bring up her mood and energy while in the bathroom. “Did you order?” she asks.
I nod, watching Isla make our drinks before walking them over with a nod at Liam, who seems to be watching her closely. A few moments later, Isla returns, placing my scotch before me and the Blue Hawaiian in front of Sara - was her name Sara?
“What is this?” My date - Stella? - looks up at Isla.
“You asked me to order a Blue Hawaiian.” I’m irritated, but Isla seems determined to smooth things out.
“I can get you something else,” she says, and my date bats her eyelashes in what I assume is supposed to be a flirtatious manner.
“I'll have one of those cute cocktails. One with an umbrella!” She giggles, leaning over to loudly whisper in my ear, “She’s cute!” I know she’s just trying to reclaim my attention. I barely register her words; my focus remains on Isla, who seems uncomfortable.
“Coming right up,” Isla says, her smile lingering as if she didn’t hear my date - or is pretending she didn’t. I give her a wink and charming smile as she turns away. There's a grace to her movements that demands all of my attention, and even though I know better, my gaze follows her until she disappears behind the bar.
“Isn't she sweet?” my date—Serena? —says in a flirty voice, trying to get my attention.
I give an absent nod. I imagine Isla is sweet and I’d love to find out for myself.
“Very,” I say, taking a drink of my scotch.
I still can’t put to words what it is about her that draws me in. That effortless smile, that professional exterior, that air of vulnerability… I want to get to know her, to pull her apart and see what makes her tick. With every encounter, I want to peel back the layers of Isla, to discover what lies beneath that disarming smile.
“I can't wait for my drink,” Savannah—or was it Sophie? —says again, before giggling and putting her hand over mine.
The contact is unwanted, but I don't pull away. Not yet. Because right now, all I can think about is the way Isla looked at me, and how, for a fleeting instant, I imagined what it would be like if she was sitting here with me instead.
I watch Isla weave through tables, talking to customers, laughing with regulars and I’m entranced. She has no idea how seductive she is, I’d bet money on it. And as she bends to retrieve a napkin from the floor, my hands itch with the urge to explore every curve of her body.
“Are you looking at her ass?” The hissing, furious voice by my side yanks my attention back to reality, and I glance at the woman beside me—Samantha? No, that's not right. Her name is a riddle I just can’t solve, just like all the others before her.
I lift my shoulders in a shrug, unbothered by her irritation as I lean back in the booth, arms crossed. Did it really matter if I was staring at another woman’s ass? Does Stephanie think I belong to her? I couldn’t care less what she thinks, and my mind drifts back to Isla.
“God, you're so rude.” As she says the words, the heat of her glare fixes on me. I glance at her and see her face is red, not with the same need they’d been flushed with only a few hours earlier. “You're here with me; you shouldn't be staring at other women.”
Around us, I can feel heads turning as the volume of conversations lower to almost nothing but hushed whispers of judgment.
“Go ahead, make a scene,” I say in an even tone. The last thing I need is another public display, but I already know nothing I say will calm her down. She’s going to pop off like a champagne cork and that’s fine.
“You're an awful man, how dare you!” Sienna's voice rises like a battle cry, and I have a feeling that any moment now some knight in shining armor will show up to save the day and win her favor.
But I can see heads nodding in agreement that I’m the villain. Maybe I am.
I let out a sigh, zoning out until I can’t hear her or anyone else. I'm used to being the topic of hushed gossip, pointed fingers, and assumptions. All of that comes with the territory of being an ex-gang member turned billionaire who never quite escaped his past. And tonight, their judgment means as little to me as it has any other day.
I finish off my scotch and hold my glass up, signaling to a stunned-looking Isla that I’d like more. She nods, bringing the bottle to me and pouring at my table, her body language not hiding her discomfort. But when our eyes meet, I see something strange in her expression, a mix of concern and something else—something that looks a lot like understanding.
Well, that’s unexpected.
A sting sears across my face. Scarlett’s hand hovers, ready to deliver another slap. With a speed born of practice and instinct, I grab her wrist. Her eyes widen, lips parting to let out a gasp as she tries to wrestle free.
“Let go! You're hurting me!” she says, but there's no truth to her claim. My fingers around her wrist are firm but careful. I just want to stop her from slapping me again - I have no intention of hurting her.
