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I pulled out my phone, scrolling through the traffic alerts. “Looks like a perfect storm. Road work on 5th, and apparently there’s some kind of demonstration near Times Square.” I groaned. “We’re not moving anytime soon.”
Fury checked his watch, then glanced at me. “How far are we from the club?”
“About ten blocks,” I said, already knowing where this was going.
He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Up for a walk?”
I weighed our options. Sit in this hellish traffic for who knows how long, or stretch our legs and get there faster? I figured I could have Gus, our bouncer, pick up my car later and drop off Gavin's luggage. It would save me hours.
“Alright, Gracen,” I said, already scanning for a place to park. “Hope those fancy shoes are made for walking.”
We found a spot in a nearby garage, and soon we were on the sidewalk, dodging harried New Yorkers and tourists alike.
“So,” Fury said as we walked, matching my brisk pace, “what’s the deal with Club Privé?”
I smirked. “Let’s just say it’s not your average nightclub. We cater to a... discerning clientele.”
“Discerning, huh?” He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a fancy way of saying ‘rich as hell,’ isn’t it?”
A burst of laughter escaped from my lips. “Among other things. But don’t worry, you’ll fit right in with your fancy suit and big city swagger.”
Fury clutched his chest in mock offense. “I’ll have you know this swagger is one-hundred percent genuine, small-town boy charm.”
“Oh please.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ve met plenty of ‘small-town boys’ in this city. They usually last about a week before running home with their tails between their legs.”
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Wanna bet I’ll last longer than a week?”
I was about to fire back when I felt the first drop hit my nose. “Shit,” I muttered, looking up at the suddenly ominous sky.
And then, because the universe clearly had it out for me today, the heavens opened up.
“Run!” I yelled, grabbing Fury’s hand without thinking and darting towards the nearest awning. We made it about half a block before the rain really started coming down in sheets.
“There!” Fury pointed to a cozy-looking café across the street. “Come on!”
We dashed across, narrowly avoiding a taxi, and burst through the café door, breathless and dripping.
The place was packed with other rain refugees, but Fury snagged us the last empty table in the corner. I collapsed into the chair, pushing my wet hair out of my face.
“Well,” Fury said, looking at me with an amused grin, “that was refreshing.”
I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. “Oh yeah, nothing like a New York shower to really welcome you to the city.”
He joined in, and for a moment, we were just two people laughing at the absurdity of it all.
A waitress appeared, looking frazzled but friendly. “What can I get you two?”
“Large black coffee, please,” Fury said, then looked at me.
“Make that two,” I said, then added, “And a blueberry muffin, please.”
As the waitress left, Fury raised an eyebrow. “Blueberry, huh? I pegged you more as a chocolate chip girl.”
I leaned back, crossing my arms. “Oh really? And what else have you ‘pegged’ about me, Mr. Gracen?”
He grinned, accepting the challenge. “Well, let’s see. You’re tough as nails on the outside, but I bet there’s a softy in there somewhere. You probably have a secret stash of rom-coms you’d never admit to watching. And...” he paused for dramatic effect, “you definitely have a cat.”
I blinked, thrown off by how close he’d gotten. “Okay, Sherlock. How’d you figure all that?”
