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“Forget her, Talon. She’s stuck on someone else,” I advised, the words coming out harsher than I meant.
“I think I still have a chance,” he said stubbornly, his voice filled with that reckless optimism that had always been his downfall.
“Play the field, but don’t sleep around,” I said, surprising myself with the conviction in my voice. “Find the one.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Talon said, his tone uncertain, like he wasn’t quite sure who he was talking to anymore. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Yeah, later,” I replied, the phone call ending with a hollow click.
As I set the phone down, I realized I had just talked my little brother into becoming me. What the hell was I thinking? Talon was too kind, too generous to follow the path I’d taken. I rubbed the back of my neck, the weight of my own words settling heavily on my shoulders.
I paced my office, glancing at my phone every few minutes, hoping Erika would call. But as the hours ticked by, it became painfully clear she wasn’t going to. The silence gnawed at me, a reminder of the emptiness I was trying so hard to ignore.
Needing to burn off the excess energy coursing through me, I decided to head out. The urge to find someone, anyone, to fill the void was growing too strong to resist. I knew it couldn’t be Erika, so it would have to be someone else.
I dressed casually, pulling on a pair of loose-fitting dark blue jeans and a light blue sweater. I slipped on my black dress shoes, then shrugged into my navy wool pea coat. The air was crisp as I stepped out of my apartment, and I made my way to Shanahan’s, a bar four blocks away.
Shanahan’s was a place where people in their early twenties came to unwind, to drink, and to find fleeting connections. It wasn’t really my scene, but tonight, I didn’t care. I was there for a quick drink and a warm body to share my bed for the night, someone to help me forget about Erika, even if just for a few hours.
CHAPTER 6
Erika
As I sifted through my closet, searching for the perfect outfit, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was Lincoln. I hesitated, staring at the screen for a moment before letting the call go to voicemail. Tonight wasn’t about him; it was about Victor.
Victor was a fellow agent in the New Jersey office of Farley Associates. We’d met three months ago at a mixer in Manhattan, where his slicked-back black hair, thick trimmed eyebrows, and dark scruff had caught my attention. He was handsome, no doubt, and we’d hit it off well enough. But tonight, I needed to figure out if he was more than just a pleasant distraction.
Settling on a long burgundy jersey wrap dress with a cowl neck, I paired it with black boots, the soft fabric hugging my curves in all the right places. Satisfied, I grabbed my coat and headed out, still pondering Lincoln’s call. I couldn’t afford to give Victor mixed signals, not until I knew where I stood.
When I arrived at Roma Steakhouse, I spotted Victor at the bar, swirling the ice in his drink with a casual finger. He looked sharp, just as I suspected, in a pair of black jeans, a dress shirt open at the collar, and a gray sports jacket. His attempt to impress hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Victor’s smile lit up as he saw me approaching. Rising from his chair, he leaned in to plant a kiss on my cheek. I caught a whiff of his cologne—a mix of baby powder and menthol—that made me wrinkle my nose. That was new. I didn’t remember him wearing it the last time we met.
“Erika, how are you?” Victor greeted, his voice smooth, though his cologne was jarring.
“I’m fine,” I replied, taking the seat next to him. The black leather stool felt cool against my skin as I crossed my legs, noticing the subtle glances from men around the bar. Their eyes lingered a bit too long, and I couldn’t help but feel the familiar thrill of being noticed. At twenty-seven, I was used to it—being told I lit up a room the moment I walked in. Judging by their reactions, tonight was no different.
“Would you like a drink?” Victor offered, his hand already signaling the bartender. “Our table isn’t ready yet.”
“A glass of red wine would be nice,” I said, keeping my tone light as I watched the bartender pour the dark liquid into a glass.
Victor’s eyes never left mine as he handed me the drink, his fingers brushing against mine in a way that felt deliberate. “You look stunning tonight,” he said, his gaze slipping down to admire the dress. “Burgundy suits you.”
“Thank you,” I replied, taking a sip of the wine. It was rich, with just the right amount of tartness. “You look quite dashing yourself.”
“I try,” he chuckled, but there was a hint of something more in his voice, a confidence that bordered on arrogance.
I couldn’t deny that Victor was charming, but something about him felt slightly off tonight. Maybe it was the cologne, or the way he kept watching me like he was waiting for something—something I wasn’t sure I was ready to give.
As we sat there, exchanging small talk, I felt my mind drifting back to Lincoln’s call. He was relentless, always pushing, always chasing, but he intrigued me in ways Victor didn’t. With Victor, there was comfort—a safe bet. But with Lincoln, there was fire, a dangerous pull that I wasn’t sure I could resist.
The bartender slid a martini down the bar to a woman a few seats away, and I watched as she took it without looking up, her focus elsewhere. It reminded me of how I was feeling—distracted, torn between what was right in front of me and what could be waiting if I just reached for it.
“So,” Victor said, pulling me back to the present. “What’s been keeping you busy?”
“Oh, the usual,” I replied, forcing a smile. “Clients, showings… life.”
“Anything exciting on the horizon?”
