Page 69 of Hard Bargain

A pause. “Where are we going?”

Knox stared at the blank wall across from him. “The Velvet Room.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end. “That strip club? Why?”

Knox walked toward his closet, pulling the door open. “Because I feel like going out.”

Another pause, longer this time. Miguel wasn’t stupid. “You good?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

A quiet exhale. “Alright. We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

When the line went dead, Knox stayed rooted to the spot, phone still in his hand. He hadn’t meant to decide that quickly. The idea had formed and then solidified within seconds. He could’ve picked anywhere… a bar, a pool hall, somewhere neutral.

He almost laughed.

He reached into the closet and pulled out the first shirt his hand landed on, then stopped. His eyes drifted to the row of darker fabrics. He put the first shirt aside and chose another—cleaner lines, better cut. He knew he looked good in it.

Two weeks of silence, and here he was, choosing the shirt he looked best in just in case he ran into him.

Then, because he was already this far in, he didn’t half-commit. He changed into his best jeans and the shoes he only wore when he wanted to look intentional. He stepped into the bathroom and brushed his teeth longer than necessary, ran water through his hair, and adjusted it with more precision than he’d ever admit to out loud. Finally, he reached for the cologne he rarely bothered with. The clean scent settled against his skin and he stared at himself in the mirror, annoyed by the effort he’d just made.

This was stupid.

He grabbed his keys before he could reconsider any of it and headed downstairs.

* * *

As soon as the doors parted, the music swallowed them whole. Heat pressed in first, thick with perfume and liquor, the bass settling low in Knox’s chest before his eyes even adjusted to the dark.

Logan stepped forward without hesitation, comfortable anywhere. Miguel followed, grinning at the stage to their left where a dancer moved under fractured gold light. Knox walked in behind them and let the room wash over him.

They moved toward the main floor, weaving between tables. A server brushed past with a tray balanced expertly overhead. Cash flashed briefly in the corner of his vision before disappearing into a garter.

Miguel leaned close enough to be heard over the bass. “Still glad we came?”

“Yeah,” Knox said.

Logan glanced back at him. “You don’t sound convinced.”

“I am.”

They reached the bar and claimed a spot at the counter. Drinks landed in front of them a minute later. Knox picked his up and turned, letting his eyes move across the room without appearing to search. Nothing. No familiar dark suit. No presence that shifted the air around him.

Irritation flared under his ribs. He took a slow sip and let his eyes drift again. That’s when he saw Cassian. Upstairs, half-lounging against the railing, one arm draped carelessly around a woman who seemed more than happy with the arrangement. She was laughing openly, fingers trailing along his chest as he murmured against her ear.

Then his eyes lifted and locked on Knox. Recognition flickered first, followed by amusement. Cassian didn’t look away. Not even when the woman tugged at his collar to reclaim his attention. A slow smile spread across his face, like he’d just been handed entertainment.

Miguel noticed the change in Knox’s posture. “You know him?”

“Yeah.”

“Who is he?”

Knox didn’t answer.

Up above, Cassian disentangled himself with confidence. He said something to the woman, pressed a kiss to her temple, then stepped back. His phone was already at his ear by the time he hit the first step of the staircase. The exchange was brief, and by the time he reached the bottom, the phone was back in his pocket. Cassian moved through the crowd without hurry.