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He’s close.
His hips jerk. Once. Twice. Then he groans—I can’t hear it over the pounding bass, but I see it.
When he comes, I do fucking feel it. The wave grips me, and I reach for the desk in front of me to steady myself as if I’m coming too.
His unsteady breathing is mine.
When confetti rains down from the ceiling, I realize this is the best time I’ve had in a long time. Maybe ever.
It’s because of Harrison, but also because of this place. It does feel like home.
* * *
The crowd is chill and happy, content to take selfies at Debajo with me, with each other. Then the crowd parts, and my breath catches.
Harrison King walks toward me, his tuxedo jacket unbuttoned and his mouth pressed in a hard line.
When he reaches me, I say, “I thought it wasn’t a good idea to be seen together in public.”
“It’s not, which is why you’re in trouble.”
He’s cool, cold even, as he gestures for me to go ahead and follow security. I head down the hall toward the VIP room. Leni’s there, along with the bartender. Harrison shuts the door before turning to face us.
“Whose bright idea was this?” His voice is deadly calm.
“I called her,” Leni admits. “We had a cancellation last minute. And Cam’s a terrible fucking DJ.”
The bartender ducks his head.
“Cam?” I call. “Mr. King could use a whisky.”
He fixes one immediately, bringing the glass over. His gaze slides to my legs, and his throat bobs.
Harrison sends the guy scurrying away with a look.
“Cam, I’ll drink the whisky.” I cross to the bar and take it from him before sipping the golden liquid.
Harrison paces the room. “Mischa isn’t supposed to know we’re talking. Tonight you all but announced it.”
“We announced that Debajo had an opening,” Leni cuts in, “and a former DJ in residence picked up the slack for an impromptu—and a fucking fantastic, might I add—show.”
Adrenaline surges through me again. It was fantastic.
“You’re the one making this worse by marching her down here,” Leni goes on.
Harrison’s gaze finds mine.
If Leni knew that her boss had jerked off to me upstairs…
“To be fair,” I say, the whisky heating my stomach, “it probably looked as if you were marching me here to chew me out. Which is apparently what’s happening.”
“There’s a car for you out front,” Harrison says.
My breath hitches. He’s sending me away? I told him to back off, but after what happened upstairs, it feels like a slap in the face.
Without a word, I turn to leave.
I make my way through the halls and out to the parking lot. A sleek, black limo is waiting. I get in, and the car pulls away. I half expect it to circle the block and return for Harrison or do some other covert maneuver. But I’m disappointed when it continues straight down the road.
