Aria Chen's posture turned stiff as her fingers clenched in her heady therapy, the flute of her champagne resting against the bottom, as her eyes glided over the bustling room divulged at the Obsidian Lounge. Each thrum of energy resonated with the elite of San Francisco- tech moguls, venture capitalists, and corporate climbers like her- all pretending, while sipping hundred-dollar cocktails, not to measure each other's worth.
The marketing team had reserved a portion of the wall cornered for themselves to celebrate their successful scenario: persuading Meridian Technologies into a multi-million contract, and that after the last agency fizzled out completely. A victory that would, normally, render Aria aglow. Instead, that nagging hollowness settled inside her as she observed her colleagues laughing and toasting to their successes.
Her phone buzzed against the skin of her thigh. Instinctively, she brought it out from the fitted pocket of her black dress and checked its screen.
Congratulations, Aria. The board approved your promotion to Executive Director. Effective immediately. We'll discuss details on Monday.-Richard
Letting the words from her CEO develop into a condensed part of her smile at the side of her mouth, she gazed at the message from Richard. Finally, after five years of forgoing weekend after weekend and every possible relationship to obtain nothing even close to an adequate work-life balance, it paid off. At twenty-eight, she will now become the youngest executive director in the corporation.
Yet this victory tasted all but a little flat in her mouth.
"Another round for the marketing genius!" yelled Derek from accounts, his tie already loosened, eyes slightly unfocused.
She raised a glass in acknowledgement but did not join the throng when they flowed toward the dance floor. Instead, she disappeared into the recesses of the restroom, needing a moment to digest in relative silence what it felt like-the culmination of several years of hard work.
The bathroom in the Obsidian was as luxurious as the rest of the club-black marble, gold-brushed fixtures with soft lighting that somehow made everyone look airbrushed. Aria stood before the mirror, studying her reflection with a sort of clinical detachment.
Long black hair perfectly fell over her shoulders in waves. Hazel eyes, a legacy from her unknown father, stared back at her, rimmed with precise winged liner. High cheekbones and full lips painted deep red completed the image of confident professionalism she'd crafted so carefully.
"Executive Director Aria Chen," she whispered, practicing the title to see how it rolled off the tongue. It should have been a triumphant moment.
She reached for her lipstick impulsively and purposely smeared it at the corner of her mouth a little with her pinky finger. Just that little imperfection changed her whole appearance-from a sculpted corporate warrior to something a bit darker, less good at controlling herself. Tonight, she didn't want to be counting money. For just a few hours, she wanted to feel something real.
Aria walked back onto the main floor but bypassed her colleagues, heading instead for the long obsidian bar that gave the club its name. She slid onto an idle stool at the very end, far from the huddle.
"Manhattan, please. Rye, not bourbon," she answered the bartender, a tattooed woman with a silver septum ring who nodded in approval to her order.
"Make it Whistlepig," said a deep voice from behind her. "Put it on my tab."
The bartender glanced over Aria's shoulder, her expression turning slightly between recognition and deference. Interesting.
"I can buy my own drinks," Aria said, still without turning around.
"I have no doubt," he said. Now closer, his voice rolled from rich and textured as expensive whiskey. "But consider it more an acknowledgment of excellent taste than charity."
Curiosity got the better of Aria, who turned on her stool to face the owner of the voice.
Her first impression was of height- the figure towered over her even with her seated on the bar stool. Broad shoulders clad in charcoal gray with an apparently tailored suit. But it was those eyes that took her breath away- steel gray, nearly silver in dim light, so piercing she gasped.
The straight dark hair was shot though with silver at the temples. A firm jaw was now tense, assessing her with equal interest. Too gentle a word, really. Striking. Commanding. Dangerous.
"And if I prefer bourbon?" she challenged and held his stare.
One corner of his mouth lifted, perhaps in amusement. "Then I'd question your judgment but respect your right to be wrong."
The bartender slid her Manhattan across the obsidian surface. Aria deliberately sipped and held his stare over the rim of her glass. Excellent whiskey- spicy, complex, warmth that traveled down her throat and burst into her chest.
"Well?" he raised an imperious eyebrow in question.
"You were right about the rye," she said, then added with a smirk, "This time."
He made a claim to the neighbouring empty stool without seeking permission, squaring his broad body in her direction. "I'm rarely wrong."
"Confidence or arrogance?" Aria took another drink.
"Experience." His gaze never left hers. "Do you have a name?"
She stared at him for a moment. "Does it matter?"
There was some flicker in his eyes, appreciation perhaps, for her skipping some sort of ritualistic exercise in social scripts. "I guess not. You can call me X."
"Just a letter?"
"For tonight." He focused his gaze on her with a particular intensity that unsettled her. "You're celebrating something."
Not a question but a statement. Aria nodded. "How do you know?"
"You're alone in a bar in a club where your colleagues are still partying." He pointed toward her friends, who were now taking shots at their table. "You ordered something sophisticated rather than a party-type drink. And your shoulders- there is a tension there, as if you just changed the weight of a heavy burden."
His assertion gave Aria a strange chill. "Are you normally this observant with strangers?"
"Only the interesting ones." His voice dropped to a register she almost felt. "So what's the achievement?"
She toyed with her glass, leisurely rotating it. "Promotion. A long time coming."
"Yet you don't look happy?"
"Perhaps I am the kind who is always looking to the next mountain after having just climbed down from the last."
His glare deepened. "Ambition is a cruel mistress."
"Speaking from experience?"
He didn't answer directly, swirling his finger around the rim of his whiskey glass. "The view from the top is often lonelier than you'd think."
That unvarnished truth, blunt and not in the slightest tinged with self-pity, cut way too close to home. With that, Aria's conscience sharply pricked her, and she abruptly shifted her gaze away from him, feeling nakedly exposed. In a matter of minutes, this man had uttered what she'd so painstakingly fought all these years to deny: That success hadn't filled the void she had been running from since childhood.
"So what do you do when getting to the summit?" she asked, surprising herself with the question.
X leaned slightly closer, his cologne woodsy and expensive, tempting her senses. "Find a harder mountain, perhaps." His eyes blotched over her smudged lipstick; in an almost mocking way, he said, "Or find ways that are more fun to enjoy the altitude."
Heat coiled low in her belly at his words, at the deliberate intent behind them. No, this was not just flirting; it was recognition-two predators sizing up each other and making a decision: were they competitors or potential allies?
Aria steadied herself against the tide of her rapid heartbeat. "And which are you doing tonight?"
"That depends entirely on you." He extended his hand slowly and deliberately, allowing her plenty of time to pull away. When she didn't, he put his thumb to the corner of her mouth and smoothed away the smudged lipstick. The contact sent electric currents of awareness through her being, if only for an instant.
"I don't do relationships," she said flatly, needing to make that disclaimer immediately. "Or complications."
"What a coincidence." His smile was without warmth but with intent. "Neither do I."
The music changed into deeper, primal sounds as the bass laughed underneath her, shaking the floorboards, resonating through her body. Or maybe it was just that he was too close to her, that unspoken dare in his gaze.
"Dance with me," he said, standing and extending his hand.
It should have been infuriating, and yet instead, she found her hand, allowed him to pull her towards the dance floor. His fingers wrapped around her hand in a warm, reassuring grip. That simple touch was electric again. The dance floor was crowded, and every inch of separation between their bodies felt like it should. X had his hands at her waist, Aria having moved her body in swinging motion to the rhythm while hyper-aware of the heat radiating from his palms through her dress.
"Your colleagues are watching," he murmured into her ear, his breath tousling her hair. "The redhead seems particularly concerned."
Aria turned her head and saw Melissa, her assistant, aghast with gaping mouth. She had never seen her boss leaving with someone from work functions.
"Let them watch," said Aria as she knowingly and deliberately slid her hands to his shoulders, feeling powerful muscles beneath expensive fabric. "Their masters don't own me."
"To whom do you answer?" His soft-spoken question, however, was layered.
"Myself only," she replied directly into his gaze. "Always."
The grip of his hands differentiated between growing tighter around her waist and drawing her closer until the warmth of their bodies could be felt by both. "A woman who knows her own predisposed mind. Increasingly rare."
They were in sync, the music cloaking the rest of the conversation between them, sharp, probing questions about philosophy not really into personal areas. He was intelligent, articulate, with a ruthlessness matching her own. At the end of the song, their anger toward each other almost reached unbearable heights.
They walked back to the bar, and X's hand moved to her lower back. The possessive gesture made another tingle zip through her. Then he bent down, lips almost touching her ear.
"Come to my hotel."
The words hung fat between them with promise and yet completely unclothed of pretense. This was what she had wanted something immediate, visceral, with no expectations of emotional consideration.
"On three conditions," said Aria, keeping her voice even despite the strong urge coursing through her. "No full names. No personal details. And just tonight."
His eyes darkened as he studied her face. "Agreed. Anything else?"
"Yes." She drew closer, tilting her face up to his. "I want another Manhattan first."
That laugh of his appeared out of nowhere. It seemed like very real appreciation that briefly changed his severe features. He called for the bartender.
An hour later, the two of them had a perfectly crafted Manhattan, so they took the elevator from inside the St. Regis hotel a few blocks from the club. The moment the doors closed, X backed her against the mirrored wall, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss that was immediately demanding. Aria responded with equal fervor, her fingers threading through his hair, her body arching into his.
There was an elevator chime at the top floor; of course, he had taken the penthouse suite, and they managed to get through the door just before all his clothes started falling off him, beginning with his beautiful suit jacket hitting the floor, followed by his tie, which he removed with a single fluid motion, leaving her breathless. He peeled her dress slowly from her body, deliberately like torture.
What soon followed was nothing that Aria had ever experienced before: exciting, almost combative, as both of them would vie for the upper hand and then relinquish control; come against the barriers they have created only to have them soothed by an unexpected tenderness. He seems to read her body with uncanny accuracy, responding to her unarticulated desires even before she fully conceives them.
When it was over, they were all tangled within the shambles of the American king-sized bed, breathing roughly. Aria looked up at the ceiling, satisfied with her body humming with the knowledge that he would leave his mark on her with his passion come morning. "Stay," murmured X, voice roughened as fingers traced lazy patterns on her bare shoulder.
"Stay," would have been the simple straightforward request that would have caught her unguarded. Usually, men did not want her to stay; they wanted her body, not her presence thereafter. "Just to sleep," he added, eyes already drifting closed. "Early meetings tomorrow."
Aria watched as he breathed deeper, the features hardening as they softened into sleep. He looked younger, as if by the suspension of a knife edge of his personality. Dangerous illusion, she knew. Men like him-men like her-barely soften. She waited until she was sure he was sound asleep before carefully extracting herself from the writhing tangle of sheets. She gathered together the scattered clothes and dressed quickly and silently in the bathroom. Her reflection bore swollen lips, a small mark just blooming at the base of her throat, and eyes bright with lingering pleasure-thoroughly claimed in a way that should have bothered her clearly, yet didn't.
Before shuffling out, she eyed the jacket that belonged to him thrown unceremoniously over a chair. On impulse, she decided to check the pockets, and found the keycard for the room. Imprinted on it was the suite number and a name that made her blood run cold. Xavier Knight. Aria knew that name. Everyone in marketing circles did. CEO of Knight Enterprises, one of the most aggressively expanding companies on the West Coast. The company which, by the way, just acquired Meridian Technologies-the very client her team had signed today.
The client who would now apparently be working with Knight Enterprises rather than her agency.
Placing carefully the card the way it had been fixed, her mind working frantically in a thousand directions. Could he have known of her? Was this a corporate spy operation? But no; the surprise in his eyes when she'd approached her conditions had been genuine. Just an unholy coincidence.
In the Elevator, Aria pressed her palm against her stomach, suddenly feeling a little nauseous from too much alcohol and that amazing revelation, as well as from the knowledge that for a few hours she had been completely and dangerously alive in the moment with a man who represented everything she competed against professionally.
The entrance to the hotel was a great place to turn back and stare up at the soaring glass tower. Xavier Knight would wake to find himself alone, as she preferred. They would meet again, never, as she had stipulated. By Monday, she would be Executive Director Chen and focused entirely on her career trajectory. Tonight had been a deviation. A celebration of her professional milestone that had veered into unexpected territory. Nothing more.
Quickly inhaling the early morning air, she felt it clear her head of whiskey, his lingering scent and really not much else. There was a strange sensation fluttering in her abdomen, probably just hunger, she reasoned. She'd hardly eaten at the client dinner before the club. Raising her hand to hail a taxi, she had no idea that what happened that night would change everything about the life she'd so carefully mapped out for herself. The little flutter she dismissed as hunger was the very first whisper of a whole new existence coming to life within her. In five years, she would once again stand in front of Xavier Knight with an altered appearance and bearing a child whose eyes mirrored his own.