The bass pulsed so deep it rattled through the bones of anyone sitting too close to the floor speakers, a thudding heartbeat that seemed to belong to the club more than to any single person inside it. The air carried a cocktail of perfumes, spilled liquor, and that faint smoky edge that clung to Friday nights. Neon strobes swept across the room, sometimes landing on faces just long enough to sketch them in blue and pink light before spinning away again.
Roxanne—though most people who mattered called her Roxy—sat with her best friends at their usual table near the corner. Their glasses gleamed on the round table: Sophia's half-empty gin and tonic, Emily's wine, and Roxy's whiskey sour, the ice clinking against the glass every time she tilted it.
Roxy wore black tonight, a dress that hugged her in a way that said she knew exactly what she was doing. Her hair—dyed a soft light brown that seemed to shimmer differently under every strobe—was pulled back loosely in a hairclaw, a few strands rebelliously framing her face. She never looked like she tried too hard; she looked like she had already arrived. Confidence wasn't something she wore like clothing—it was in her smirk, her posture, the deliberate way her sharp eyes scanned a room as if the world existed to entertain her.
Sophia, perched beside her, was the opposite kind of force: all open gestures, laughter too big for the space, and a voice that cut through the bass without needing effort. Emily completed the trio in her quiet way—soft-spoken, watchful, always the one who didn't need to fill the air because when she did, her words landed.
Friday nights belonged to them. Twenty-five, young enough to be reckless but old enough to dress it in purpose. They didn't talk about marriage or mortgages. They talked about life as if it were an endless buffet—messy, tempting, and best devoured together.
Roxy took a sip of her drink, leaned back against the booth cushion, and let her grin sharpen. "So," she drawled, tapping one manicured finger against the rim of her glass. "I have tea."
The effect was immediate. Sophia's eyes widened with exaggerated delight, and she clapped her hands together as if Christmas had come early. Emily, gentler, tilted her head with curiosity, though her smile betrayed her anticipation.
"Spill it right now!" Sophia demanded, leaning forward so dramatically her curls nearly dipped into her glass. "You can't just drop that and not tell us. You're evil."
Emily gave Roxy a playful narrow-eyed look, the kind of stare she reserved for moments when her friends dragged out suspense. "If you're going to make us wait," she said softly, "it better be worth it."
Roxy smirked, savoring the power she held in that moment. "Apparently," she began, her voice dripping with mock seriousness, "there's a rumor going around at the office that I've been sleeping with half the men there."
Emily gasped so hard it almost sounded staged. Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide behind the rim of her wine glass. Sophia, meanwhile, exploded into laughter that made people two tables over glance in their direction.
"WHAT?! No way," Sophia cackled, slapping the table. "That's insane. Half the men? Babe, you don't even care about men in your office."
Roxy rolled her eyes dramatically and raised her glass in mock salute before sipping again. "Right? As if I'd waste my time. I'm picky, thank you very much. I have standards."
Sophia snorted. "Standards so high, men have to apply for a visa just to breathe near you."
Emily finally lowered her hand, her voice soft but edged with amusement. "People really said that about you? Why would anyone even believe that trashy kind of rumor?"
"Because people love a good scandal in the office," Roxy replied, resting her chin in her palm. "They can't handle the fact that I got employee of the month last month. Suddenly, it's easier to assume I'm sleeping my way to success than to accept that maybe—just maybe—I'm brilliant at my job."
Emily frowned thoughtfully. "That's ugly jealousy."
"Ugly and lazy," Roxy added. "They can't even come up with a believable and creative rumor. Half the office? Please. Even if I wanted to, do you know how much scheduling that would require?"
Sophia choked on her drink laughing. "Oh my God, you're terrible. Imagine setting up a Google calendar for your hookups. Color-coded. Reminders. Invitations. You should hire a personal assistant just to arrange it."
"Decline if you're busy," Roxy quipped, lips curling in mischief. "Reschedule for next quarter."
Emily, even as she giggled, gave her signature death stare—gentle but piercing. "You're making jokes, but it probably bothers you."
Roxy lifted her brows as if to say does it?, then shrugged. "Not really. Honestly, it just makes me look interesting. Better than being invisible. I love attention."
But she felt the prickle of annoyance beneath her words, the same way she always did when small-minded people tried to put her in a box. She wasn't going to let them, though.
Sophia twirled her straw, still giggling. "Who do they think you're sleeping with?"
At the mention of his name, Roxy made a face somewhere between fondness and irritation. "The most sold rumor was with Jerry, my first ex in high school, remember? I told you he also works in my company. We're friends now, but apparently, because he's still 'the office sweetheart', people think we're sneaking around again."
Emily tilted her head. "Are you?"
"No." Roxy's answer was immediate, sharp, final. "Jerry and I are done. We're good as friends. That's it. But because half the women there still have a crush on him, they're jealous and looking for someone to blame. Lucky me."
Sophia whistled low. "So basically: you're too good at your job, you've got history with Jerry, and now you're the villain in their little office soap opera."
Roxy smirked. "Exactly. I should start wearing luxury dress to go to office."
The conversation drifted longer than any of them expected, a spiral of jokes, dumb theories, and sharp-edged banter that fit their trio perfectly. Roxy kept rolling her eyes, Sophia kept laughing loud enough to draw attention, and Emily kept weaving in comments that carried more weight than their softness suggested.
And then Sophia froze mid-sentence, her eyes darting over Roxy's shoulder.
"Oh my God," Sophia hissed, leaning in. "Don't look, but that's your boss, Roxy. At the back. Don't look—"
Which, of course, guaranteed that Roxy turned her head immediately. She was a curious person.
Her gaze swept past the glowing bar, past the clusters of dancing bodies, until it landed at a back table. There, in contrast to the casual chaos of the club, sat a man in a dark suit, tie still knotted tight as though he'd come straight from the office without changing. He wasn't alone—another man sat with him, older maybe, gesturing animatedly. But Roxy barely noticed the companion.
Because for a brief second, her boss looked up. Their eyes met.
It was the kind of glance that wasn't long enough to mean anything but wasn't short enough to mean nothing. Then, as naturally as it had happened, she turned back to her friends and shrugged, expression cool.
"Don't you wanna say hi or anything, Roxy?" Emily asked.
"For what?" Roxy said, lifting her drink again. "It's a club. I'm here to hang out. He's just another stranger tonight."
Sophia was still grinning like she'd stumbled onto buried treasure. "But he looks … cool, don't you think?"
Roxy snorted. "Cool? Hell nah. He's annoying. He's strict to the rules, he shoots down half my ideas because they don't fit his 'protocol', and honestly? He's boring. The human embodiment of a manual."
Emily smiled faintly. "Then he's the opposite of you."
"Exactly," Roxy said with mock relief. "Which is why I don't have to worry. He'll probably pretend he didn't even see me."
Sophia leaned closer, her voice conspiratorial. "Have you ever talked to him about anything other than work?"
Roxy thought for a moment, her fingers tapping her glass. "Not really. We rarely even see each other unless it's meetings. And if we bump into each other in the break room? He never says a word. No small talk, no jokes, nothing. Just … silence. So, no, I don't really know him. And I don't really care to."
Her tone was final, dismissive. But something about that brief flicker of eye contact at the back of the club lingered, like the aftertaste of whiskey.
***
Roxy pretended not to notice how Sophia kept sneaking glances toward the back, clearly entertained by the idea of her boss lurking just a few tables away. Emily, though, was more discreet. She kept her calm expression, sipping her wine as if she hadn't noticed at all, but Roxy caught the way Emily's eyes softened every time they flicked to her. Emily always seemed to know more than she said.
The bass shifted, a new track pounding through the speakers, and the wave of dancers on the floor swelled. The club had that restless energy, a sense that something might happen at any moment. Roxy tilted her glass, only to find she'd drained it without realizing.
"Refill time," she announced, sliding out of the booth. "Don't wait up if I get abducted by the bartender's charm."
Sophia laughed, tossing her curls. "Please, you'd abduct him first."
Roxy wove through the crowd, the strobe lights splashing across her black dress, the loose strands of her light brown hair catching neon pink for one heartbeat, then ocean blue the next. The bar was crowded, as usual, a cluster of bodies pressed close, voices shouting orders over the throb of music.
She slipped into a chair and leaned her elbows casually against the counter, her expression that mix of detached confidence and faint amusement she wore so well.
The bartender caught her signal with a nod, already moving down the line. Roxy drummed her fingers on the wood, her gaze sliding over the bottles glinting on the shelves behind him.
And then, from the corner of her vision, she felt it before she saw it—the shift of presence.
Someone stepped up to the bar just a pace away, the space between them filled not by touch or sound but by an awareness so sharp it was almost tangible. Roxy turned her head slightly, just enough to glance.
Cillian. Her boss. Her strict boss.
Of course.
His friend—or business partner, whoever he'd been sitting with—was nowhere in sight. He stood straight even in a club, posture too composed for the chaos around him. His dark hair caught the dim light, and when his eyes flicked sideways—briefly—they landed on her.
For a heartbeat, they held. Roxy's lips curved into the faintest smirk, the one she used when she wanted to look unbothered, untouchable. She turned back to the bar as if he were no more remarkable than the shelves of liquor bottles.
She wasn't unfriendly—not really. She could talk to anyone, fill silences with ease, charm strangers like it was second nature. But with him? With Cillian, of all people? The thought of engaging in casual conversation felt absurd. He was too straight, too tightly wound. The kind of man who probably ironed his socks. A walking rulebook. Her superior. Not her type in any universe.
The bartender returned, sliding her a fresh whiskey sour, the glass sweating under the lights. She murmured her thanks, slipped a bill across the counter, and wrapped her fingers around the cool glass.
Without another glance, she stepped back, the crowd parting just enough to let her pass. Behind her, she thought—though she didn't check—she felt his gaze follow for just a moment longer than it should have.
But by the time she reached the table again, she'd already shaken it off, plastering on her grin for Sophia and Emily.
"Mission accomplished," she declared, lifting her drink. "Still alive. No abduction. Sorry to disappoint."
Sophia leaned across eagerly. "Did he talk to you?"
Roxy arched a brow. "Who?"
"Don't play dumb, you know who. Mister Rules-and-Regulations."
Roxy smirked, savoring her drink before answering. "Nope. Not a word. Just two civilized human beings coexisting at the bar. Isn't that tragic?"
Emily tilted her head, her gaze steady, thoughtful. "Sometimes silence says more than words."
Roxy rolled her eyes, laughing it off, but the comment lingered in the back of her mind like an echo.