The day had drained every nerve from my body. By the time I got home, I wanted nothing more than silence.
I filled the tub, dropping in lavender salts and rose oil until the steam rose fragrant around me. Slipping out of my robe, I lowered myself into the warm water.
A soft sigh escaped my lips as the tension slowly melted away. For once, I let myself stop.
No deadlines. No sharp-eyed CEO breathing down my neck. Just me.
Later, wrapped in my robe, I blow-dried my hair, went through my skincare routine, and poured myself a glass of wine.
Curling onto the bed, I put on soft music—something jazzy, soothing.
I took a sip, the taste rich and full, and let the music fill the quiet.
But it wasn't enough.
The silence that once comforted me now pressed in like a weight. His voice replayed in my head, sharp and dismissive: "Is that all you've got?"
I gritted my teeth, swallowing hard.
I finished the glass quickly and poured another. Still, it did nothing. The quiet of my apartment only made his words louder.
The memory of his voice crashed into me again low, cold, dismissive. "This doesn't impress me."
I swallowed the last of the wine in one burning gulp and set the glass down harder than I meant to. My reflection in the darkened window stared back at me,tense, restless, unsatisfied.
No. Tonight wasn't about staying home and wallowing. Tonight wasn't about Adrian Blackwood.
It was about me.
And if I couldn't relax here, I'd relax somewhere else.
I stood, marched to my closet, and pulled out black skinny jeans, a silky white top, and my favorite ankle boots. A quick touch of lipstick, a leather jacket over my shoulders, and I was ready.
Grabbing my purse, I slammed the door behind me and called a ride.
By the time I slid into a corner booth at a low-lit downtown bar, the music thumping faintly through the floor, I felt the first sting of freedom. I ordered a glass of whiskey neat.
Then another.
And as I stared into the amber liquid, I muttered under my breath, "Screw Adrian Blackwood."
Adrian's POV
The city lights glowed faintly against the tinted glass windows of the lounge's private section. Dan and I had claimed a booth tucked at the corner, far enough from the crowd that our conversation couldn't be overheard, yet close enough for him to keep scanning the waitresses that passed by with trays of drinks.
Dan was not only my assistant but had been my closest friend since university in London. Back then, he was the one who dragged me out of the library and into clubs, the one who had witnessed me claw my way out of the shadow of being "the nerd." He knew me better than most, which was why I didn't like the way he leaned back in his seat now, eyes narrowing on me like he'd just solved a puzzle.
"You know," he said casually, sipping his whiskey, "I felt like what happened in the meeting with your senior financial analyst was… kind of personal."
I arched a brow. "Personal?" I asked, feigning surprise.
"Yeah." He set his glass down and leaned forward. "Because she was good, Adrian. More than good. Sharp. Confident. Her data was correct, her analysis was clean,yet you looked like you were itching to tear her apart. I've seen you grill executives, but this? This felt different. It felt like you dislike her, and you were disagreeing with her just because of that."
I smirked, leaning back. "Don't be ridiculous. I just met her a few weeks ago. Why would I dislike her?"
Dan raised his brows in disbelief. "You tell me."
"She wasn't exactly correct," I countered smoothly. "And this project requires perfection. No mistakes. It's too big of an investment to risk sloppy work."
He tilted his head. "Sloppy? Really? Her presentation was airtight. Half the board was eating out of her hand, and you still looked at her like she owed you money."
"Maybe I just don't hand out compliments for free," I said coldly, swirling the amber liquid in my glass.
Dan chuckled and shook his head. "No, my friend. You don't hand them out at all. And yet…" He tapped his glass against the table for emphasis. "This feels different. Tell me, why exactly did you decide that she report directly to you, bypassing the CFO? Don't tell me it's about perfection again."
I stiffened but kept my expression cool. "Because I want to know if she's truly the best. That's all. I don't like middlemen when something this important is at stake."
Dan gave me a long look, unconvinced. "Hmm. Or maybe you just like having her under your thumb."
I shot him a warning glare, but he only laughed.
The tension broke when he signaled the waitress for another round. "Alright, enough about the ice queen. Let's switch gears. What do you say we head to a club after this? Blow off some steam?"
I considered it but shook my head. "Not tonight.I'm not really in the mood for clubs"
So we ordered another drink instead, sinking into the lull of background jazz and murmured conversations.
That was when I noticed her.
Across the room, at a corner table, sat a woman with her chin propped lazily in her palm. A half-empty bottle of wine stood in front of her, alongside a cocktail glass she didn't need. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the dim light in waves. She looked out of place,beautiful, elegant, but utterly careless in the way only a drunk woman could be.
And when she shifted, her face tilted toward me, my chest tightened.
Clara.
She was sitting alone, eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, raising her glass to no one in particular before downing another gulp.
"Don't tell me," Dan muttered, following my gaze. "That's her, isn't it?"
I didn't answer. Instead, I rose from the booth.
Dan snorted. "You're predictable, man. Go on then. I'll keep our drinks warm."
I crossed the room, every step deliberate. She didn't notice me until I spoke.
"Clara?"
Her head shot up, eyes struggling to focus. Then recognition flickered, and she gave a tipsy, mocking smile. "Well, if it isn't the perfectionist boss himself." Her words slurred, loud enough to turn a few heads nearby.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," she said, waving her hand dramatically, nearly spilling her drink. "'You don't impress me,'" she mimicked in a clipped, mocking tone, narrowing her eyes in exaggerated seriousness. "As if you impress me, Mr. Blackwood. Guess what? You don't impress me either!"
A laugh rumbled from my chest before I could stop it. "You're drunk."
"And you're annoying," she shot back, pointing at me like she'd just discovered a scandal. "Always questioning, always disagreeing, always…" she hiccuped,"acting like God's gift to business."
I leaned closer, amused despite myself. "Is that so?"
"Yes!" She jabbed her finger against the table. "You're infuriating. Do you know how many hours I spent preparing those damn numbers? Do you? And you just…just sat there with your stupid serious face, like I was some intern messing up a spreadsheet. Ugh, you're the worst."
Her candor, fueled by alcohol, was sharp as knives, but instead of anger, I felt a dark satisfaction curling inside me.
"Done?" I asked softly.
"Not even close," she muttered, pouring herself another drink with shaky hands. "You think you're scary, but you're just a man in a suit. A handsome man, yes—don't get me wrong—but still just a man."
I chuckled. "Handsome, huh?"
Her eyes narrowed dangerously, even as her cheeks burned. "Don't get cocky. That was not a compliment."
It was impossible not to grin at her. She was so different from the composed, perfect professional who stood in the boardroom. This Clara was messy, raw, unfiltered.
"Alright," I said firmly, reaching for her glass before she could take another sip. "That's enough."
"Hey!" she protested, pouting like a stubborn child. "Give that back. That's mine."
"You've had more than enough." I stood and held out my hand. "Come on, I'll get you home."
Her brows furrowed. "Home? No, I'm fine right here. Very fine." She tried to stand, nearly toppling over. I caught her arm before she could embarrass herself further.
"Clara," I said with a tone I usually reserved for boardrooms. "Give me your address."
She squinted at me, lips twitching. "Bossy."
"Your address," I repeated.
She finally sighed and rattled it off, slumping against my side as I guided her out of the lounge. Outside, I hailed a taxi.
"See?" she muttered as I helped her in. "Not so scary after all. Just…annoying."
I smirked, closing the door after her. "Sweet night, Miss Richard"
The taxi drove off, leaving me standing under the city lights.
Dan joined me a moment later, grinning ear to ear. "Man, you're enjoying this too much," he said with a grin. "Most bosses would've left their analyst drunk at a bar, but you… you practically tucked her in."
I didn't reply. My eyes stayed fixed on the spot where the taxi had disappeared.