PAIGE.
"One more please," I ask for another glass of whisky.
"You've had one too many cups of that, I might have to charge you," Leon says with a hint of concern in his voice.
He was right, I have had way too many, but that didn't stop me from drinking, cause I know even if I pass out he'd take me home and make sure I'm safe.
I clinch the poured glass of whisky, cursing the Rimestones for putting me in such an awful place.
"Last minute Leon, the fucking last minute!" My jaw tenses, " I'm one hundred percent sure the Rimestones are behind this," I chug what's left in the glass, slamming it on the bar table.
"Girl…you need to calm down, your emotions are all over the place." he tries to calm me down, "it's not the end of the world, darling… just try again, even if those mothers fuckers try to screw you over, just try again."
The Rimestone family, my family, has made it their life's mission that I never get a job. The last-minute calls and emails to cancel long-anticipated interviews, it was all them. It's been like this ever since I left them and came here to the United States. All because I didn't want to marry a stranger they chose.
"So fucking stupid," I curse-muttered to myself, staring into the club and everything happening tonight.
He sighs, "I'm almost done for the night." he smiles, "We could binge through F.R.I.E.N.D.S. again when we get home."
Leon always knew how to lighten up my mood, he always knows what I need and what to say to cheer me up.
But this time it wasn't working, I'm so drowned in the abyss that is my thoughts that I cannot even hear what he's saying.
The Rimestone family had done it again. They canceled another interview for me. It's been like this for the past year and a half; whenever I score a job interview it gets cancelled.
It didn't take me much to know that my family was behind this.
They want me to fold, to come back begging and bend to their term. "Not on their lives," I scoff.
"Hey… look on the bright side, at least you have an interview at Daki Tech next week, all goes well, and you'll be back on the train of employed people," he says, trying to cheer me up.
He was doing a good job though. But the seeds of doubt that the Rimestones have planted in me over the past year have grown into a mighty oak tree.
"They stopped me from getting the small fry, and you think they can't stop me from getting the big gun?. My hope is the size of a peanut," I say with an eye roll.
"There's also the possibility that they might not have the resources to stop you from getting an interview there, you know it's Daki Tech we're talking about– the biggest tech company in the country. Just a little bit of hope darling," he says with a wink.
"Maybe you're right," I finally sigh, running a hand through my hair. "But right now, I just need to get out of here." I push myself off the barstool, my legs feeling a little unsteady. "I'm gonna get some air."
"Don't go too far," he calls after me, already turning to serve another customer.
I don't answer, just weave my way through the crowded Manhattan club. The bass is pounding through the floor, and colored lights cut through the hazy air. Everyone is laughing, dancing, and having a good time. It just makes me feel more alone.
My head is still spinning, my thoughts a messy storm of anger and self-pity. I don't even watch where I'm going, my eyes fixed on the exit sign in the distance.
I'm so lost in my own head that I don't see the tall figure stepping directly into my path.
I collide with a wall of a man. A sharp gasp escapes me as the glass of whisky I didn't even realize I was still holding flies from my hand.
Time seems to slow as the amber liquid arcs through the air before splashing directly across the front of an impossibly expensive-looking Tom Ford black suit.
The glass shatters at our feet.
"Shit," I curse, my head snapping up. My eyes travel up, and up, over a broad chest now stained dark, past a sharp jawline, until I meet a pair of dark, unreadable eyes. He's towering over me, well over six feet tall, and his expression is cold, completely closed off. He doesn't look angry. He looks… calculating.
Flustered and humiliated, I grab a napkin from a nearby table. "I am so sorry. So, so sorry," I mumble, leaning forward to pat clumsily at the growing stain on his jacket. I only succeed in smearing it, making the wet patch bigger.
He doesn't move. Doesn't speak. He just stands there, letting me fumble, his intense gaze fixed on my face. It feels like he's looking right through me, and a strange, cold shiver runs down my spine.
There's something familiar about him, but my whiskey-filled haze makes it impossible to place him.
Finally, his hand comes up, not to push me away, but to gently but firmly stop my frantic dabbing. His fingers wrap around my wrist, and his touch is electric. His eyes hold mine for a heartbeat longer, and I see a flicker of something in their depths—recognition?
But just as quickly as it appeared, it's gone, replaced by that same icy mask. He releases my wrist, says nothing, and simply turns away, walking toward the roped-off VIP section as if nothing happened. The bouncer immediately lifts the rope for him without a word.
I stand there frozen, surrounded by the pulsing music, my heart hammering in my chest, watching his retreating back. He never even told me his name. But the way he looked at me…
He knew exactly who I was.