The city glowed like a mirage through the tall glass walls of **The Donovan Tower**. Somewhere inside, a man whose name Nilla had only just learned was thinking about her instead of the multimillion-dollar contract on his desk.
"Jax Donovan"didn't get distracted not ever yet the image of the woman behind the bar kept replaying like a song he couldn't turn off.
That laugh.
That defiance.
It shouldn't have mattered, but it did.
He told himself he was only intrigued that he'd meet her once, satisfy the curiosity, and move on. That's what men like him did.
At the **Cash Bar**, the night began as always: pulsing lights, throbbing music, and the familiar scent of whiskey and smoke. Nilla wore red tonight a dress that clung where it should, daring without apology. She told herself she didn't dress for him. She dressed for the tips. For control.
But when the door opened and Jax stepped in, every rational thought scattered.
He looked sharper than before dark suit, open collar, a glint of something dangerous in his eyes. He stopped a few feet from the bar, and the crowd seemed to part for him again.
Their eyes met.
That same invisible current sparked recognition, attraction, danger.
She pretended to focus on her tray. "Back to lose another bet?"
"No," he said, sliding onto a stool. "Back to make an offer."
Her pulse quickened. "Another one of your rich-man games?"
He shook his head slowly. "Dinner. One night. No strings."
Nilla almost laughed. "You could have anyone in this city. Why me?"
"Because you looked me in the eye," he said simply. "And you didn't flinch."
The line wasn't practiced. It felt real and that made it worse.
She hesitated, trying to sound casual. "Dinner isn't cheap in your world."
He leaned in, voice dropping just enough for her to feel it. "Neither are you."
The air thickened. She didn't answer right away. The crowd faded; the music dulled. Her fingers brushed the counter to ground herself.
Finally, she said, "One dinner. That's all."
Jax smiled slow, triumphant, and dangerous. "That's all I'm asking."
Later that night
A black car waited outside the club. The driver opened the door, and Nilla slipped in, her heartbeat louder than the rain against the windows.
Jax sat beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him through the air. Neither spoke. The city blurred past wet streets, blurred neon, reflections sliding over his jawline.
When they arrived, she realized the restaurant was private, quiet, candlelit too intimate for a first meeting. Yet everything about him was deliberate.
At the table, Jax ordered for both of them, his tone low and assured. She watched his hands the way they moved, the way power seemed effortless on him.
"So what's the real reason?" she asked finally. "You don't strike me as the dinner-and-conversation type."
He looked at her for a long time. "I wanted to see if I could talk to you without the lights, the noise, the crowd between us."
"And?"
He smiled faintly. "You're even more dangerous without them."
Her laugh came out softer than she meant. "Dangerous, huh?"
"You make me forget who's supposed to be in control."
That shouldn't have thrilled her, but it did. The table seemed to shrink between them.
Their dinner came and went mostly untouched. Words turned slower, quieter, more personal about where they grew up, what they feared, what they wanted but couldn't admit.
When dessert arrived, he didn't touch it. Instead, he leaned back, eyes never leaving hers. "Come with me. Just for a drive."
Something reckless in her said yes before her mind could argue.
The Drive
The city stretched out below them as the car climbed toward the ridge overlooking the skyline. The rain had stopped; the air smelled of lightning and night.
Jax stopped the car and stepped out. "Come see this," he said.
Nilla followed, her heels clicking softly on the pavement. The wind teased her hair, cool against the heat building between them. Below, the lights looked like a thousand secrets waiting to be kept.
"Beautiful," she whispered.
He looked at her instead of the view. "It is."
When he reached for her hand, she didn't pull away. His touch was careful, as if he wasn't sure he had the right to touch her yet. The moment stretched charged, wordless, almost dangerous.
She felt herself leaning closer without meaning to. His scent, his warmth, the roughness of his thumb against her skin it all felt too real, too close.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured.
But she didn't.
The world went quiet around them only the city humming below and their unsteady breaths between. His lips brushed her forehead, then her cheek, lingering just long enough to promise more without taking it.
When he finally pulled back, his voice was unsteady. "If I kiss you now, I won't stop."
Nilla met his eyes torn, breathless. "Then maybe don't."
For a heartbeat, it seemed inevitable — the fall, the fire, everything that would come after. But he stepped back instead, running a hand through his hair.
"Not like this," he said. "I don't want you thinking it's about the chase."
She didn't know whether to be angry or impressed. "You're used to getting what you want."
He smiled faintly. "Maybe what I want is to wait until you want it too."
Her heart stumbled. No one had ever said that to her before.
The car ride back was quiet heavy with the kind of silence that comes from unspoken thoughts and skin that still remembers touch.
When they reached her street, he didn't ask to come up. He simply handed her a folded card his number again, but this time, handwritten.
"Goodnight, Nilla," he said.
She stepped out into the rain, turning once before the car disappeared down the road. Her pulse hadn't slowed; her lips still tingled from a kiss that hadn't happened.
Back in her apartment, she leaned against the door and let out a shaky laugh.
It was just dinner.
But somehow, she knew it was the beginning of something she couldn't control something that felt like fire waiting for a spark.