by C. L. Stone
I scrolled through picture after picture of Cole on social media accounts with his arms around beautiful women, his glass raised in a toast, or taking shots with some of the most attractive people I’d ever seen. They were tagged as Cole Reid and Loft25 and all taken in the club. It seemed excessive even for a “regular,” not that he actually admitted to that.
A search for articles on the opening of Loft25 resulted in a short review of the new venue in The Vegas Sun.
“Grand opening of the city’s newest nightclub, Loft25, showcases a loft atmosphere and caters to a clientele looking for an off-the-Strip experience. Featuring both indoor and outdoor spaces, as well as a swanky VIP room, Loft25 is sure to entertain those looking for something a little more refined and a little less Vegas.”
I skimmed the rest of the article, but it was pretty standard fare for a review of a new club. Yet, Cole’s role at the club was nagging me, and I began to wonder if he was the owner of Loft25. Although he seemed too young, it was plausible.
Thanks to a business law class I took last year, I knew that nightclub owners were required to file copious amounts of paperwork to open for business. After some digging, I discovered that the city issued permits for Loft25 to a corporation by the name of 3Amigos, LLC. On the first page of the Articles of Organization filed with the Nevada Secretary of State, the section requesting the name of each Manager or Managing Member listed three names: Shane Oliver, Cole Reid, and Nicholas Hayes. Wait, what?
I did a double take, reading the three names again. Last night, I met a Shane, Cole, and Nicholas, all at Loft25. We didn’t exchange last names, but that was way too much of a coincidence. I knew something weird was going on.
A little flirting and attention wasn’t uncommon when I went out, but to have three admirers in one night? Come on. Even with my “emergency dress,” there was no way that was normal.
I pushed back from the computer, standing and pacing as my mind raced, but a glimpse of the clock had me hastily packing up my things. If I waited much longer, I was going to be late to work. Fortunately, I made it on time, and since gift wrapping was a mindless job, while my hands were busy cutting, taping, and tying bows, my mind was busy trying to put together the pieces.
By the time I returned to my apartment, their motives remained a mystery, but I was convinced that something strange was going on at the club. Interviewing Cole now seemed like a terrible plan, and I gave up on the idea of contacting him. In the end, it was unlikely I would ever see any of them again, so whatever was happening last night didn’t matter.
Freshly showered, the TV was fired up, the popcorn was popped, and I was just about to sprawl onto the couch and watch a marathon of cheesy holiday romance movies when the doorbell rang. What now? A glance through the peephole revealed a uniformed man’s head peeking out from behind a rather large, and stunning, bouquet of crimson and plum flowers.
I opened the door, assuming the flowers were for one of my neighbors. “Can I help you find someone?”
“Are you Emma?”
“Yes.”
“These are for you. Enjoy,” he said as he handed the flowers to me.
Still skeptical that I was the intended recipient, I shut the door and plucked the card from the arrangement. I sincerely doubted that Matt had sent them. In all the years we dated, he rarely sent flowers; besides, I hadn’t heard from him in over a month. But, who else could they be from?
I opened the small card, admiring the elegant but unfamiliar black script.
Emma -
I’d love to see you again.
Shane
Shane? I only knew one Shane and I’d met him at Loft25 last night. This was officially the oddest twenty-four hours of my life, and I was simultaneously flattered and creeped out by the unexpected gesture. He was charming and persistent but also borderline stalkerish. Says the girl who was cyberstalking Cole this afternoon.
So, how did Shane know where to find me? Or even who I was? We hadn’t exchanged last names, and my online presence was fairly limited. My mind flashed back to the ID scanner at the club entrance. Although it may have been intended for liability purposes, clearly Shane was willing to invade the privacy of his patrons when it suited him.
The bigger question was what to do about it. He left his phone number on the bottom of the card, but I wasn’t sure I should respond. Was it a good idea to get involved with a stranger who was determined enough to track down my full name and address?
3
“I’ll run these up to the front,” I told my fellow gift-wrapper as I balanced a stack of newly-wrapped boxes against each hip. Although I was grateful that I didn’t have to deal with the swarms of holiday shoppers, I needed regular breaks from the closet-sized room to survive my shift.
The moment I opened the door separating us from the sales floor, I inhaled the heady aroma of hot cinnamon, cloves, and apples. Maybe I can sneak a cup of cider, I thought, scanning the room for the manager on duty. He was nice enough, except when it came to employees sampling the goodies meant for customers. Then, he was a regular tyrant.
When I saw that he was busy explaining the benefits of our most expensive espresso machine, I hurriedly handed off the packages and headed straight for the apple cider. But, before I reached my destination, I found myself gazing into a familiar pair of pale green eyes.
I jerked to a stop. “Nicholas?”
“Hello, Cinderella.” My heart stuttered at his enticing grin, until I realized that bumping into him was way too much of a coincidence.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice dripping with suspicion.
“Shopping.” He held up two boxes. “What do you think? The pasta machine or spiralizer?”
Was it possible that he truly was here shopping for his sister? “Um, I’m partial to homemade pasta.”
Nicholas nodded and replaced the spiralizer on the display shelf. “Me too. Good choice.”
“Right. Well, nice bumping into you, but I’ve got to get back to work.”
“You know, I’m starting to think your name really is Cinderella. Every time I see you, you dart away.”
I gave him a mock scowl. “I’m not darting, just on the clock.”
“Okay, then. How about when you get off? Meet me at the coffee shop around the corner?”
I wanted to say no, but the inquisitive part of me won out. What was up with these guys? First Shane and the flowers last night, now Nicholas “randomly” appeared at my work. Fluke? I think not.
“Sure. Meet you there in two hours.”
The rest of my shift dragged on as I obsessed over the Loft25 owners. It was odd enough that I met all three on Friday night, but now two of them were pursuing me? What was their endgame?
When I sat down across from Nicholas at a cozy table in the back of the crowded coffee shop, I reminded myself that I was merely there to satisfy my curiosity. Of course, that point might have been a lot easier to remember if he wasn’t so damn good-looking. It would be a miracle if I made it through our non-date without getting caught staring at his luscious lips.
After a waitress took our order—peppermint mocha for me and a cappuccino for Nicholas—I bit my tongue and waited for Nicholas to take control of the conversation. I knew that if I spoke up, I’d do something stupid, like ask him about the club. And, I wasn’t willing to give away that I researched him and his business partners. That was one card I intended to hold close to my chest.
“So, Cindy, are you native to Las Vegas?”
“I told you to call me Ella, remember? Not Cindy.” I grimaced. “Anyway, it’s Emma, so you were closer than you realized.”
He smiled. “Emma. I like it. And, you didn’t answer my question.”
“Definitely not. I grew up in a small town in Indiana. You?”
“Pasadena.”
I inspected his blond hair and sun-kissed skin. “Let me guess. Surfer?”
Nicholas shrugged. “I can surf, but I was never that into it. My family went skiing a lot,
so that’s more my speed.”
“I’ve always wanted to go skiing. Actually, I’ve always wanted to cuddle up in front of a roaring fire at a ski lodge . . . I’m not so sure about the skiing part.”
“It’s not too difficult as long as you have decent hand-eye coordination.”
“I’m awesome at Dance Dance Revolution. Does that qualify?”
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and spoke, but all I could think about was stroking my own thumb over that delicious stubble. “I’m sorry, what?” I asked, attempting to hide my embarrassment at missing his response.
“I said that I would need to witness your awesomeness to evaluate your coordination.”
“That can be arranged,” I said before I could stop myself. Why am I flirting with him? Oh right, because he’s gorgeous and I like him. Not good.
The waitress set our coffee down in front of us, and I greedily took a few sips, relishing in the jolt of energy the caffeine gave me.
“Coffee junkie?” Nicholas asked, his tone amused.
“Guilty. Eight o’clock classes have officially turned me into an addict.”
“You’re a student?”
“Yes, I’m a senior at UNLV.”
“What are you studying?”
“Journalism and media studies.”
“Oh, you’re a reporter,” he said with a teasing lilt to his voice.
“Guilty again. Don’t tell me you’re afraid I’ll uncover all your secrets,” I stated boldly, watching his face for signs that he’d been feeding me lines.
“Not at all.” His expression didn’t falter, so either he was skilled at masking his thoughts or he wasn’t hiding much. Personally, I was betting on the former.
“What do you do?” Here we go, I thought, hoping he would be honest with me.
“I help manage my family’s foundation.” Nice evasion.
“Isn’t that code for ‘I have a trust fund’?”
“That’s not exactly a secret,” he said almost sheepishly.
I plied Nicholas with questions about growing up in Pasadena high society, and before I knew it, an hour had passed. Although he didn’t give off an overly flirtatious vibe, there was something about the way he spoke that was extremely appealing. Like he was oblivious to everything and everyone around us, focusing all of his intensity on me. I almost forgot that he was hiding his connection to Loft25 and Shane and Cole. Almost.
I reached for my bag. “It’s been a long day, so I better get going. Thanks for the coffee.”
“Of course,” he said, rising from his chair.
When we reached the sidewalk, I hesitated, uncertain what his next move might be. He hadn’t asked for my phone number or a date. Was he really only after a friendly conversation over coffee?
Nicholas stuck his hands in his leather jacket and gave me a casual smile. “Maybe I’ll see you around, Emma.”
“Sure, okay. Bye, Nicholas,” I practically stuttered before turning to walk the block back to where my car was parked. Huh. That was not the goodbye I expected.
After fighting traffic the entire drive home, I changed clothes and then poured myself a glass of wine. I wanted so much to relax and enjoy another holiday movie, but I couldn’t stop thinking about my three mystery men. It didn’t help that Shane’s obnoxiously pretty flowers were staring at me from the kitchen table.
Before I could stop myself, I grabbed my laptop and typed Nicholas Hayes in the search box. Once the results loaded, I skimmed numerous articles featuring his family’s foundation. Although I already knew it wasn’t all he did, at least he wasn’t lying about his role in managing the foundation.
Next, I searched for Shane’s name. He didn’t generate near as many hits as Cole or Nicholas, but I was able to find his social media accounts, which were mostly private. Although I didn’t take the time to truly dig, nothing jumped out as a major red flag. If, and that was still a big if, I decided to call or text him, hopefully he wouldn’t turn out to be a crazy stalker.
I forced myself to shut my laptop before I turned into the crazy one. Since I honestly had no intention of getting involved with any of them, I couldn’t figure out why I was so intrigued by the three business partners. Was it just because of the mystery surrounding them and their unknown intentions?
In the middle of making dinner, my doorbell rang again, and I groaned. Please no more flowers, I thought as I made my way to the door. My view through the peephole this time showed another uniformed man but nothing else.
I cracked open the door. “Yes?”
The delivery man handed me an envelope and I begrudgingly accepted it. “You’re supposed to read it now,” he said formally.
“Seriously?”
He nodded.
I slid my finger under the fine linen envelope and pulled out a card embossed with the letter C. It was signed by Cole and simply said, “Meet me in the Aria lobby on Wednesday evening at 7:30. Wear a cocktail dress and these.” These? I re-read the note, confused, before finally remembering the delivery man waiting on me.
“What is your shoe size, miss?” he asked.
“What? Why?”
He pointed to a stack of boxes behind him that I hadn’t noticed. “So I can give you the second part of the delivery.”
Out of sheer curiosity, I found myself telling him my size and then accepting a box wrapped in elegant paper. After shutting and locking the door, I sunk onto the couch and glared at the package like it held a ticking bomb. It’s just a pair of shoes, Emma.
I slowly removed the paper and then the lid, gasping when I saw the pair of designer red peep toe heels inside. Holy shit! These weren’t everyday expensive shoes; they were the I’m a movie star walking the red carpet kind of expensive. What the hell is Cole thinking? And, really, what the hell is going on?
Tossing the box on the coffee table, I stood up and started pacing around my tiny apartment. To the front door, pass by the kitchen, pause at the table, and back to the couch. Then, I repeated the path, muttering to myself all the while.
“What should I do? I don’t have a way to contact Cole, other than showing up at the club, but I have Shane’s phone number. Should I call and confront him? What would I even say? I know you’re business partners with Cole and Nicholas, why are all three of you after me? No, they’re clearly hiding something; I need to figure out what they’re up to on my own.”
Normally, I would have gone to Simone for advice, but she was undoubtedly knee-deep in holiday activities with her family by now. Besides, given the three hot guys in question, I knew what she would say without having to ask.
Not giving myself time to chicken out, I grabbed my cell and sent a text, having already saved Shane’s number. Just in case.
Me: Thank you for the beautiful flowers, stalker Shane.
I resumed pacing and stared at the screen, waiting for it to light up. Less than a minute later, it did.
Shane: You’re very welcome, enchanting Emma. I was hoping I’d hear from you.
Me: Can you blame me for not immediately responding? I don’t remember sharing my last name or address.
Shane: You didn’t?
Smartass.
Me: Nope.
Shane: Okay, busted. I kind of hoped you would be so flattered that you wouldn’t question that part.
Presumptuous much?
Me: You obviously don’t know me at all.
Shane: I would like to change that. Have dinner with me Wednesday night?
Wednesday? I picked up the card from Cole and skimmed it. I was so baffled by the message when I read it the first time that the day didn’t sink in.
Me: Sorry, I already have plans.
Shane: Thursday, then?
Me: Sounds good.
Shane: Excellent. I’ll pick you up at 7.
Shane: And let’s change my nickname to something more flattering, like sexy Shane.
Me: Don’t push your luck.
Shane: How about scintillating? Smart? Stylish?
Me: Seedy? Se
cretive? Shady?
Shane: Ouch! Okay, okay. I see I’ll have to convince you in person.
Me: Do your best!
Shane: Oh, I will. Prepare yourself, exquisite Emma.
I threw my phone on the couch and bit the inside of my cheek. This is such a bad idea.
4
Staring at my reflection in the full-length mirror, I wondered for the thousandth time if I had completely lost my mind. In less than a week, I had somehow gone from single to practically speed-dating three super-hot men. Sure, some of my friends dated multiple guys at once, but they weren’t business partners who interacted on a daily basis.
What am I thinking? What are they thinking?
When Nicholas stopped by my work yesterday and invited me to coffee again, then asked me on an actual date, he extinguished any lingering doubts about whether our first run-in was coincidental. But, how could I possibly decline? Not only was I curious what he, Shane, and Cole were up to, but Nicolas was attractive, interesting, and I enjoyed his company.
Smoothing the black fitted cocktail dress over my hips, my eyes were drawn to the beautiful red peep toe stilettos that adorned my feet. Four-inch platform heels, handmade from Italian leather, they were truly a work of art. And, damn, they made me feel like I could take on the world.
I considered declining the extravagant gift, but Cole made an invitation I couldn’t refuse, literally. He left me no way to contact him, simply assuming, or perhaps demanding, my appearance. Part of me was indignant at his outlandish assumption, but another part was definitely intrigued. And maybe even a little turned on.
Standing in the restroom at Aria, I was once again having second thoughts about accepting. The night we met, Cole indicated his interest in taking me home; what message was I sending by attending and wearing his—as Simone would have called them—“fuck-me shoes”? Maybe I was overthinking things, but considering how long I dated Matt, the idea of even kissing someone else seemed both strange and exciting.
Was I attracted to Cole? Absolutely. Did I want to take things further with him? It was a tempting possibility. But I was getting ahead of myself, and I would never discover the truth if I hid in the bathroom all night.