by Reed, Autumn
“I had to fight through the crush of dancing bodies; besides, you said you’d meet me at the bar.”
“Okay, so sue me. I should have specified the upstairs bar.”
“Have you been outside? It’s amazing, and I swear the guy I talked to was an actor, or should be,” I rattled off, feeling surprisingly energized as I looked around for the rest of our group, finally noticing Danielle and a guy shoving their tongues down each other’s throats. “Did Jessica already leave?”
“Yep, and Danielle’s boyfriend showed up.” Simone took another sip of her drink as I mouthed “sorry” and she merely shrugged.
“Man, I wish we could get in over there,” she said, eyeing the roped-off area across from us with longing.
“Wouldn’t that be nice.” In comparison to the crowded balcony, where we currently fought for an elevated view of the dance floor, the VIP section appeared roomy and comfortable.
“Good evening, miss,” a waiter said, appearing at my side. “You and your friend have been invited to the VIP room.”
Simone’s astonishment mirrored my own. “Really? Who invited us?” she asked.
“The gentleman over there,” the waiter said formally.
When I glanced the direction indicated, I spotted a man surrounded by a group that was obviously enraptured by whatever story he was telling. I wondered why he wanted us to join him (not that I was complaining) and speculated that perhaps there had been some mistake. But, any doubts on that score vanished when he looked directly at me and winked. I bit back a grin; my “emergency” dress was proving to be quite the good investment—first the dance with Shane, then the banter with Mr. Gorgeous, and now an exclusive invite.
“Damn, Emma,” Simone whispered loudly as we were led past the velvet rope, drawing scowls and curious stares.
“Quick, Simone, make a wish to win the lottery,” I joked, feeling like a genie just granted her first wish.
Our host stood as we approached. “I’m Cole.” His rich voice reverberated through me and his dark brown, almost black, eyes sparkled with mischief and invitation. It seemed crazy, but I instantly felt drawn toward him.
“I’m Emma . . . and this is my friend, Simone,” I added, amused by Simone’s sudden shyness.
“Well, aren’t you two perfect for each other.” A tall, lanky guy dressed in nerdy-chic clothing and dark-rimmed tortoise glasses appeared next to Cole holding a small tray of drinks. “She shares a name with a Jane Austen heroine known for her matchmaking, and Cole is the king of matchmaking apps.”
“Is that so?” I asked, intrigued by this tidbit of information. Should I try to snag an interview with him? I wondered, before chiding myself. I’m here to have fun.
Cole shrugged. “I created an app in college.”
“An app?” the waiter scoffed. “No. Cole created the app for dating. I assume you’ve heard of Strike?” His enthusiasm was clear, and I wondered whether he was more enamored with the app or its creator.
“OMG.” Simone finally chose that moment to join the conversation. “You created Strike? Hit it off or strike ’em out, Strike?”
Cole nodded.
“I freakin’ love that app,” Simone gushed like a fangirl.
The friendly waiter beamed in agreement. “I know. I met my boyfriend on there.”
“Don’t you have work to do?” Cole asked him teasingly.
“Oh yes, so sorry. I’m Xavier and I’ll be taking care of you this evening. Would either of you like a drink? In addition to the full bar menu, there are several exclusive cocktails that may interest you. And, I’d be happy to direct you to reading material, but I’m guessing that you’re here for the company.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“I’ll take a screaming orgasm,” Simone answered. So will I, I thought, admiring Cole’s tall and toned build. His shirt was rolled up to the elbows, revealing muscular forearms that I could easily imagine wrapped around me, pinning me against a wall.
“And for you?”
When I realized Xavier was awaiting my answer, I quickly said, “Surprise me.”
People filtered in around us and Simone started chatting with some of them, effectively leaving me alone with Cole. After he suggested we sit, I sipped my delicious cocktail and attempted not to gawk at him, instead letting my eyes roam over the exclusive space and its inhabitants. Almost everyone that passed, from guests to employees, greeted Cole by name.
Cole defied my initial expectations, engaging me in a surprisingly lively debate on the impact of technology on dating, even going so far as to advocate against its use. When there was a brief lull in our conversation, I finally said, “So, are you a regular?”
“Something like that.”
“It just seems like you know everyone here, which leads me to believe that you spend significant time clubbing.”
“A fair bit,” he answered noncommittally, “but I have other interests as well.”
“Such as?”
“Well, you, for one. I find you rather interesting,” he said, grinning devilishly. Normally I would have found his type of flirting off-putting, but with Cole, it was fun.
“I find that surprising,” I laughed.
With his arm on the leather sofa behind us, Cole leaned closer and I felt a wave of heat roll over me. “I’m not sure why. You’re sexy, confident, and intelligent.”
“So, that’s why you invited me to the VIP section. You saw me and thought, she looks so intelligent.”
He chuckled. “Okay, you caught me. I was actually thinking that you are the most stunning woman I’ve seen, and I had to meet you.”
I sipped my drink, hoping my face wasn’t as red as my dress.
“Plus, you and Simone looked like you could use an escape from the couple trying to eat each other’s faces out there.”
“Yeah, thanks for that. Hopefully Simone is having a good time.”
“Oh, I think she’s doing just fine,” he said, glancing in her direction. Simone had made several friends and was clearly enjoying herself. As Cole turned back to face me, I saw a shadow cross over his features and followed his line of vision. Shane? This could get awkward.
Shane approached and held out his hand for me. “I trust you won’t mind if I steal Emma for a while.”
I peered up at him, speechless. What was this, The Bachelorette? Was there a first impression rose hiding around here somewhere that I was expected to bestow on one lucky suitor? Too bad Simone was missing this exchange; she would have loved it.
Cole must have taken my frozen state for reluctance, because he gave Shane a smug grin. “Seems that Emma would rather stay here with me,” he drawled. He loosely draped his arm around my shoulder, blatantly staking his claim.
I started to edge away, but Cole kept his hold on me and spoke with quiet suggestion. “Why don’t we take this back to my place? I can show you a few of my other interests.” Awareness prickled my skin, and I hated that my body was so eager to take him up on his proposition.
“That’s not how I operate,” I said firmly, in contrast to the uncertainty flowing through me. I stood and ignored Shane’s outstretched hand, moving to the balcony railing to stare over the dance floor.
Shane stepped up next to me, leaving a few inches between us. “Cole wasn’t bothering you, was he?”
“I take it you two know each other?” Twisting my head slightly, I caught his seemingly sardonic smile.
“You could say that.” Cryptic much?
“Was there a reason you wanted to steal me away?” I asked while checking the time on my phone. I could only handle so much intense flirting in such a short time span.
Sensing my impatience, the corners of his mouth turned down. “I was thinking we could hang out or maybe dance again?”
“Thanks, but I’m exhausted. I’m going to grab my friend and head out. Have a good night, Shane.” Once again, I walked off before giving him a chance to respond.
I thought I was going to have to drag Simone from her new friends, but my fra
ntic expression must have convinced her. Was it normal to be so freaked out by multiple male admirers? Probably not.
Simone had just exited the club, the heavy door slamming behind her, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. Thankful for any excuse to avoid the cold for even a moment, I turned, surprised to find Mr. Gorgeous towering over me.
What. The. Hell? This is getting weird.
“You escaped before I could get your name.”
“How about that?” I said, going for annoyed but coming across as more mysterious than anything.
“If you’re not going to tell me, I guess I’ll have to call you Cinderella.”
I pointed at my metallic silver heels. “No missing glass slipper here.”
He eyed my Band-Aid. “No, but she’s the only blonde princess I know.”
“Just call me Ella,” I said, unable to contain a small laugh. If only he knew how close he was to the truth.
“Okay, Ella. I’m Nicholas. May I offer you a ride home?”
“Thanks, but I’m here with friends.”
“I have an SUV.”
“And we have an Uber already on the way.”
“Do you think that’s safe?”
“As safe as getting in the car with a strange man who I met in a club? Yes.”
“You think I’m strange?”
I held in a snort. Not even a little bit. “I think I need to go. It was nice meeting you, Nicholas.”
“You too, Cinderella,” he replied, his smile broadening unexpectedly.
What a bizarre night.
Chapter 2
My phone rang, interrupting me from my latest research for the next edition of the paper—the impact of the rise of terrorism on study abroad programs. I glanced at the screen and sighed, tempted to simply silence the phone and continue working. Accepting the fact that I’d have to speak with my mother eventually, I leaned back in my chair and swiped the phone to answer.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, hoping this would be a short conversation.
“Hello, Emma, dear. What are you up to this Saturday afternoon?”
“Working on some articles for the next edition of the paper.”
“You are so devoted. I’m sure all the other students are out partying or enjoying their break at home with their families.” Dig number one.
“I am enjoying my break; I just have some things I need to take care of. Anyway, what’s up?”
“What day does your flight arrive? Your father and I wanted to make sure we would be at the airport to pick you up.”
“I’ll be home the 23rd,” I responded, resisting the urge to remind her that we already discussed this, multiple times.
“We can’t wait, and I know Matthew would love to see you as well. His mother told me he’s arriving tomorrow and staying through the beginning of January.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, struggling to maintain a sense of composure. “Mom, Matt and I broke up. I’m not interested in seeing him while I’m home.”
“I think the two of you should at least talk. You were together for so many years . . .” She trailed off, alluding to “the biggest mistake of my life” for the millionth time since the breakup. Will she ever give it a rest?
Unable to take any more, I blurted, “Actually, I’m dating someone.”
Expecting her to pounce on my declaration, I cringed and awaited the barrage of questions. Instead, I heard some shuffling noises in the background before she answered, “That’s lovely, dear” in an absent tone, clearly distracted by whatever was happening on her end of the phone. That’s lovely?
“What’s that, Harold?” she called, before returning to me. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry, your father needs my help with the Christmas lights. I have to go.”
I disconnected the call and stared at my computer screen, wondering how on earth I was going to survive this visit home. For the first time in years, Matt wouldn’t be a part of our family traditions, and I knew I’d never hear the end of it. But, was having a fake boyfriend any better? My mother could be like a dog with a bone, and considering her adoration of Matt, she would probably interrogate me thoroughly about this new man in my life.
Resuming my research after a fresh cup of coffee, my earlier zest for the story about studying abroad faded, and I was itching for something different. I still liked the idea, but maybe Simone was right; maybe we needed to write about something sexier. Or someone sexier.
Cole immediately came to mind. He seemed game for anything, and he would be perfect for an article—engaging, photogenic, and with an app success story that was a college student’s dream come true. Ideas for the interview and article quickly came together, but I needed to do background research before approaching him. And, I’d need to find out how to contact him.
Since I didn’t know his last name, I started with an internet search for “Strike” and “Cole,” figuring those terms were likely to give me a launching point. I was right. The search resulted in seemingly endless pages of hits on the sexy app-developer.
Impressive. He graduated from Caltech with honors several years ago, putting my initial guess of his age around twenty-five as about right. When I searched for him by his full name, several links popped up for Cole and Loft25. Interesting.
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 th
e 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?
Chapter 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.