by Nikki Ash
“I was working. I’m a cocktail blogger,” I explained.
“A cocktail blogger? Do you work for a publication?”
I glanced up at him, noting the intense way he studied me as we walked. “I sometimes freelance for a few journals, but mostly I review on my own site and socials. My blog is called Arsenic Lace.”
The corner of his lip twitched. “I’ll have to look you up. What made you want to do that?”
“Aside from the obvious?” I asked with a light chuckle, the adrenaline and uncertainty of before wearing off. I could do this. I could talk about my job. Talking about my job was easy. “Having a job that only requires me to work one day a week and that workday is spent drinking cocktails, it’s a pretty sweet gig.”
“Sounds like it,” he agreed. “How does one become a cocktail blogger?” He didn’t say it sarcastically. The mystery man sounded genuinely curious about my job, but there was a sense of amusement in his tone. A lot of people looked down their noses at influencers and bloggers.
“You follow your mother around to different nightclubs and bars, taking sips of her cocktails and learning the different flavors. She loved it. I just sort of followed in her footsteps.”
He let go of me to place a hand at my lower back, guiding me closer to him. “Sounds like an unconventional relationship. Was she an alcoholic?”
I laughed. A lot of people had that perception. Even though my mother wasn’t your traditional parent, she was lovely. Positive. Loving. Protective. Perfect. “No. She was more of a connoisseur. Sometimes she’d bring buckets with her to spit out her drink. She just loved developing unique flavor pallets. I inherited her superpower.”
“And what superpower is that?”
“I can figure out anyone’s signature drink within minutes of meeting them.”
The mystery man’s lip twitched once more. “And what is mine?”
We walked up to my building and stopped underneath a streetlight. The harsh shadows made him look fierce. “Glenfiddich Grand Cru, twenty-three-year-old luxury scotch.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Oh? And why is that?”
“Try it. You’ll like it,” I replied. If he wasn’t going to give me his name, then I wasn’t about to give my assessment of him.
“I just bought a club. We had a soft opening last week and will fully open our doors in three weeks. I want you to review it. I have one of the best mixologists in the country working there, and we’re tweaking the menu.”
What were the odds? “What club?” I asked.
“Satin Sheets,” he replied easily. My mouth dropped open.
“You own it? That club is extremely exclusive. There was a waitlist for opening night of like fifteen thousand people. Even influencers with crazy followings can’t get in.”
This time, he did smile, amusement at my awe bleeding through his expression. “I own it, and we’ve put a lot of work into making sure every inch of the club is opulent. I want your impression of our drink menu. Stop by tomorrow night.” It wasn’t a suggestion, but a demand.
I licked my lips and stared at him. “Tell me your name.”
The limo he’d ridden in pulled up in front of my building and one of the large men in suits opened the door for him. “Nico,” he answered while walking toward the car door. “Go inside, Lydia. See you tomorrow.”
He shifted his jacket, and I saw the glaring outline of a large gun holstered to his hip.
I watched the taillights as he drove off, then let myself inside.
“You’re not going, are you?” Dax asked. I had him on speakerphone and was currently applying highlight to my cheeks. My red hair was curled in tight spirals and I applied blended smokey eyeshadow to my lids. I looked hot. My gold, sequined dress was tight in all the right places, and the heels I wore made my long legs look dangerously sexy.
“Of course I’m going. Satin Sheets is all the rage. I was on the waitlist, but now I get to see it before anyone else!” My followers were going to go apeshit. I’d spent all day researching the club, and even thought there was no mention of the elusive owner, there had been a significant amount of chatter about the luxury of it all. Marble imported from Italy. Fine crystal chandeliers from France. A signature scent pumped through the vents curated by one of the most famous noses in Germany. No expense was spared. Everyone who was anyone wanted in.
I’d had an entire day to process what happened to me. I’d debated multiple times on whether or not to report Bradley, and maybe it was naïve to hope that Nico had dropped the deranged man off at the local mental health hospital, but I didn’t want to know.
Do not call the police, or you will regret it.
Nico had said it so easily, like spitting threats was something he did regularly. I didn’t doubt him. I knew it would be dangerous to challenge him. I told myself Bradley was insane, but ultimately decided that whatever happened to him was probably not nearly as bad as what I was imagining.
“I’m not comfortable with you going,” Dax replied. “He’s obviously into some mafia shit. I’ve watched enough crime television to predict that this isn’t going to end well. I know he rescued you, but—”
“It’s just a night at the club. I’ll go, have a drink, write a review, and come back home. Nothing is going to happen. This opportunity is too good to pass up.” My gut twisted at my words. I wasn’t being completely truthful. I wanted to see Nico again. There was something about him that intrigued me in ways I couldn’t explain. Mysterious. Powerful. Dangerous.
“I’m just not sure,” Dax replied.
“I promise to call you as soon as I get home. Okay? And I’ll take a cab this time.”
“Fine,” my cousin replied. “I want regular updates. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll be on a plane to Chicago and you know I’m broke as hell, so take my threat seriously.”
I smiled. “How did mystery girl like her drink?” I asked.
He cleared his throat and started speaking in a low voice. “She really liked it. Stopped by last night. Then stayed all day. She’s in the shower. I’m taking her to dinner…”
I grinned. Dax didn’t do things half assed. Once he found someone he liked, they were moving in with one another within a month—then breaking up a month after that. That man jumped in with both feet, then ran for his life once he got in too deep. I predicted that this relationship would last three months. “Get off the phone then!”
“Aye, aye, captain,” he teased. “Be safe. I’ll call you later.”
Dax hung up and I let out a sigh while staring at my reflection in the mirror. It was almost nine, and I didn’t want to show up early, but after last night, I was nervous about staying out too late, also. My buzzer rang and I got up from my vanity to answer the door.
“Hello?”
“Lydia Love?” a garbled voice answered.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
“I’m Mr. Mariano’s car service. I’ve been instructed to take you to Satin Sheets,” he replied. My cheeks flushed, and I stood there dumbfounded for a moment. “Ma’am? Are you still there?”
I pressed the call button and cleared my throat. “Nico Mariano?” I asked. “He sent you?”
“Yes,” he replied, his tone annoyed. “Mr. Nicolo Mariano sent me. Please, ma’am. It’s cold outside.”
“Okay. I’ll be right down,” I answered before jumping up to grab my wristlet and coat. He’d sent a car. Maybe he’d seen my blog and just wanted to be courteous. My blog would build hype for his grand opening, after all.
Downstairs, a man wearing a suit and an earpiece opened the door and let me inside. “Thank you,” I mumbled, feeling uncertain and awkward.
He simply nodded and slammed the door shut before joining the driver in the front seat. Well, damn. Nicolo Mariano didn’t fuck around. The limo had a fully stocked bar, spacious leather seats, and a television. I’d been in a few limos over the years, but nothing like this.
As I rode to Satin Sheets, I couldn’t help the erratic way my heart beat. I
would see Nico again, and I couldn’t wait.
Chapter Three
I’d been sitting at the bar for about three minutes when I realized I was completely out of my depth. Satin Sheets was unlike any club I had ever been to. It was opulent and extravagant yet surprisingly understated. Every single detail was curated to create a luxurious vibe. Even the bar top was made of only the best material. Golden accents, chandeliers that glistened in the soft light. It had that old money, timeless class about it that you couldn't fake or replicate. It was beautiful. Every cocktail waitress wore a perfectly tailored outfit, the bartenders wore tuxedos from Armani. Excess. Satin Sheets was an art exhibit, and its focus was the finer things in life.
The bartender immediately served me a drink without asking what I wanted. I was surprised by the gesture but assumed that Nico was behind it. I watched him mix my drink, smiling at the precious care he took with each ingredient. “Enjoy,” the bartender said in a smooth voice before handing me the glass. I let it sit for a brief moment while taking in the ambiance.
It wasn't crowded, and you could still speak over the music without feeling like you had to scream. Usually, the moment I sat down at a bar some idiot would try to bother me. But it was like an invisible line circled around me, creating a four-foot perimeter around my seat. The only person near was my driver, and he stood like a personal bodyguard almost with his feet shoulder width apart and his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes, dark and menacing, scanned the crowd as he stood next to me. “Are you my bodyguard for the evening?” I asked while running my index finger over the embossed cocktail napkin in front of me with Satin Sheets’ logo on it.
“Please pretend I’m not here, miss. Enjoy your drink. Mr. Mariano will be here with you soon.”
I bit my lip and wrapped my fingers around the glass. “It's hard to pretend when there’s a man looming over me while I'm trying to enjoy my drink. What's your name again?” I asked. I wasn’t actually going to drink the mixture in front of me, but I was still trying to get the man to talk.
“It's safer if we don't speak, miss. Mr. Mariano was very clear of his expectations for the evening and I do not want to upset him.” The man looked wildly uncomfortable and I stared at him for a moment.
“And why would speaking to me anger Mr. Mariano, exactly?” I asked.
Instead of answering me, the man simply pressed his lips into a thin line and took a step away from me, steeling his face into a hard line. Well, I suppose I wasn't going to be getting any information out of him today. After letting out a huff of frustration, I stared at the chilled glass in front of me and picked it up to inspect it. Because I watched the bartender mix the concoction, I knew what went into it, but I was still curious about the choice of drink. “What is this called?” I asked the bartender. He looked nervous yet eager to please.
“Vida Paloma,” he answered.
I eyed him curiously. “It's a more contemporary drink than I expected. It doesn't seem to fit the theme for this establishment. I expected something more...luxurious.”
I eyed my glass once more. The foundation of the drink was Mezcal, an earthier agave spirit. It also had fresh grapefruit and lime juices, simple syrup, and soda, which created a natural grapefruit soda; the dried chile-pepper-rimmed glass was meant to leave every sip with a spicy pop. The presentation was flawless and mixed well. I just couldn't figure out why I was being served this.
“Do you not like the drink I chose for you?” a warm voice said at my back. “You haven't taken a sip.”
I smiled to myself, a nervous blush flooding my cheeks as I casually looked over my shoulder to greet my mysterious hero. Nico looked stunning. Naturally, he wore an expensive suit. The designer, expertly tailored number was a slate gray, understated yet powerful. His dark hair was slicked back. His lips had a waxy sheen to them, as if he'd applied Chapstick just before walking up to me. Dark eyes ran up and down my back.
“I was just taking in the ambiance,” I replied with a grin before nodding at the stool next to me. Sauntering over, I watched the confident way he moved, as if the entire world was his for the taking. He was a conqueror. A claimer. A monster in a suit.
“Is this not Satin Sheets' signature drink?” I asked.
“You were pretty accurate when deciding my drink last night. I thought it might be fun to return the favor, instead of handing you whatever thousand-dollar concoction my usual clientele would prefer. You're spicy. Slightly bitter. Guarded. Sweet. Beautifully refreshing. Something a person savors.”
My breathing deepened as I listened to Nico describe his impression of me. “You're surprisingly accurate,” I replied with a grin.
Please with himself, Nico tossed me a flirty smile before continuing. “You have an interesting take on a person's tastes and how it reflects on their personality. It's a concept I'd like to bring to Satin Sheets.”
His voice was warm like honey and I had to force myself not to sigh. “Oh?” I asked.
“Instead of offering one, singular Satin Sheets' specialty drink, my mixologists will give a personalized concoction. To every patron who asks for their signature drink. It'll always be different for every person. We'll offer a unique and diverse drinking experience, not just a quick vessel for getting drunk. Still intoxicating, but wildly personal.” Wow. I loved the concept but wasn't sure how that would work for the masses.
“Aren't you worried you'll get it wrong?” I asked while pulling out my notepad and a pen. Since I had Nico here, I wanted to take notes for my blog.
“No. We're building a brand—a concept. Satin Sheets knows who you are even if you don't know yourself. My customers will go home and wonder why they're a glass of chilled Grand Marnier Cuvee du Centenaire. They'll obsess over what it means.”
I blushed at the mention I coined for him last night. “And what about repeat customers?” I asked.
“We're an exclusive place. I'm having my bartenders create profiles for every customer. And tastes, personalities, preferences, and experiences change over time. Your signature drink a year ago might not be the same today.”
I grinned. It truly was a cool concept. Everyone was always searching for themselves, trying to make sense of their lives.
But there was still one problem.
“I think the concept is very refreshing. It will bring a lot of new customers and generate buzz for Satin Sheets,” I agreed.
“But...” Nico added, the corner of his lip ticking up. “You have yet to enjoy the drink I chose for you.”
He was right. I hadn't. Because I couldn't. “I can't enjoy my signature drink, unfortunately.”
Nico's cocky expression dipped, and his eyes darkened. “And why not?”
I leaned in to whisper in his ear, “I'm allergic to grapefruit. Seems you don't know me as well as you think.” Feeling mischievous, I stood up from my seat and grabbed my jacket. “Thank you for inviting me here, Mr. Mariano. I truly enjoyed our conversation.”
He gritted his teeth and stood up. “Might I convince you to stay? Perhaps we can find something that won't potentially kill you,” he rushed out. Nico seemed like the kind of man to never waver. He was confident and poised. Was it me causing him to act frantic and unsure?
I bit my lip. “I really must get going—”
“I insist.” Nico stepped closer and reached out to wrap his large hand around my forearm. “I would truly enjoy spending more time with you.”
I looked up at Nico and let out a shaky breath. “I really must get going...”
“One night,” he whispered. “I'm just asking for one night.” He leaned over and brushed his lips against my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. He was so warm, so solid.
I sensed what he was insinuating and blushed. “One night?” I asked, grinning. I bit my lip and pressed my legs together as he straightened to get a good look at me.
He smiled like a champion just winning a race. The predator had me right where he wanted me. “One night.”
Chapter Four
; Nico held me in his arms as we danced to the soft music playing. We both enjoyed scotch on the rocks and an impersonal conversation for the last couple of hours. I had a buzz in my veins that was growing by the second, but I wasn't sure if it was brought on by the alcohol, or him. “Why do you have men in suits guarding you at all times?”
“My answer would tie you to me for longer than a night. Forgive me, but I need to keep my work life private for your safety.”
I nodded and wrapped my arms around his neck while we swayed to the music. I knew Nico was into some dangerous mafia shit, and it was probably wise that I didn't go searching for more information. It wasn't like I'd ever see him again. But still, I ached to understand the mystery man who saved my life. “I'm just trying to get to know you,” I whispered.
He ran his fingers down my arms and gripped my ribcage, teasing the sides of my breasts. “What would you like to know?”
“Who is most important to you?” I asked. You could tell a lot about a person by the way they loved others.
He gripped me tighter, as if my question pained him. “My brother. He's all I have. Our parents died a few years ago in an... accident. There is no one in the world I trust more. I would literally do anything for him. I've even jumped in front of a bullet or two,” he said while chuckling to himself. I tried not to jump at the casual mention of his near-death experiences.
“What's his name?”
“Lorenzo. Enzo for short,” he replied. “What about you? Who do you care most for in this world?”
I knew my answer immediately. “My cousin, Dax. He's kind of like my brother. It's just us, too. He moved to LA a couple of years ago and I miss him a lot.”
We continued to dance, and he paused to pull his phone out of his pocket and curse. “Fuck,” he growled before nodding at a suited man standing against the wall.