Okay, fine. Maybe Asher has a reason to hate me. I can understand that. What I can’t understand is why I care so much about Asher not caring about me anymore.

  I grab a handful of popcorn and try to shove it into my mouth. One of the pieces falls on my chest.

  I shouldn’t care so much. Really, I shouldn’t. It’s best for both of us if he acts like any other boss and treats me just like any other employee. I can focus on my work. I can climb up the corporate ladder my own way. I don’t have to deal with spite from other people at the office. And then outside the office, we can just ignore each other even if we bump into each other in the elevator here at The Mistral or happen to be in the gym at the same time. We’ll act like complete strangers. He has his own life that has nothing to do with me. I have mine.

  At least, I should have my own life. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe the reason why I care so much about what Asher thinks and feels is because I don’t have a lot of other stuff going on. I don’t have much that I care about. And maybe I should. Instead of caring about Asher, I should care more about myself, do something for myself.

  I glance at the shoe rack in the corner.

  I didn’t bring a lot of my shoes with me from Switzerland, but I did keep my neon orange pumps. My clubbing shoes. The sight of them makes me grin.

  I wonder what’s a nice club I can hit tomorrow night.

  ~

  Well, this seems nice, I think as I step inside Xatharsis.

  It took me only a few minutes to find it online. After looking at photos and reading several posts—I found out it got a recent makeover which made it more upscale and more popular—I thought I’d give it a try. So here I am in a glittering little black dress and my shiny neon orange pumps, which I suppose looks good since I got picked out of the line.

  So far, I like what I see.

  I like the space. I like that it’s not too crowded. I like the music, which isn’t all volume. I like the hexagonal DJ booth suspended from the ceiling right above the bar in the middle of the room. I like how the VIP lounges look like box seats in a theater but more modern, like they’ve been cut into the wall instead of protruding outward, more like real boxes. I wonder what it’s like to be there but at the same time, I don’t. I’m just here to drink, dance and have fun. In that order.

  I walk over to the bar, sit on a velvet-covered stool and order an Old-Fashioned.

  “Nice shoes,” the man seated next to me remarks.

  I take a moment to appraise him. Young. Twenty-five maybe. Sandy blond. Lean. Clean-shaven. Nice nose. Cool bomber jacket. Not bad.

  I’m not here to flirt, but I don’t think there’s any harm in flashing him a smile.

  “Thanks.”

  “Nice dress, too, actually,” he adds.

  What next? Nice clutch? Nice watch? Nice hair?

  “You here alone?” he asks.

  “No,” I lie.

  “Oh.” I hear the disappointment in his voice. “Right. I’m waiting for my friends, too.”

  I didn’t say I was. And I didn’t ask. Maybe I shouldn’t have given him that smile.

  He offers his hand. “I’m Jake.”

  I don’t take it. Instead, I grab the drink that the bartender set down in front of me, gulp it down and pay.

  “I’m going to dance.”

  I disappear into the crowd on the dance floor and start moving to the rhythm. I don’t consider myself a particularly good dancer. I don’t dance in front of people or anything like that. But in places like this, no one cares. Everyone’s just losing themselves to the music.

  That’s what I do. I close my eyes and let the music take control. My body moves on its own, my feet stepping forward and back, sliding to and fro, my hips swaying, my shoulders rolling, my head rocking back and forth. I can feel my blood pumping as sweat coats my skin, the endorphins flowing.

  Now, this is fun. Definitely much more fun than sitting on my couch watching movies or lying in bed unable to sleep because of Asher.

  Asher who? Right now, I don’t care about him one bit. He doesn’t exist. Tonight on this dance floor, it’s just me and this fucking amazing music.

  I dance some more until my legs start to feel tired and my throat feels dry. That’s my cue to get my second drink. I head to the bar, but as I make my way through the crowd, I bump into a wall.

  A wall with blond hair and a bomber jacket.

  Jake.

  “Hey,” I say, though I’m not sure he can hear me. “I was just about to go to—”

  “Let’s dance,” he says.

  Then he grabs my wrist and pulls me back into the crowd.

  What the hell? I try to pull my arm away but his grip stays firm. I try to shout at him to let me go but he doesn’t hear it. Either the music is too loud or he’s just pretending not to. At any rate, I can’t seem to escape, so I just tag along until he finally stops. He turns around, lets my hand go and starts to dance. I don’t.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I scold him with my hands on my hips.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he throws the question back at me as he tries to grind against me. “Why aren’t you dancing?”

  I smell the alcohol on his breath and grimace as I step back.

  Don’t tell me he went on a drinking spree since I left him at the bar. Brandy, from the smell of it.

  Not nice.

  When he tries to rub his body against mine again, I push him away with enough force that he nearly stumbles back. Then I bolt. To my dismay, he grabs my elbow. I roll my eyes.

  You have got to be kidding me.

  My first time at a club in Chicago and I catch the attention of a drunken loser. Great. And I was having so much fun, too.

  I try to shake his hand off but it’s no use. Should I just kick him in the balls?

  I try the diplomatic route first. “Listen, Jake. If you don’t let me go right now, I’ll—”

  “Let her go.”

  In spite of the loud music gushing out of the speakers all over the club, I hear the deep, familiar voice. I turn my head and my heart stops.

  Asher is standing there, the threat clearer in his narrowed onyx eyes than in his voice. His fingers wrap around Jake’s arm, which suddenly looks like it might snap in two.

  Scary. I’ve seen Asher angry before, but never like this. He may seem perfectly calm, but I can feel the rage coming off him in waves. The destructive intent. The power. A lump forms in my throat and I swallow.

  Jake, too, looks suddenly afraid. He lets me go, his hand shaking as he looks at Asher with wide eyes. As soon as Asher drops his arm, he runs off like a dog with its tail between its legs. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s heading to the bathroom before he pees in his pants.

  Serves him right.

  I turn to Asher, who’s still standing beside me. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” he answers, the rage in his eyes gone.

  In fact, he’s back to the Asher I know, though maybe more like the Asher I first met in the café back at Wharton. Cool. Casual. He’s wearing a denim shirt, rolled up to his elbows with the top three buttons undone, and a pair of darker jeans.

  Hot.

  He looks like he’s waiting for me to say something, but I struggle to come up with it.

  I’ve already thanked him. What more do I say? What more does he want me to say?

  “I’ll just go,” he says when the silence has gone on for too long.

  He turns to leave.

  “Wait.” The word just slips past my lips.

  He turns back to face me. Like before, he waits, an expectant look in his eyes.

  I draw a breath. “Let’s dance.”

  I don’t know why I said that, especially when they’re the very words that disgusted me so much when Jake said them to me just moments ago. Besides, I was going to take a break from dancing. I’m supposed to be headed to the bar for a drink. Strangely, though, I suddenly no longer feel thirsty or tired.

  For a moment, Asher just looks at me. I start to wonder if maybe he thinks I’ve gone mad. Then he starts to move, to dance. I begin to dance as well, but it’s not the same as what I was doing earlier. This time, I can barely feel my body move or hear the music. I can barely feel anything. Everything is a blur, like an image that’s still loading. Everything seems unreal.

  I still can’t believe Asher is here. What is he doing here? I didn’t even peg him for the clubbing type, though I suppose clubs must be a good place for him to pick up women. But why here? Why tonight? Is he here every Saturday night? He doesn’t own this club, does he?

  It’s bewildering enough that we’re in the same club on the same night. It’s even more baffling that we bumped into each other in spite of this crowd.

  Bump into each other? No. That’s not right. He found me. How? Did he see me from his VIP box? No way. Sure, he must have a view of the dance floor from there, but he couldn’t have recognized me, not in this crowd and with this lack of lighting. How did he?

  And why did he help me? I thought he didn’t care about me anymore. He didn’t have to. I had everything under control. Yet he appeared out of nowhere and stepped in. He looked like he was ready to kill Jake, too. That’s not what someone who doesn’t care would do.

  Maybe that’s why all of my annoyance with him suddenly vanished—because I realized he still cares. And I’m grateful for it, more than for the fact that he scared Jake away. That’s why I asked him to dance.

  Or is all that an excuse and I just wanted to dance with him?

  “Hasn’t anyone told you you’re not supposed to be thinking while you’re dancing?” Asher asks.

  He’s right. I’m thinking too much, which is why I’m not dancing like I should. That’s not right. If I’m dancing with Asher, I might as well do it properly. Besides, didn’t I say I’m here to have fun? Sure, something unpleasant just happened, but surely I can still have some fun before this night is over.

  I shove my thoughts aside, tell myself to relax and try to move more freely. Eventually, I hear the music again. I let it seep into my body as I surrender.

  Just dance, Violet.

  I get so lost in the music that I forget I’m no longer dancing alone. I only remember it when I catch a whiff of cologne and my arm brushes against Asher’s.

  I open my eyes and find him dancing behind me, our bodies nearly touching. Without thinking, I lean back against him. My back collides with his chest. He leans forward and our bodies rub against each other, moving in sync to the rhythm of the music. My pulse quickens.

  Dancing with someone else is so different from dancing alone. And so much more exciting.

  With my mind emptied, my senses are more acute. I can smell Asher’s cologne and the scent of his sweat. I can feel his breath next to my ear. I can feel the rippling muscles of his chest pressed against my back. He places his hands on my hips and I feel the heat of his palms through my dress. His fingertips send a current buzzing through my veins.

  I suddenly become aware of the fact that his crotch is just there behind me. If I grind my hips against him, if he rubs against me with just enough force, I’ll probably feel his cock through the layers of clothing separating us, especially if he’s getting hard.

  Is he?

  The temptation to grind is too much, so I have to turn to face Asher. I must have done it too quickly, though, because I nearly lose my balance. My hands land on Asher’s chest as I keep myself from falling, and as a result I see the bare, sweat-covered skin peeking from the unbuttoned part of his shirt. My breath catches.

  I get an urge to run a finger down the trail of hair running down the middle of his chest. I look away, but then my gaze meets Asher’s. His dark eyes look straight at me. Piercing. Smoldering. My chest burns. I can’t breathe.

  As I part my lips to take a gulp of air, Asher’s mouth descends on mine. His hand grips my arm as his tongue slips in. Its tip brushes against mine and I shiver.

  His tongue caresses mine as he rubs my shoulder. Heat travels under my skin. His other hand rests on my lower back and another shiver goes down my spine.

  He pulls me closer and deepens the kiss even more. His tongue pushes against my palate. A moan vibrates in my throat.

  For a moment, I forget that we’re in a club, that there are other people watching, that I’m not supposed to be kissing Asher, but as I pull away to breathe, I open my eyes and the spell breaks.

  Now I know how Danielle felt when her wing was ripped off the back of her gown.

  Just like she did, I run. I make my way through the crowd towards the exit, my heart pounding every step of the way. My thoughts, which were being kept at bay, break through the gates like a flood and churn. One question keeps repeating inside my head.

  What have I done?

  Chapter Eleven

  Asher

  “Where have you been?”

  The raven-haired woman whose name I can’t remember gives me a puzzled look as I reenter my VIP box.

  She’s still here?

  “Dancing,” I answer before sitting down and pouring myself a glass of gin.

  I need something bitter to wash away the bitter taste still lingering in my mouth from the fiery kiss I shared with Violet, something strong to dispel the frustration still simmering in my veins.

  I lift the glass to my lips and gulp its contents down.

  I can’t believe Violet bolted. Again. And there I was hoping that the third time would be the charm. In fact, for a moment, I thought we’d finally be going all the way. She was responding even more than before. She was even the first one who leaned against me. She was the one who turned. She was the one who asked me to dance. But just like before, she was just leading me on. She took me to a new height only to drop me and watch me shatter from the fall.

  I set down my empty glass and let out a groan.

  I guess I should be grateful she didn’t shove her knee into my crotch this time, though that doesn’t change the fact that my balls were still left a little blue.

  “You look upset.” My female companion sits beside me and puts her hand on my thigh. Her fingers skitter across the dark denim as she purrs, “Would you like me to cheer you up?”

  Would I? I consider her offer for a moment. There’s nothing I’d like more than to have sex right now. Rough sex to exorcise the lust still burning in my blood. And this woman is practically begging for it.

  But no. Violet was the one who ignited this fire in my loins. She’s the only one who can extinguish it. No other woman will do.

  I don’t want any other woman.

  I stand up. “I’m going home.”

  She gives me a look of disappointment. “Already? But…”

  “You can stay until the club closes,” I tell her. “I booked this box for the whole night. Feel free to order more drinks and put them on my tab. Just make sure you have someone to call to take you home.”

  “Sure you don’t want to take me home?” she asks with a grin as she plays with a tendril of her hair.

  I don’t answer. I just grab my jacket and leave. I came here to relax and that’s impossible now, so there’s no point in staying. I might as well just go home and get some sleep. In my bed. In my apartment next to Violet’s.

  I frown. On second thought, maybe I’ll just stay at a hotel until Monday.

  ~

  Come Monday I’ve put the whole incident behind me. Or so I think until I see Violet in my office. One look at her and I remember Saturday night. I remember how she looked in that little black dress. I remember rescuing her from that jerk. I remember the dance. I remember the kiss.

  And, of course, I remember her running off like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight, which I’d rather not.

  This is why I wish we didn’t have to work together.

  Judging from her expression, Violet seems to remember everything, too, but she pulls her shoulders back and puts on a smile.

  So she’s going to pretend nothing happened, is she?

  “I just wanted to ask you what you thought of the report I gave you last Friday, if you’ve had a chance to look at it.”

  “I have.”

  She rubs one of her fingers. “And?”

  I hear the expectation in her voice, so I narrow my eyes at her.

  “Ms. Cleary, are you fishing for a compliment? Because I seem to remember you specifically telling me not to give you any.”

  I’m not surprised. Like I said, Violet may be smart, but she doesn’t seem to know what she wants.

  “I’m not asking for a compliment,” Violet replies. “Just feedback.”

  “It’s fine,” I tell her as I lean back in my chair. “For future reference, if you don’t hear anything from me, your report is fine. If it isn’t, you’ll know. Loud and clear.”

  Violet doesn’t seem to be happy with that.

  She draws a breath. “About the things I said last Friday…”

  “Let me guess. You didn’t mean them.”

  Her eyebrows arch. “Well, I… I meant it when I said you didn’t have to be nice to me and bring me coffee or anything like that.”

  “You said you didn’t want me to be nice to you,” I correct her.

  There’s a difference.

  “Anyway, I didn’t mean that we should stop working together.”

  “You said you didn’t want any help with work, either.”

  “But I’d still like us to work together,” she says. “To communicate about work.”

  “That would be helping you with work, wouldn’t it?”

  “No. That would be you being my boss.”

  “Being a nice boss, which you were against.”

  Violet sighs. “So what? You’re going to be the mean boss again?”

  “Do you want me to be?” I ask her.

  She doesn’t answer. I shake my head and grin.

  Violet frowns. “Is something amusing?”

  “You, Ms. Cleary,” I tell her.

  Her eyebrows furrow. “Me?”

  “Yes. You being so smart and independent and yet having no idea what you want, especially from men.”

  She says nothing.