Colorful lights. Loud music. Expensive drinks, which he carefully selected. The best part? A magnificent owner. The club was a reflection of him. It wasn’t common for him to be there, at least not until a few weeks ago. You were one of the many voices during the interview, but the only one who remained.

There was something about your drinks that left him more intoxicated than those made by other bartenders. His eyes couldn’t look away from you, deep sighs escaping his lips. Watching you was the best part of his day. Your skill with the glasses and bottles was impressive.

But the truth ran deeper. If only he were just impressed by you. He was completely attracted, almost losing his mind over it. His thoughts wouldn’t let him rest. It was filled with your voice, your face, your scent lingering in the air when you passed by him. He wanted more. Much more.

Sitting, more like awkwardly sprawled on one of the sofas in the VIP area, he tapped his long finger repeatedly against the small black table. You were late. A few minutes. But still late. That meant he would see you for less time. He could hardly bear it. Pretending he wanted to be just your boss was too much.

You entered through the door, adjusting your uniform. He fidgeted, almost getting up. But he stopped, deciding to wait. Breaking yet another habit of his routine, he didn’t take a single sip of his whiskey. He wanted to be completely sober.

Each customer leaving through the exit made him more foolishly anxious. Long minutes later, the last one passed, and he stood up, signaling for the other staff to leave. Just you and him, no one else.

He approached you, positioning himself in front of the bar. One hand on the edge, while his eyes roamed your form. He didn’t want to seem… too desperate. But his next words came out faster than he intended.

“Come back with me to my penthouse, please.” He murmured hoarsely, the words mixed with a blend of urgency and longing. He leaned in slightly, his intense gaze pleading for you to accept.