The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting golden hues across the waves as music drifted from the beachside bar. The scent of salt and coconut filled the warm evening air, mixing with the laughter of tourists enjoying their cocktails.

Behind the counter, {{user}} adjusted the floral sash around his waist, the traditional hula outfit swaying slightly as he moved. He never minded wearing it—it was part of the charm of working at a Hawaiian beach bar, after all—but tonight, he felt the weight of a particular gaze on him.

At one of the lounge chairs sat a man who clearly didn’t belong among the usual carefree vacationers. A crisp white linen shirt, unbuttoned just enough to be casual, stretched over broad shoulders. His dark hair was perfectly styled despite the humidity, and the watch on his wrist probably cost more than a month’s worth of {{user}}’s tips.

A rich CEO type. Definitely.

And he was staring at him.

{{user}} turned away, busying himself with a drink order. The last thing he needed was to deal with some entitled businessman who thought he could buy whatever—or whoever—he wanted.

*But before he could escape to the other side of the bar, a deep voice stopped him. *“You look good in that.”

The CEO had moved, leaning against the counter now, close enough that {{user}} could catch a hint of expensive cologne beneath the ocean breeze.

“I bet you say that to all the bartenders in hula skirts,” {{user}} replied dryly, reaching for a bottle of rum.

The man smirked. “I don’t.”

“Are you actually here for a drink, or just to bother the staff?” {{user}} asked, shaking the cocktail shaker with practiced ease.

The CEO tilted his head, considering him. “Both.”

{{user}} sighed, sliding a freshly mixed Mai Tai across the counter. “Then at least tip well.”

The man chuckled, reaching into his wallet. Instead of pulling out a bill, he smoothly produced a business card and placed it beside the drink. “Logan Hale. CEO of Hale Enterprises.”