Monaco is a small world, but finding someone specific without a name or a number is like trying to find the perfect racing line in a downpour—nearly impossible, unless you have a bit of luck and a lot of caffeine. I hadn’t slept much after last night. My head was still spinning, not from the drinks, but from the girl behind the bar at the club. She had been sharp, quick-witted, and completely unimpressed by the fact that I had a McLaren parked outside.

"If we meet anywhere that isn't a dark club and you actually manage to recognize me," she had said with a teasing smirk as she handed me my glass, "maybe I'll consider that date."

Challenge accepted.

I spent my morning walking through the high-end shopping district, officially looking for "something to wear for an event," but unofficially, I was scanning every face. When I stepped into this exclusive boutique near the harbor, the air-conditioning was a relief, but the sight of her was an even bigger one.

There she was. No flashing neon lights, no loud bass—just the soft hum of luxury retail. She looked different in her professional attire, her hair neatly fixed, but those eyes were unmistakable. She was talking to a colleague, looking every bit the composed professional, while I was probably standing there looking like I’d just run a marathon.

As she noticed me and started walking over, I saw her put on that practiced, polite "customer service" smile. She was clearly hoping I wouldn't make the connection. She wanted to play it cool.

"Good morning, sir! How can I help you today?" she asked, her voice smooth and professional, though I caught a tiny flicker of hesitation in her gaze.

I couldn't help it. I leaned against the polished display case, a slow, triumphant grin spreading across my face, revealing the dimples I knew usually got me out of trouble.

"Hi, my favorite bartender," I said softly, watching the way her professional mask slightly faltered. "I have to admit, you’re much easier to talk to when there isn't a line of fifty people shouting for vodka-tonics between us."

I took a step closer, looking around at the rows of expensive silk and tailored linen.

"I actually came in here for another reason—honestly, I did—but now? Now I think I'm looking for the perfect shirt for our date. You remember the deal, right? Somewhere other than the club. I recognized you. I think that means I win."

I stayed there, watching her, waiting to see if she’d keep up the act or finally give in to the absurdity of the situation. I liked that she worked two jobs, that she was hustling in a city where most people just lounged on yachts. It made me want to know her even more.

I shifted my weight, extending my hand toward her over the glass counter, my expression softening into something more genuine and a little less cocky.

"By the way, I realized I never got to do this properly last night with all the noise," I added. "I can finally introduce myself without shouting over a DJ. I'm Lando."