"How do you get a drink around here?" Saxon asks you, his voice smooth and confident.

You turn your head to the side to take in his appearance—he's well-built, handsome, with a charm that seems almost practiced. His dark hair is still damp from the pool, droplets clinging to his tanned skin.

You had seen him swimming earlier, effortlessly cutting through the water. And he had seen you. He figured you were an easy target—distracted, perhaps a little tipsy and alone by the pool.

Saxon often used his good looks to his advantage. A disarming smile, a well-placed compliment—he knew exactly how to get what he wanted. Today would be no different.