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Zach stared at me with enough ire to scorch a path straight to me. I was surprised he even recognized me with my borrowed frock and fancy hair.
His eyes delivered a warning. He curled a finger to signal me to come to him. I flipped my hair, gave him my back, and headed to the bar.
Nope.
I refused to be treated like a misbehaved dog, especially on my birthday.
Halfway through my journey, a hand clasped my elbow from behind.
I turned, jerking it away. “Don’t you dar?—”
Oh.
I’d expected Zach but got Oliver von Bismarck instead.
Up-close, he looked even more delectable. Eyes clearer and bluer than the Caribbean Ocean, dark blond hair swept to the side like a Tom Ford commercial.
So beautiful.
So depraved.
I pitied the women who fell prey to his trap.
He curled his pink lips. “You.”
I arched a brow. “Me?”
“You’re the antidote.”
The antidote?
I’d heard he was a player, not an alcoholic. Perhaps he was a man of many parts.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Of course, you don’t.” Oliver studied me. “We need to talk.”
“I wholeheartedly disagree.”
“Let’s have a little chat. Dance with me.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“A memory to cherish.” His smirk was agonizing. He dripped sin and decadence. “Something to write home about.”
I slouched against the bar, waving a hand to draw a bartender’s attention. “Nice ego. Do they make you pay extra for overweight luggage when you travel?”
“Is this a middle-class thing?” His brows snapped together. “I’ve only ever flown private.”
Jesus H.
The bartender ignored me, whizzing by with three drinks in his hands.
Oliver inched closer to be heard. “Anyway, name your price.”
That was an easy one. “A round-trip ticket to Seoul. First class.”
He chuckled. “Deal.”
