“According to Margot, you literally shared a flight with a hot stranger today."
"That was different. That was?—"
I stop mid-sentence.
Because across the club, standing near the bar in a section that's somehow quieter and less chaotic than the rest of the room, is Vic.
My Vic.
From the plane.
Still wearing another suit—minus the tomato juice stains—talking to a man who's probably in his late fifties, silver-haired, with the kind of face that’s never smiled without a lawyer present.
"Oh my God," I breathe.
"What?" Margot follows my gaze. "Holy shit. Is that?—"
"Plane Guy," I confirm.
"THAT'S Plane Guy?" Amelia shrieks. "Harper, he's gorgeous! Like, legitimately gorgeous! You said he was hot, but you didn't say he was—" She stops, squinting. "Wait. Why is he here?"
"I don't know. Business meeting, probably. He said he was in town for an acquisition."
"At a club called Remix at eleven PM on a Saturday?"
Good point.
"Maybe he's?—"
"You should go talk to him," Margot interrupts.
"Absolutely not."
"Why not?"
"Because I—Because it would be weird! We said goodbye! Ships passing in the night, remember?"
"Ships that just happened to dock at the same club in a city of two million people," Margot shrugs. "That's fate."
"That's coincidence."
"That's fate disguised as coincidence." Amelia grabs my shoulders. "Harper. Listen to me. You need to go over there."
"I really don't?—"
"Item seven. Hottest person in Vegas." She shoves the scavenger hunt card at me. "You're literally looking at him. And you've already met! It's perfect!"
"It's insane."
"It's Vegas!" Jessica-or-Jennifer adds. "Everything is insane!"
I look back at Vic. He's still talking to Silver Hair Guy, looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else. His jaw is tight, his shoulders tense, and even from across the club I can see that same stoic intensity from the plane.
And then, as if he can feel me staring, he looks up.
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, time slows.
Then—and I swear I'm not imagining this—the corner of his full mouth curves.
