"He smiled at you!" Amelia hisses. "Did you see that? He SMILED!"
"That wasn't a smile. That was a facial tic. Probably cerebral palsy or something.”
"Go. NOW." Margot gives me a shove. "Before you lose your nerve."
I open my mouth, but my sisters are already pushing me forward, and suddenly I'm walking across the club, weaving through dancing bachelorettes and groups of guys in matching shirts, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
This is insane.
I'm going to walk over there, and he's going to think I'm stalking him. He's going to think I'm one of those people who can't take a hint.
He's going to?—
I reach the bar area where he's standing.
He turns fully toward me, and up close, he's even more devastating than I remembered, one lock of his perfectly tousled hair falling towards his dark brows.
"Harper," he says, and the sound of my name in that deep tenor of his makes my throat seize.
"Vic. Hi. I—" I pan the club. "Funny seeing you here."
"I could say the same." His eyes flick to my sisters, who are watching from across the room with all the subtlety of a surveillance team. "How's the bachelorette party?"
"Chaotic. Sparkly. Slightly concerning." I take a breath. "Look, I know this is weird, but I need to ask you a favor."
His eyebrow arches. "A favor."
"My sisters signed us up for this scavenger hunt thing, and one of the items is—" I hold up the card. "Get a photo with the hottest person in Vegas."
He stares at me. At the card. Back at me.
"You're asking me to be your scavenger hunt photo."
"Yes. I mean—if you're willing. You can absolutely say no. This is weird. I know it's weird. But they dared me, and I've had four tequila shots, and?—"
"I'll do it.”
I blink. "You will?"
"On one condition."
"What condition?"
He glances at Silver Hair Guy, who's now scrolling through his phone. "You stay. For one drink. Help me survive this conversation."
"Who is he?"
“A business associate.” His voice drops. "He's been talking about market trends for forty-five minutes."
“That’s…a long time to talk in a club.”
"Then you understand my predicament." He extends his hand. "One drink. One photo. Deal?"
I look at his hand. At his face. At the challenge in his steel-gray eyes.
"Deal."
His hand closes around mine—warm and firm and sending electricity up my arm—and he pulls me into the space beside him at the bar.
