Page 42 of Cozen

Duly noted.

Duly fucking noted.

Sargon did not drink spirits when he worked. It was a rule that tended to serve him well over the years. When everyone else around him was drunk from consuming too much liquor, his mind was still fairly sound. He was still capable of handling whatever was thrown his way without falling over like a fool.

And yet, there he sat at the bar inside the Reverie Manhattan, tossing back his fourth shot in an hour. The whiskey burned his throat on the way down, but he reveled in that harsh sting. He needed it at the moment.

Waving two fingers at the male bartender, Sargon then pointed down at his empty glass. “One more, thanks.”

“You got it, man.” Spinning the bottle in a way that Sargon supposed was interesting—if playing dangerously with top shelf liquor was amusing to some people—the bartender came his way. Once his next drink was poured, the guy said, “You drinking something away, or what?”

Sargon muttered, “Or something.”

A blonde woman with a short red dress came up to the other end of the bar, and just like that, the bartender’s attention was gone from Sargon. Something better—prettier—had come along to catch his attention.

Not that Sargon minded.

He wasn’t in the mood to be sharing his troubles, anyway. Not with some random stranger behind a bar pouring his drinks. Besides, he didn’t even have a fucking reason to be troubled, considering.

Except he did …

Chancing a glance over his shoulder, Sargon’s gaze narrowed in on where he was supposed to be watching. He hadn’t been watching them since they came into the restaurant, actually. Who the fuck was going to bother them in here?

Sargon found Jett and Cozen tucked away in the far corner of the restaurant. Shadowed by dim lights, and blocked partially by a partition wall. Still, he could see enough.

Of her, that was.

He could only see Jett from the shoulders up.

Cozen, however, was mostly in full view but for the dim lighting. Sargon could see her smile, though, and the purple dress that hugged her young curves. Those black heels on her feet did a real number for her legs.

Smooth legs. Her skin was a shade lighter than olive, but fuck him if he didn’t think they still had that creamy quality, too. Had it been him with that woman, the last thing he would have done was hide her away in a dimly lit corner where she couldn’t be properly seen by those around them.

No.

He would show her off.

On his arm.

It’s what a beauty like her deserved.

Nothing less.

Sargon wasn’t entirely sure what it was about Cozen that got to him. Something about her had claws—they’d dug into his skin, and burrowed inside his body with a few passing words, and one too many lingering looks.

The woman couldn’t be older than her mid-twenties—at most. What was she doing with a man in his fifties?

Sargon wasn’t foolish. He knew all too well that there were women willing to forgo their preferences in men simply to get a hand into a bank account. He didn’t think that was the case with Cozen because she genuinely seemed interested in Jett.

And then, in their quick moments alone, she had also seemed struck and caught by Sargon. He was not a dumb man. He saw the way she looked at him, and felt how her heart picked up at nothing more than his touch.

He wondered how fast he might get her heart racing if he could get the chance to sink his teeth in her neck while he fucked her from—

“Sorry about that, man,” said the bartender.

Sargon blinked out of his less than innocent thoughts to find the bartender was back. This time, the man had no bottle or fancy trick to show. Instead, the guy wiped the bar top down with a rag as he talked.

About Sargon.