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“Saffi.”
Oh.
It was my dad’s client...the one who’d asked about me. Varden. What was he doing here?
“Hi. How are you?” I kept looking around the bar for G. He was five minutes late.
“Good. You?” he asked.
I turned back to him with a polite smile. “Nice to see you.” I kept looking around for G. Normally I would have been happy to chat with one of my father’s clients. But now was not the time.
“What are you drinking there?” Varden asked.
“Um. It’s a negroni.”
“You look distracted,” he said.
I glanced toward the door again, but the man entering was too old and short to be G.
“I’m sorry to be rude,” I said to him. “But I’m expecting a friend. I do hope you have a good evening.”
His expression changed. Was that amusement?
“I’ll tell my dad you said hi,” I added, hoping he’d take the hint. I felt kind of bad—he did seem nice and was damn good-looking.
I was on the edge of my seat waiting, but Varden just stood there. He seemed to have no intention of leaving.
God, why doesn’t he take the hint?
Where was G? I reached for my phone and sent a text.
ur late. still coming?
I looked up from my phone.
Still Varden.
Shit.
“Varden, I’m really sorry but I have other plans tonight.”
“I know you do, Saffi.”
Huh?
“I know, because you made them with me,” he said.
“What? What are you talking about?” I craned my neck toward the door. G could rescue me from an unwanted conversation like this.
“Saffi, I am G. From the club.”
How the fuck does Varden know about the club?
What. The. Fuck.
“How do you know about the club?” I was confused, but my stomach sank as if it knew something I wasn’t ready to.
He slid onto the barstool next to mine and waved over the bartender.
