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It had been three long days – and even longer nights – since Rahm had walked her to the very gate of her condominium, and in all that time not a peep from him. Not an email or a text or so much as a smoke signal from the mysterious Persian with the sleek, sultry skin and intense brown eyes.
Despite not sharing her “digits” with him, she knew it was an easy enough feet for a man with Rahm’s know-how and savvy to get her “deets” – as her assistant Avery called Carly’s personal details – and track her down in less than a dozen mouse clicks.
So why hadn’t he? she wondered. Was she wrong about her negotiating tactics? Had she played just a little too hard to get that first night at the club? Was a man like Rahm – successful, handsome, rich beyond her wildest dreams and no doubt a male chauvinist pig thanks to his royal, Persian status – simply disinterested in any woman that dared challenge him? Was she too independent, too free-thinking, too willful and challenging to be worth the chase?
If only she had one more night with him, Carly reasoned, she might be able to ask such questions – and more. Yet like him, she was afraid to appear “weak,” let alone “needy,” by reaching out to him first.
Carly paced, silently, the only light in her apartment that of the dim bulb above her oven, left on day and night for those rare moments when she rose before the sun or stumbled into the kitchen in the middle of the night for a cool drink of water.
Outside her windows the city of South Beach glowed like a beacon, warm and sultry and throbbing and full of possibility, if only she’d awaken to its sounds and answer its call. She might as well, Carly reasoned, for all the good her brain had been doing her at work – which is to say very, very little. Distracted and sullen, quiet and reserved, feeling frustrated and rejected with each passing moment, she’d hardly made any progress on researching SoundCore, the latest tech company she’d set her sights on.
Day after day she sat in her office, peering at a glowing monitor screen, eyes blurry as she dazed in and out, trying – and failing – to concentrate on her latest acquisition target, a small but growing tech company based in Ft. Lauderdale that specialized in wireless elevator music speakers.
Though she normally loved such cutting edge technology, creativity, youth and enthusiasm, at the moment Carly could only think of one thing: the rock hard ridges, molded edges and sharp, stiff peaks of Rahm Farzik’s flawless Persian body.
Perhaps that’s why, rather than reach for the half-empty bottle when she finished her first glass of wine, she put it back in the fridge and slid back into her work heels. Grabbing her purse, she ignored her valise full of SoundCore stats and research and drifted out into the hallway instead.
Carly glanced at her hair in the hallway mirror while waiting for the elevator, halfway through with applying a new shade of lipstick when the doors opened and she stepped inside. “Careless Whisper” was playing overhead, an instrumental version but instantly recognizable, making her realize there was only one place she could go to cure her restlessness – even her curiosity – that night: El Tropicale.
She thought of getting back into her convertible Fiat for the short drive to the cavernous nightclub, then felt the sultry air embrace her and decided against it. The club was only a few blocks away and, besides, walking there might scratch her itch after all.
As she passed the funky, hip, chic bistros and cafes of her neighborhood, she thought how any one might do for a solitary – and rare – night out alone. Wine bars and dessert bars, olive bars and tapas bars, each had its own appeal and yet she strode right by, glancing at herself in the reflective glass as she wondered how her crisp linen suit and sleeveless blouse might go over in the funky, retro nightclub.
She needn’t have worried. Half-empty and cavernous, the club featured a low-key crowd consisting of locals out for a little salsa-flavored 80s music via the excellent house band and strong drinks at – by South Beach standards, anyway – reasonable prices.
She stood inside, eyes adjusting to the chaotic neon palm trees and blinking coconuts as she silently scanned the crowd. Looking for what, she had no idea. But no, that wasn’t entirely truthful – not even to herself. She knew exactly what – or, in this case, who – she was looking for and, despite herself, Carly’s heart leapt when she saw him.
Rahm, looking casual and doubly sexier in black sneakers, faded jeans and a black V-neck T-shirt, clinging to his toned torso. He was at the same spot at the bar as he’d been the first night they’d met at the club, and despite inching back into the shadows just beyond the dance floor, Carly knew she couldn’t leave. Not when she finally had the chance to chat with Rahm one-on-one.
Still, she’d need a little liquid courage before that could happen and, leaning against a high bistro table, she caught the eye of a handsome Latin waiter and ordered a frozen margarita – her go-to girl’s night libation. It arrived in record time – and brought a friend. “Ladies night,” the waiter explained with a leering wink before taking her cash. “Two for one.”
Carly sighed and sipped the tart concoction, realizing she’d never had dinner and the food court salad she’d eaten at her desk earlier that day could hardly qualify as “lunch” to boot. She settled for the wasabi snack mix on the table in front of her, nibbling it sparingly while sipping her drink – then drinks – eagerly.
She could watch Rahm from afar this way, the way he rarely glanced up from his drink but, when he did, seemed to be scanning the club left and right for someone. Was it her? she wondered, watching several scantily clad young beauties approach the sexy stud at intervals before being quickly dismissed with a polite, but efficient, turn of phrase. If only she could hear what he’d said to them, Carly wondered, halfway through her second margarita before realizing she’d be off her game if she actually finished it.
Instead, she left the change on the table for a tip and licked her lips, sauntering around the half-empty dance floor before pausing, mid-step, as Rahm turned to catch her gaze. The fleeting glance was surprising and intense, literally stopping her in her tracks before she made a quick course correction and stepped gingerly forward instead.
He seemed to smile beneath those smoldering brown eyes, watching her every move as she quickly closed the gap between them. “Fancy meeting you here,” he said, echoing his greeting upon their first meeting.
“Not so fancy after all,” she teased, reaching out coquettishly to toy with the short sleeve of his clearly expensive but casual T-shirt. “I like the new you.”
He shrugged, nodding toward the bar stool next to her with a cool, quiet confidence that impressed her. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight,” he said, lips full and moist from a half-empty mojito. “Or I would have dressed up.”
“No need,” she said, sliding onto the stool and enjoying the musky rush of his cologne as she invaded his space. “I came straight from work.”
“Oh?” he asked, eyeing the nightclub as if looking for her friends. “Another bridal shower, perhaps?”
“That’s not the only time I go out, you know,” she said, the tequila strong and light and loosening her tongue. “I have quite the social life, I’ll have you know.”
He nodded to the empty seat beside her and said, “Yes, Carly, I can see that.” He flagged down a bartender while she suffered a withering blush and ordered for her: a frozen margarita. Had he seen her after all? she wondered as they arrived – two at the same time, courtesy of El Tropicale’s generous Ladies Night promotion. Or was it just a lucky guess?
She hated not being able to figure Rahm out at a glance, but wondered if that wasn’t half the fun. Would she have raced out on a work night on the chance of meeting someone dull and predictable? she wondered, stirring but not sipping her drink.
“Don’t worry,” Rahm said, turning toward her on his stool as the throbbing nightclub seemed to fall away beyond them. “I’m a workaholic myself.”
“I can see that,” she teased, eyeing the more than casual attire and his own fresh drink, held high in hand.
“A reward,” he said, holding it aloft so they could toast. “For another long day in the technology trenches.”
