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Prologue – Alex
Ilost sight of Meghan about an hour ago. One second, I was chatting away with Maggie from the tenth floor about her two adorable babies, and then when I looked down onto the dance floor, Meghan was gone.
I figured she’d gone for a drink, or a dance or something, so I didn’t start looking right away, but it’s getting late now and she’s nowhere to be seen.
This isn’t like her.
I want to go home but I don’t want to leave without her. Or at least without knowing that she’s safe. My stomach churns with nerves as I stand at the rail that overlooks the lower floor of the club.
Taking my phone out of my black clutch, I send her a text.
Alex
Hey, where are you? I can’t see you.
It shows as delivered almost immediately but even staring at it, willing a reply to come, doesn’t garner me one.
She couldn’t have gone too far. I’ll search the club and if I have no luck, I’ll alert security.
Passion is an up and coming club. I’ve heard the owner has a few scattered around the world, and even at two in the morning, it’s still bustling and doesn’t show any signs of closing soon.
I take one last look over the balcony onto the dance floor before I turn and walk to the corridor that leads to the VIP restrooms. As I enter the dimly lit corridor, I notice four doors in addition to the restrooms.
No way she wandered into a supply closet. Unless… she could be getting laid. No, we’re talking about Meghan, not me. With my mind set on my mission—find Meghan Taylor—I decide to test the handle of each door. Mystery door number one leads to the supply closet, stacked with cleaning products and smelling of bleach.
Next is the ladies’ restroom. I go in and check each stall—luckily for me they’re all empty so I don’t have to stand around for too long. Moving back into the corridor, I go to the men’s restroom next.
I may get unsolicited dick pics occasionally but I’m not actively trying to see some dick right now, so I knock on the door and keep my eyes scrunched closed. Cautiously, I poke my head through the door and call out for Meghan.
Getting no response, I move onto the final three doors. Two of them are locked and after pressing my ear to them, listening out for any signs of distress, I move on when I hear nothing.
Maybe she is in there having the time of her life and they just have good sound proofing.
I smirk at the thought. As if Meghan would be getting it on with some random guy in a club. I’m lost in my own thoughts when I swing open the third door. In hindsight, I should have been paying more attention; who knows what I could’ve walked in on.
The most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on is sitting behind a sleek glass desk with a laptop open in front of him. Behind him is a wall of windows looking out over the club below. His head snaps up as I enter, his brow furrows in question at my intrusion.
“I’m so sorry. I was just looking for my friend.” I try not to stutter as I stare at him.
God, why am I so nervous? Butterflies take flight in the pit of my stomach and my skin heats under his assessing gaze.
He’s set me on edge just by looking at me. It’s intense. His full focus on me.
Watching like I’m his prey.
I can hear the dull beat of the bass in the club, but it fades away as we continue this silent staring… contest? He smirks up at me as he removes his glasses and reveals his dazzling eyes. They’re kind of blue but mixed with the perfect hint of green.
Leaning back in his chair, he keeps his gaze trained on me. Like a deer caught in the headlights, I stay frozen in the doorway, unable to look away from him.
He’s dressed in a crisp white shirt, which is sculpted to his muscular chest and arms. Navy-blue chinos encase thick thighs and navy-blue velvet Oxford shoes, that I can see through the desk, are on his feet.
A thought occurs to me as I take in his long legs that are crossed at the ankle—what would it be like to sit under that desk and unzip him?
My brow pulls into a frown at the confusing thought. He's a stranger and I’ve never had this almost instant attraction to someone that I don’t even know the name of. I lift my eyes up his body, taking in his clean shaven jaw, full lips, and tanned skin tone. He has a straight nose and black hair, shaved on the sides but long on the top, that’s neatly coiffed.
“That’s okay, sweetheart. What does she look like? Maybe I can help?” he asks as he gestures towards his laptop.
Oh God, he’s British.
