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In his workplace, no less. Hewas working.
And his co-worker—his employee—Cal knew.
He knew what we’d done and … I slam my eyelids shut.
Cal was already upset with London for that kiss on the rooftop. I could see it on his face when he realized our situation.
“Don’t do anything else stupid …”
That’s what he had said to London when he left that day.
And then, there’s the other aspect. I’m certain London wanted to wait, to take things slow, and I ...
I'd been so impatient.
Things just clicked and I knew—or I thought I did—what I wanted. Whathewanted.
I sigh, sneaking into the club and walking up the back stairs to the Upper Tier. From here, enticing aromas already waft around me, inviting me to go deeper into this Eden.
The flowers, lights, and fabrics in the stairwell are the perfect touch—something I’m certain will surprise and delight the guests. Especially the ones who have been already using this place.
And for those who haven’t … hopefully, it will be just the beginning of a beautiful experience.
I take a deep breath when I reach the top landing, then push open the heavy doors of Nocté’s Upper Tier. Candles are already lit, the coat racks ready, and the table with the masks is highlighted in the soft glow of a spotlight.
The comforting hum of preparations fill the air—the soft whispers of staff in the kitchen, the delicate clinking of glasses as the wait staff prep for the night.
But London’s absence is a gaping hole in the middle of it all—and absolutely impossible to miss.
We were doing this together.
Walking in, I’m immediately inundated with last-minute details. Staff approach me to confirm everything: the lights, music, and the special drinks for the night.
Each decision makes my head spin a little more—each choice a stark reminder that I’m doing this alone.
Where the hell is London?
Stepping away from the main entrance to review the seating chart one last time, I’m momentarily distracted as I look over the names.
Carlie isn’t on this list.
And yet …she had an invite for this event.
I’d personally written out every single envelope, using calligraphy to make it more beautiful.
“What name are you hiding under, Carlie?” I muse, looking through them all.
My eyes snag on a name I hadn’t thought anything of at first:Zoey Cummings.
Carlie is an steamy romance author …
I pull out my phone, consulting Google to see if my hunch is correct.
Bingo.
After a few clicks, I’m on a sexy romance author website. My eyebrows flick upward when I peruse the titles. There are nearly a hundred books written by this author.
I tap on the ‘About Page’ and sure enough, Carlie’s smiling face beams back at me. She’s wearing more makeup and looks more seductive than I’ve ever seen her in real life.
