mistake. She should’ve researched the symptoms online instead of panicking like that. But the damage was done. Natalie had no luck rescheduling her interview. The hiring committee had decided staying with her sick niece in the ER rather than showing up for the interview proved she lacked the commitment for an executive position. They’d waved aside her explanation as though she was making a my-dog-ate-my-homework excuse. She gritted her teeth at the unfairness.
What had happened this morning could ruin the one chance she had at adopting Sophie. But it wasn’t over yet. It couldn’t be over. Garrett Song was the future CEO of Hansol. Surely, he could convince the hiring committee to give her a second chance. Ambushing him at a nightclub wasn’t the most professional move, but she had run out of options.
According to his calendar, he was having a business meeting at the club, which also meant there was a good chance of his leaving for a business trip the next day. This might be the last chance she had to talk to him face-to-face for a few weeks. There was no time to waste, so Natalie had resorted to desperate measures.
Squaring her shoulders, she ventured deeper into foreign territory. Her lips parted at the sight of beautiful people writhing and rocking to the DJ’s mixes. They made sweaty, drunk and horny look attractive. The blinking strobe lights and reverberating bass pulsed in rhythm with her jackhammering heart. Natalie unclenched her clammy fists. Just find him, ask him and leave.
But first, she needed liquid courage.
Icy blue accent lights slashed artfully across the circular bar, its central column of spirits reaching high to the distant ceiling. How in the world could they get those bottles down?
Natalie shook her head to rein in her wandering thoughts, then froze. She’d spent an hour taming her black curls, but they were already straining against the five hundred bobby pins holding them down. She had half an hour, tops, before she turned into Medusa. At the hottest club on Melrose. That’s just swell.
Hustling through a tiny space between revelers, she managed to snag a stool, then waved for a bartender. A boyish mixologist with tattoos hugging his biceps gave her a nod and a wink, as he performed a hair-raising cocktail stunt involving two jiggers and a tumbler for another customer. After all the juggling and shaking, the pink liquid he finally poured into the martini glass was underwhelming. Even the fresh mint and cucumber garnish—added with a flourish—couldn’t save it.
When Biceps made his way over to her, she took a deep breath and broke his heart. “Double Scotch. Neat.”
“Any particular brand?” he asked, pouting at the sheer uncoolness of her order.
“Bowmore. Twenty-five years old.”
“Nice.” His eyebrows drew up and he flashed a grin. “A beautiful woman who knows her whiskey.”
She smiled back, glad she’d dodged the showman’s bullet, but her relief was short-lived.
“Power up!” he hollered.
“Power up!” his compatriots echoed.
A few customers clapped excitedly as a small skateboard-like contraption with handlebars zoomed around the liquor column on hidden tracks and stopped where Biceps waited. He stepped on and secured a harness around his waist, becoming the center of attention as he spiraled upward. Grasping the bottle of Bowmore from the top of the column, he descended like a rock star.
By the time he handed her the Scotch, her cheeks were burning and she seriously considered hiding under the bar. It was bad enough being at a club, not wearing much at all, without a bunch of strangers staring at her.
Forcing herself to relax, she took a long sip. The whiskey caressed her throat and kindled a fire in her stomach. She closed her eyes and smiled at the simple pleasure. When she opened them again, Biceps was standing in front of her, sporting an odd gape-mouthed look. Then, sudden realization flamed her cheeks.
“Oh, jeez. I’m so sorry.” She hurriedly grabbed her credit card from her clutch and handed it to him. “Here you go. Thank you.”
Looking a little embarrassed, he enveloped her outstretched hand in his. “The drink’s on me, beautiful.”
“That won’t be—”
“My name’s Kenny and I get off in three hours. Can you stick around?” His lips curled into a boyish smile. It was only when his gaze lingered on her cleavage she realized he was hitting on her.
“I can’t, um... I...” Natalie had no idea what to do. She wasn’t used to getting hit on at a bar.
“Thanks, Kenny,” a deep voice rumbled behind her. “I got this.”
Natalie stiffened in her seat as the hair on her arms stood on tiptoe and a shiver ran down her spine. The deep, rich voice did strange things to her body, but she wasn’t sure she approved of the stranger’s high-handedness. Either way, she couldn’t face him until she reined in her galloping pulse, so she downed the Scotch in a single tilt.
“As a matter of fact, why don’t you put her drink on my tab?” A strong, long-fingered hand passed a hundred-dollar bill to Kenny, who dropped her hand and accepted the tip with a grudging shrug, bowing out to the alpha.
Okay. She definitely did not like that. Natalie spun around to give the arrogant stranger a verbal ass kicking, but the sharp challenge froze and died a quiet death on her lips.
The stranger with the sexy voice was none other than Garrett Song, and he was even more magnificent outside of the office. He was closer than she’d thought—only a few inches separated them when their gazes collided. The amusement flickered out of his eyes and a charged silence tightened around them.
Natalie vaguely heard Kenny’s curt “two double Scotch, neat,” but she remained fixated on Garrett’s jet-black hair, strong jawline and full lips. And my, oh, my, those fiery eyes. Her gaze flitted down to his broad shoulders, chest and long, muscular legs. The conservative dress shirt and slacks couldn’t hide the power of his body.
Her heart fluttered like a dragonfly taking flight under his insolent perusal. His face didn’t register a hint of recognition, which wasn’t surprising. Natalie didn’t resemble the woman he’d seen at work.
Natalie drained her second drink without breaking eye contact. She uncrossed her legs and slid off her seat, her calf accidentally grazing the side of his body. She was about his height in her four-inch heels, so they faced each other squarely. His heat embraced her, and his masculine scent, like an autumn wind, beckoned her closer.
She couldn’t follow her instincts to climb her boss like a tree even if her inner thighs were slick with desire. She would act professionally. Natalie would state her business and not take no for an answer. She opened her mouth but promptly closed it shut.
Apparently, she’d forgotten how to speak.
Garrett was lost from the moment she swiveled in her seat.
She had glided into the club as he was leaving. Then his legs had brought him to her without his permission. Her sculpted body was meant to bring men to their knees. And her dress seemed like it had been painted onto her lush curves.
The sight of her made him weak with
