“I usually don’t hire women I’ve already had in my bed. Consider yourself the exception.”
June thought her one night stand in Vegas would stay exactly that: one reckless night with a dangerously handsome stranger she’d never see again. She never expected the stranger from the nightclub to become the ruthless billionaire now running her internship!!!
CHAPTER 1: THE DARE
-June-
There’s something about cheap tequila and loud music that makes every bad idea feel brilliant.
By midnight, the club was glowing in soft pink neon, the bass vibrating through the velvet booth beneath us while strangers laughed and danced under flashing lights. My feet hurt, my cheeks were warm, and for the first time in months, I felt light.
Maybe because I finally had a reason to celebrate.
“I still can’t believe you actually got it,” Leila said for what had to be the tenth time that night, leaning across the table with wide, dramatic eyes. “Do you understand how insane that internship is?”
“I’m trying not to think about it too hard,” I laughed, finishing the last sip of my drink. “If I do, I’ll probably throw up.”
Kayla snorted into her glass. “Please. June Whitmore, future corporate queen of Las Vegas.”
I rolled my eyes, though secretly the words sent another spark of excitement through my chest. The internship was everything I’d wanted since college. When the acceptance email landed in my inbox that morning, I’d screamed so loudly my neighbor banged on the wall.
So naturally, my friends dragged me out to celebrate.
And naturally, things had devolved into wasted games and increasingly terrible decisions.
“Okay,” Leila announced suddenly, grabbing her phone and pointing at me. “Truth or dare.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
I groaned dramatically, sinking deeper into the booth while the girls laughed around me. “Fine. Dare.”
Leila’s smile immediately turned dangerous.
“That was way too fast,” I muttered. “You already had something planned.”
“Maybe.” She pointed somewhere over my shoulder. “See the guy sitting at the bar? Dark gray suit. Second stool from the end.”
I turned casually at first, expecting some random attractive stranger.
Then I actually saw him.
And God.
He sat alone beneath the low amber lighting, one elbow resting against the polished counter while a tumbler of whiskey turned slowly between his fingers. His suit jacket hung open, the expensive fabric molding perfectly over broad shoulders, while the top buttons of his black shirt were undone just enough to show the strong line of his throat.
I swallowed.
“Leila,” I said carefully, “are you trying to get me finished?”
The girls burst into laughter.
“He’s just a man,” Kayla said, reapplying lipstick using her phone camera.
“A terrifyingly hot man,” Leila corrected. “And you said tonight was about confidence.”
“I also said I wanted to survive the night.”
“Oh, come on. You got your dream internship today. This is your main character moment.”
I glanced back toward him before I could stop myself.
Unfortunately, he was even more attractive the second time. I slid out of the booth before I could change my mind and made my way toward the bar, praying my heels weren’t wobbling as much as they felt.
Up close, he somehow looked even less approachable.
The bartender set another drink in front of him without being asked, which felt like the kind of thing that happened to men who inspired fear in customer service workers.
Still, I forced a smile onto my face and slid onto the stool beside him.
“Hi,” I said, aiming for flirtatious.
He didn’t even look at me.
“No.”
The answer came instantly. Deep voice. Flat tone. Completely certain.
For a second, I just blinked at him in confusion. Then a laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “That’s kind of rude. I haven’t even said anything yet.”
Only then did he turn his head.
Gray eyes met mine, cold and sharp as steel beneath winter light, and suddenly I understood why nobody had approached him all night.
His gaze dragged slowly over my face, unimpressed and heavy with exhaustion, before he took another sip of his drink.
“You were going to ask for my number,” he said calmly, like it wasn’t even a question.
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“The smile. The confidence.” One corner of his mouth twitched faintly. “You rehearsed this walk over here with your friends first.”
Heat rushed into my cheeks because, annoyingly, he was completely right.
“Oh my God,” I muttered. “You make me sound insane.”
“You approached a stranger in a nightclub at midnight. I’d say we’re already past sane.”
I let out a soft laugh despite myself, then leaned one elbow against the bar. “Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, you don’t seriously think I’m some kind of girl service, do you?”
For the first time since I sat down, he looked mildly amused.
“No,” he said. “You just wanted my number.”
“Well…” I shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, look at you.”
That actually earned a quiet huff of laughter from him, low and rough like he wasn’t used to doing it often.
Then his eyes settled on me again, darker this time.
“Funny thing is,” he murmured, “it would probably be smarter if you offered me services instead of asking for my number.”
The words landed somewhere low in my stomach.
Before I could figure out what to say to that, he reached into his pocket, tossed several bills onto the counter beside his untouched second drink, and stood.
He started walking away without another word.
I stared after him for two full seconds before my wasted brain finally caught up. He stopped near the exit but didn’t turn around immediately. When he finally looked back at me, his expression was unreadable beneath the dim club lights.
“You coming?”
I frowned. “What?”
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, but there was nothing warm about it.
“You wanted attention badly enough to walk up to me in a nightclub.” His eyes swept over me slowly, making heat crawl up my neck. “So tell me, sweetheart. Don’t you actually want me to finally touch you properly tonight?”
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