Chapter 2 One more drink

Isla

Exhausted from a long day of part-time jobs, I was ready to call it quits. This was my final gig, but my mind wasn't on the task. After encountering "Mr. Handsome", I found myself distracted, stealing glances at him and his friends. They occupied a table of four, laughing and chatting.

As he stepped away, his friends ordered drinks. That's when I noticed the clingy woman adding something suspicious to one of the glasses. My instincts sounded an alarm. What had she slipped into the drink?

The group held their drinks, seemingly oblivious to her actions. I was certain they'd witnessed it, yet no one reacted. I struggled to mind my own business, but concern got the better of me.

As "Mr. Handsome" headed to the restroom, I made up my mind. I had to warn him. He was a stranger, but I couldn't shake the urge to protect him. Maybe it was an excuse to talk to him again; I blushed at the thought.

As he walked out, I swiftly pulled him into the alley, out of sight from the partygoers. We stood inches apart, his warm breath caressing my face. The intense scent of his masculinity filled my nostrils, sending a shiver down my spine.

His brows furrowed in confusion, his piercing eyes locked onto mine, demanding an explanation for my sudden move. I felt trapped under his gaze.

To avoid awkwardness, I stepped back, creating some distance between us.

He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Uh, did the money I gave you not cover the drinks?"

I smiled, thrilled that he remembered me. "It was more than enough."

I took a deep breath and blurted out my real concern: "But I saw the woman who was with you earlier tamper with your drink."

My words spilled out clumsily, not at all how I'd rehearsed.

An uncomfortable silence followed, but his expression spoke volumes - a mix of gratitude and disbelief.

"Thanks for looking out for me," he finally said, breaking the silence.

I smiled, feeling a sense of relief, and swiftly turned to return to my duties.

"Mission accomplished," I whispered to myself, exhaling quietly.

I glanced back to see him decline the drink and his friends head to the dance floor, leaving him alone. My heart swelled with quiet jubilation.

I checked my wristwatch, relieved my shift was finally over. I gathered my belongings and headed to the manager's office, adhering to the establishment's new policy requiring every worker to report before leaving.

As I stood outside the office, I couldn't help but feel a hint of dread. After a long day, facing my meticulous superior was the last thing I wanted.

I knocked softly on the door. "Come in," the manager's hushed voice beckoned.

"You're done for the day, Isla. You can go home," he said, dismissing me.

I exhaled relief, turning to leave, but Harry's sudden entrance and whispered conversation with the manager halted my exit.

"Actually, Isla, hold on," the manager called out, stopping me in my tracks.

I faced him, curiosity piqued. "Serve one more drink to the VIP table by the window. It's a special request."

My mind protested - Shit, shit, shit! Why now? - but I knew better than to refuse, especially with a pay raise request looming.

"Okay, sir, just one more," I nodded, fatigue etched on my face.

Who could have specifically requested me? My curiosity grew.

Rex

En route to the club, Nicole's call pierced the air. I rejected it and powered off my phone, annoyance flaring.

"Why can't she give me space?" I growled, frustration written across my face.

I raked my hand through my hair, feeling trapped. Being engaged wasn't my choice; my mother, Pamela Norman, had orchestrated the whole thing. If not for her, I wouldn't be tied to Nicole.

I wasn't cut out for commitment; the thought choked me.

I'm Rex Norman, sole heir to my father Hughie Norman's vast billionaire empire. My life is a picture of opulence, with every luxury at my fingertips.

Anything, and anyone, I desire is mine for the taking. Nicole, a stunning and talented actress from a respected family, had caught my eye. I made my move, expecting a casual fling.

But Nicole reciprocated my advances with surprising eagerness, exceeding my expectations.

When my mother first suggested the arrangement, I flatly rejected it. But my parents persisted, highlighting the strategic benefits of marrying Nicole Kensington. They stressed how our union would bolster our family's influence and secure valuable connections.

Despite my reservations, I reluctantly proposed to Nicole. She accepted, and we began a facade of a relationship.

The truth is, I feel nothing for her. Our engagement is a calculated business move, not a love match.

We made a grand entrance at the club, our flashy, exotic attire turning heads. Everyone noticed our arrival, and we settled into our VIP seats, ordering a flurry of premium drinks.

I was determined to party until dawn, drowning my worries about Nicole and my demanding parents in the pulsating music and vibrant atmosphere.

The women surrounding me showered me with attention, clinging to my arms, planting kisses on my face, and offering seductive lap dances. I lavished them with cash, feeling invincible as they fawned over me.

I surveyed the room, seeking the perfect companion for the night. Amidst the sea of stunning women, one stood out – effortlessly gliding across the floor.

Her ravishing beauty and captivating curves mesmerized me. I signaled the nearby waiter, my eyes still fixed on her.

"Who is that?" I asked, nodding in her direction.

The waiter hesitated, "Isla, I think?"

His uncertainty was lost on me. "Ensure she's the one to serve my next drink," I instructed, my gaze never leaving Isla.

Arden

The waitress's warning stunned me. Could Stephanie really have spiked my drink? I thought she was wild, but not that wild.

I decided to leave. The place no longer felt safe. I pushed through the crowded dance floor.

"Don't they ever get tired?" I muttered, annoyed by the non-stop energy.

Stephanie pulled me into my seat. "Took you long enough."

Her eyes scanned mine. "What held you up?"

"Just had trouble washing off the stain," I replied, striving for calm.

"Everything okay now?" she asked.

"Yep, all good," I assured her.

She handed me a glass of scotch. "Here's your drink."

My parched throat begged for relief, but I refused to give in. "Nah, I'm good," I declined.

"Have it," Stephanie pressed, but I shook my head.

She slammed the glass down, visibly frustrated. "Why are you so uptight?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Sorry?"

Stephanie stood, exasperation etched on her face. "You're just so... forget it." She stormed off to the dance floor. "Anyone want to join me? Or are you all going to sit there?"

My colleagues shot me accusatory glances before following Stephanie.

Stephanie's drama didn't faze me. I had no intention of apologizing.

"Time to go," I thought, eager to escape the tension.

Tomorrow's work commitments was more important. I grabbed my phone and scheduled a pickup.

I gazed across at the adjacent table, where a rowdy group was splurging cash recklessly. Spoiled rich kids, I thought, shaking my head in disdain.

I checked my watch repeatedly, awaiting my ride. My gaze wandered back to the rowdy group. One of them, the apparent leader, caught my attention. He was harassing a waitress, his hands touching her inappropriately.

She tried to subtly escape, but he persisted. No one intervened, and my anger simmered.

Why was everyone condoning this?

I rose, walking towards the offender. "Get your hands off her!" I demanded.

The room fell silent, eyes locked on me. The man hesitated, releasing the waitress.

I took her hand, guiding her beside me. That's when I realized – it was the waitress from earlier. Her bright blue eyes sparkled with relief. My resolve to help strengthened maybe because of our last encounter.

"Who the hell are you?" he sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. "You're new around here, aren't you?"

I bristled at his arrogance. "Don't care if you own this place. Keep your hands to yourself. It's not gentlemanly to disregard a lady's boundaries."

"Mind your own business and get back to where you came from," he growled, irritation etched on his face.

"I make it my business," I countered, my voice firm.

He stood, our eyes locking in a tense stare. We were evenly matched in height, our gazes burning with intensity. The room seemed to heat up.

His patience snapped. "You think you're tough?" he snarled, taking a step closer.

I held my ground, unwavering.

"Nobody stands in the way of what I want," he declared, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Stop pushing your luck, pal."

Bullshit! Who did he think he was? His quirky confidence infuriated me.

His smug grin begged to be wiped off. I craved crushing his inflated ego.

"Your arrogance is laughable," I taunted. "You're delusional, irresponsible, and incapable of achieving anything worthwhile. Pretty sure you can't even make yourself proud for a legitimate reason."

My words barely left my lips when a sudden, crushing blow struck my face. I reeled, stunned. What the...?!

I glared at my attacker, his face flushed with rage. I felt a sharp pain on my lip. As I traced it with my tongue, I tasted blood.

That was the final straw. My fury unleashed, I struck back.

We engaged in a fierce fight; I was ready to blot out his arrogant expression. Everyone's attention shifted to us. Security swiftly intervened, separating us.

He gave me one last deadly look before storming out of the club, heaving heavily. Everyone returned to their normal activities.

My colleagues stared at me with horror and surprise-filled eyes. I ignored them, feeling vindicated. Yes, I was glad I'd given him bruises to match his inflated ego.

Though I was injured too, my concern shifted to the waitress. "Are you okay?" I asked.

She looked horrified and perplexed, her eyes wide with shock .