Page 7 of The Billionaire Alpha's Surprise Baby

By the time we get downtown and find a parking spot, the club is already packed. I’m shivering in the skimpy dress Jules picked out, but luckily the bouncer waves us through.

The loud music and flashing neon lights overwhelm my senses, and Jules makes a beeline for the bar to get us our first round of drinks. The club is full of well-dressed men and gorgeous women, and I’m secretly glad that I didn’t show up in my modest black dress and leggings.

When I first got a job as a maid, the woman I was working under told me you can always tell how much money a person really has by looking at their shoes. I secretly hope that none of the Jimmy Choos, Louboutins, or Manolos in attendance look too carefully at the heels I rescued from the sale rack two years before.

“Shots!” Jules yells when she comes up behind me, practically shoving a tall glass of tequila at me.

I down it obediently and make a face. I’ve never been a huge fan of shots, but I think getting drunk as quickly as possible is about the only way to enjoy this experience.

Jules seems to have the same idea, because within two hours, I’ve downed another three tequila shots and a very generous vodka tonic. I’m starting to shimmy to the music — a sure sign that I’m wasted — when I spot a very tall, very familiar figure in the crowd.

It happens just like that scene in every movie where two people’s eyes lock from across the room and the crowd magically seems to part. Garrett slips through the mob of gyrating rich people with unimaginable ease and grace, and my whole body seems to burn as his midnight-blue eyes take in every inch of me.

“Ava? Earth to Ava!” Jules shouts.

I’m frozen in place. Jules wants me to keep dancing with her, but all I can do is stare at the god of a man making his way toward me.

All the other guys in here are plucked and tanned to within an inch of their life. They probably took more time getting ready than I did, whereas Garrett looks as though he just woke up this way.

Soft honey-chestnut curls caress his chiseled features, and he’s left the top few buttons of his white shirt unbuttoned. It’s rolled up carelessly at the elbows, revealing strong tanned forearms covered in fine dark hair.

I’m pretty sure this club has a dress code — jackets for men and dresses for women — but somehow he just waltzed right in. He’s wearing jeans, for crying out loud, and yet he still oozes money and good taste.

Jules seems to notice the source of my distraction, because she joins me in gawking at Garrett.

He doesn’t say a word as he approaches. He just walks straight up to me — not stopping until we’re less than a foot apart.

“There you are,” he says, as if he expected me to be here. The corners of his mouth lift, revealing a single dimple that sends a surge of liquid heat spilling down into my core.

I suck in a breath and try to collect myself, but I can’t seem to form a coherent thought.

Garrett leans forward — so close that I feel the tickle of his warm breath against the shell of my ear. “I was hoping I’d run into you again, but you haven’t been at the coffee shop.”

My heart gives an irregular stutter. He went to the café looking for me?

“I-I’ve . . . been off,” I stammer, silently cursing that last tequila shot for turning my brain to idiot soup.

Garrett nods, those blue eyes twinkling. “Well, tonight must be my lucky night.”

“Must be,” Jules chimes in suggestively, and I grind my heel into her foot.

Shit.

My heart is doing erratic gymnastics, and my lady bits are humming.

Clearly, my body doesn’t know what’s good for me. Garrett probably came to the club tonight to get laid. Running into me was just a happy coincidence.

I know he can see the effect he has on me. To him, I’m an easy target. I’ll bet rich locals like him see seasonal working girls like me coming a mile away.

“Can I . . . buy you a drink?” he asks, still in that soft husky voice that seems to go straight to the tingly spot between my legs.

“I think I’ve had enough,” I say faintly. I need to keep my wits about me tonight. Garrett is definitely trouble.

He nods, completely unruffled by my refusal. “Dance with me?”

I open my mouth to tell him no, but Jules elbows me hard in the ribs. I nod to give the pain a chance to subside, and Garrett presses a gentle hand into the small of my back, leading me toward the center of the room.

The song is some upbeat remix of a pop song I’ve heard a million times. Garrett’s hands slide down to my hips, leaving a trail of heat. He moves easily to the music, but my body feels disjointed and awkward as I try to match his rhythm.

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