Page 22 of When Hearts Ignite

She taps a finger on her chin as if she’s contemplating a flurry of ideas before responding, “Are you brave enough to enter a bet? A dare?” She matches my quirk of brow with a sardonic lift of hers, as if taunting me to say no.

My blood pumps loudly in my ears and my nerve endings sizzle with energy. A challenge. A Kingsley never backs down from a challenge. “Don’t come crying when you lose,” I toss back at her. “What are we betting and what are the stakes?”

“Jamie and the gang are going to Lunasia after work on Thursday, so this is technically a work event. Word is out they’re going to try out the karaoke lounge next to the club. I dare you to come and stand up in front of the room and sing us all a song.” She grins gleefully at me, her feet bouncing on the floor. She looks smug, and that smile on anyone but her would look condescending. She waggles her brows again, as if saying, gotcha.

What the fuck. Me singing a stupid song in front of an audience?

No fucking way.

The blood slowly drains from my face.

Grace pauses, and adds, “Oh, and in order for this bet to be witnessed, I need to be there, so you also need to front me one hundred dollars.”

“For what?” I can’t keep the incredulity from leaking out of my voice.

She scrunches up her shoulders and sighs. “The cover is expensive, and I need to run to the store to pick up a top. They won’t let me in if I’m wearing this sweater or anything else I have at home.” She fiddles with the hem of the offending article of clothing again.

I narrow my eyes at her. Either she’s good at the hustle and I’m completely being played here or she really can’t afford to splurge on a top and the admission.

She adds, “Regretting it? It’s okay if you don’t want to bet. We can talk directly about the stakes. If I win, or if you forfeit, you need to listen to me for one day.”

“And what if I win?”

She smirks and straightens her shoulders. “I’ll do the same.”

“What about the one hundred dollars?”

“That’s the price of entering the bet. Take it or leave it,” she deadpans, and crosses her arms over her chest.

Tapping my fingers on the glass partition behind me, I stare at her in silence, my eyes sweeping over this she-wolf clad in a husky’s disguise, the petite Amazonian carrying a personality bigger and more unique than most people in this building. Images of myself serenading my staff flash to the forefront, and I inwardly cringe.

But the lure of the challenge is too intoxicating and fuck it, I never back down from a bet. Keeping my eyes pinned on her, I curl my lips up and murmur, “Deal.”

“Who are you looking around for?” Jamie hands me another margarita from the bar as she slides into the spacious booth the six of us are currently sitting at.

She claims this is her way of welcoming me into the Pietra family. The music thumps loudly from the speakers, a strobe light sweeping over the room rhythmically, and I can’t help but tap my feet on the floor and lose myself to the atmosphere.

For tonight, I can forget about our impending eviction, the loan—recently, the loan shark made it his goal to scare us with newsletter clippings of unsolved murders in the Tri-State taped to hand scrawled messages with payoff date underlined twice—Taylor and I tried our best to keep this away from Mom so she wouldn’t worry but it has definitely caused some sleepless nights for me.

But right now, with a drink in my hand, enjoying a rare night out at a pricey venue, I can temporarily stop thinking about scrimping and saving every dollar and cent, the murkiness of my future, and how everything rides on this internship going well.

I take a sip of the alcohol, reveling in the warmth flowing through my veins. This may be my second…or third drink for tonight. Remembering Jamie’s question, I reply, “Uh…nobody. Just admiring the décor here.”

Getting to go to somewhere as fancy as Lunasia is definitely a treat, and I can see why people are raving about this place, which isn’t a surprise given Fleur Entertainment’s domination in the nightclub and hospitality space. They know how to make every venue feel unique and exclusive.

This particular lounge feels like we’re sitting in the middle of a galaxy, with the floors made from a glossy black surface that has specks of color-changing mini lights embedded throughout, such that in the dim environment, it looks like we are floating midair and partying among the stars.

There are private karaoke rooms besides the large central space we’re in, and folks who want to perform for an audience can stride up to the stage, illuminated by a spotlight which also changes colors to the beat of the music. A large L-shaped bar sits to the side of the room, also built from the same unique material as the floors except for a clear subway tile backsplash which is lit up in rotating colors. Accent lighting highlights the extensive variety of alcohol on the shelves behind the bartenders who are hard at work, creating colorful concoctions supposedly to have won awards.

A piercing squeal filters from the speakers as someone sings an awful rendition of a popular ballad, which has us all collectively cringing. I take another sip of my drink, sneaking a glance at Jamie, who is bopping her head next to me, oblivious to the butchering of the popular song.

There’s no way I’m telling her there’s a kernel of hope inside me wishing a certain broody, dark-haired, sexy man will come by to serenade us and prove me wrong.

My heart thuds when I think back to the strange conversation Steven and I had in the office two days ago at the crack of dawn. Goosebumps prickle my skin when I recall the way his deep, raspy voice sounded as he whispered in my ear, reading off a few lines from my latest romance novel. Besides my heart leaping in my throat at the unexpected intrusion, I remember the sharp burst of heat traveling to my core.

Then, there was the way he stared at me when I asked him why he was in the office so early, his smoldering eyes dark under the dim light, the silent anguish that seemed to shine back at me. The way he held himself still, his jaw clenched, his eyes shuttered. I’d bet anything it was something upsetting that kept him up at night.

Most of the time, he hides behind his façade of beautiful bespoke suits, sharp intelligence, and a biting tongue, but in rare moments, it’d be a look I see on his face as he passes by my cubicle on the way to his office or like that morning, in the silence before dawn, the haunted loneliness radiating from him, which somehow calls out to me.

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