Page 4 of The Contract

My body tenses, instincts registering his approach before I see him. He crowds into the drunken rambler, who cuts offawkwardly as he gives Dante a double take. The guy collects his Negroni and leaves.

Dante slides his empty wine glass across the polished bar. I take it and put it in the tub underneath.

“Same?” I ask.

Those dark eyes practically sear into me. Maybe that’s why my face starts getting hot?

“Did you approach Rafael or did he approach you?”

What the fuck. Why can’t this guy just be normal and easy to manage?

“I asked for a job here, if that’s what you mean.”

“Hmm,” he hums, and it’s like the sound vibrates through my body. For the second time tonight, the sensation ends up in my balls.

Okay, I’m obviously having a reaction to this guy. I don’t know why because this has never happened to me before. I don’t like it. I don’t know what to do.

Saylor comes to my rescue. “No hazing my new staff, Dante,” she scolds playfully. “I like this one.”

She does?

No, I tell myself quickly. It’s just a thing people say. It’s not real.

Dante smirks at her comment. Usually when men smirk, it just makes them look like douchebags. But onthatface? It looks … well, fuck, it looks sexy. Sexy and dangerous.

Yes, I realize I’m thinking of amanas sexy, but … he is.

He asks, “Is Rafael downstairs?”

Downstairs is the sex club. I haven’t seen it yet. I can’t decide if I want to. On the one hand, people tend to spill more secrets in bed. At least, according to movies. On the other hand, I wouldn’t really know what to do with myself down there.

I’m not a virgin or anything. I’m just … I don’t know. Not that into it. I don’t get why it’s such a big deal for people.

“Yeah, he’s downstairs,” Saylor answers. “You want me to go get him?”

“Just tell him I need to talk to him.” The way Dante’s eyes flick to me as he says it makes me think he wants to talk to Rafael about me.

To get me fired? Was I rude? Maybe I shouldn’t have done the circus master gesture toward his table.

Fuck.

Saylor snags the cranberry juice from the fridge and starts working on a Cosmo. “You could call him. Or text. Like a normal person.”

Oh, good. Shealsothinks he’s not normal.

Not that I am. But his not-normal is different. Kind of … scary.

“Tristan, grab me two martini glasses,” Saylor says.

I jolt from my stupor, realizing I’ve been standing stock still like a moron.

“Tristan,” I hear Dante murmur quietly, like he’s trying out my name, rolling it around on his tongue.

I shiver. It takes me a second to look up. When I do, he’s already turned away from the bar. He’s leaving.

I track him all the way to the private exit. For such a big guy, he really prowls. He’s quiet. Subtle. Like a fucking panther.

“Earth to Tristan,” Saylor prompts.

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