Page 4 of The Plus One Contract

Me? I’ve had my moments to shine, when I leave the apartment for more than work, that is.

“Fair point.” I sigh, defeated. “Fine. One drink.”

She smiles, already pulling me off the couch. “One drink. Maybe two. Possibly four.”

“I regret this already.”

Four

Harper doesn’t hesitate as she weaves through the crowd. I trail behind, silently praying my heels don’t betray me.

I glance around, impressed. “This place is nice.”

“I know,” she says smugly. “That's why I picked it.”

We grab two stools at the bar, and I slide onto mine, trying not to tug at my dress again. It’s red, satin, and entirely Harper’s fault.

“If you don’t wear this tonight,” she’d warned earlier, “I’m disowning you.”

I'd rolled my eyes at the time, but now, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirrored wall behind the bar, I have to admit she was right. The dress fits perfectly, making me look far more confident than I feel.

Tonight, I don’t feel like the girl Daniel left behind. Tonight, I feel bold.

Or maybe it’s just the two margaritas I had at home before we left.

Harper orders drinks, and the bartender winks at both of us—individually.

Wow, he’s casting a wide net.

Harper and I exchange an amused look instead of rolling our eyes.

When her phone buzzes, she scans the screen. “They’re on their way.”

I tilt my head. “Are you seriously trying to get me laid tonight?”

“God, I hope so,” Harper says, grinning shamelessly. “You need it.”

I laugh, shaking my head, but the humor fades as a shiver rolls down my spine, instinctive and unshakable. It’s that prickle you get when you know someone’s watching you.

I look around.

Nothing.

Until I glance toward the end of the bar, and that’s when I see him.

Sweet baby Jesus.

Who is this man, and what luxury magazine did he fall out of?

He’s sitting at the end of the bar, dark hair casually tousled, white dress shirt stretched over broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that should be illegal. His jaw is strong and sharp, his gaze dark, quietly intense. He looks like trouble. Expensive, irresistible trouble.

Our eyes lock, and my stomach flips with a sudden, dizzy rush of adrenaline.

For three agonizing seconds, I’m trapped in his stare, and then he turns away, sipping his drink as if nothing happened.

“You’re blushing,” Harper whispers, pulling me from my daze.

I grab a coaster and fan myself. “It’s hot in here,” I lie.

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