Page 4 of Forbidden Fruit

"Will you be okay if I crash?” I asked after I’d cleaned up.

“Yeah,” said Trina with a sigh. “I’m just gonna finish this show. Maybe I’ll watch another one and let Hallmark lull me to sleep tonight with the idea that happy endings really do happen sometimes.”

“They do,” I said firmly. “We just have to hold onto our dreams and not let anyone get in the way of making them come true.”

But as I walked down the hall to the bathroom, I hoped I could believe my own words. Somehow, I felt they were about to be put to the test more than ever.

Chapter Two

MAXWELL

Sweet Cocktails was exactly what the name suggested. The bar, nestled in the heart of Orange County, was an oasis of elegance and indulgence, drawing a crowd that appreciated both. To those who weren’t in the know, it seemed like a typical upscale bar, but those who were familiar with it understood the nuances that set it apart.

The place had a certain aura, a blend of sophistication and secrecy, with just enough mystery to keep the thrill alive for people like me. From the outside, it seemed like just another posh hotspot, but within its walls, deals were made, alliances formed, and secrets kept.

Every Wednesday night at 10 p.m., I went there with my associates. It was a ritual that provided both a break from my hectic schedule and a controlled environment for important discussions. The private VIP room, tucked away from prying eyes and curious ears, had become our sanctuary.

Inside the dimly lit room, I leaned back in one of the plush leather chairs and surveyed the setting. The ambiance was luxurious without being ostentatious, just the way I liked it. The soundproof walls muted the music outside, a steady thrum that seemed to vibrate through the room like an unspoken promise. I felt the beat resonate in my bones, a rhythm I knew by heart.

Alejandro Morales, my right-hand man, sat to my left, nursing a tumbler of whiskey. He was as steady as ever, his eyes constantly scanning the room even though there were no threats to be found here. Next to him were several men in my employment along with some close business connections. I was pleased to see all of them engaged in low conversation. These meetings were essential for maintaining the delicate balance of our operations and I intended that to continue.

Watching from my seat at the head of the table, I admired the ease with which my associates fell into their roles. Each of them had their own talents, and it was their combined expertise that allowed us to operate so smoothly. Their presence was comforting, a reminder that I wasn’t alone in this world, even when it felt like I was.

As was my custom, I ordered a single martini. It was more of a formality than a desire, a signal that the night had begun. I usually paid little attention to the specifics of the drink. The quality here was consistent, and I had other matters on my mind.

Tonight, however, things were slightly different. Zayn Cole, the owner of Sweet Cocktails, had mentioned earlier in the week that he had a new bartender with a signature raspberry martini that was all the rage on social media. He was convinced I’d enjoy it.

The concoction didn’t particularly interest me. I didn’t care for trends or what people hyped up online. But Zayn had been good to us, keeping the VIP room private and the media out of our business. He was paid well for his discretion and had never disappointed. As a courtesy to him, I agreed to try this new drink.

“Zayn promised you’d love her raspberry martini,” Alejandro reminded me, amusement in his voice.

I shot him a sidelong glance. “Zayn is a businessman,” I said. “He knows how to sell a product.”

Alejandro chuckled, raising his glass to me. “Fair enough.”

When the door to the VIP room opened, I expected to see the usual servers. Instead, a striking woman walked in, holding a tray with my drink balanced perfectly. Her entrance was subtle yet commanding, and all eyes turned to her as she approached.

She moved with a grace that was both deliberate and effortless, like a dancer who knew every step by heart. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a face that was as captivating as it was familiar. I knew instantly where I had seen her before, not here at the bar, but on the security footage from my property.

Her beauty was undeniable, and there was an exotic allure to her that was hard to ignore. She was a vision of elegance and poise, a presence that demanded attention and stirred something deep within me. Her eyes, a captivating shade of hazel, met mine with a boldness that spoke of both confidence and intrigue.

I had known someone was picking raspberries from the bushes on my land. When one of my men brought the footage to me, I saw her there, moving among the plants with a grace that caught my attention. At the time, I dismissed her as harmless, perhaps someone who simply appreciated the fruit. But now, seeing her in person, I realized there was perhaps there was more to her than met the eye. Was her presence tonight merely a coincidence? More than likely so; however, I was not in the habit of letting my guard down. I found the woman’s allure tantalizing enough that she’d drawn my attention in any case.

She approached the table with confidence, her eyes locking onto mine as she set the martini down. There was a palpable tension in the air, a charged energy that crackled between us like electricity. Her presence filled the room, commanding attention and creating a sense of anticipation. Out of my peripheral vision, I noticed the heads of the men around me turn in our direction.

“Mr. Evans, I hope you enjoy the drink,” she said, her voice steady, though I detected a hint of nervousness behind her polished exterior. Her words were measured, each syllable infused with a subtle sexuality that was impossible to ignore.

“Thank you…” I paused, letting the moment hang in the air like a suspenseful note. “Raya, isn’t it?”

Her eyes flickered with surprise, but she quickly masked it with a professional smile. “Yes, Raya Kinkaid.”

I leaned forward slightly, studying her. She was beautiful, no doubt about it, with an exotic quality that appealed to me. But it was more than just her appearance; there was an energy about her that piqued my curiosity. She was an enigma, a puzzle I wanted to solve.

“I’ve heard a lot about this raspberry martini,” I said, lifting the glass to my lips. “It’s become quite famous.”

She inclined her head, a small, enigmatic smile playing on her lips. “I hope it lives up to the hype.”

As I took a sip, the flavors unfolded in a cascade of complexity. Sweet, tart, and with an undercurrent that was both familiar and foreign. The drink was an unexpected delight, a testament to her skill and creativity.

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