Page 6 of The Owner's Temptation

Steve exhales sharply, running a hand down his wet pants, trying tocasuallywipe at the stain. He lets out a forced chuckle, but it’s tight, clipped. Like he’s tolerating me.

"Relax, would you?" he says, voice edged with frustration now. "It’s a party. You shouldenjoyyourself."

He takes another step toward me, setting his bottle on the bar top.

I step back again, but this time—a barstool is behind me, blocking my retreat.

Steve notices.

His lips curl slightly, thatpathetic little smirkreappearing like he’s decided I’m only playing hard-to-get.

"Better yet…" he leans in, voice lowering like we’re sharing some private secret. "Maybewe should enjoy ourselves—privately."

His eyes drag over my mouth.

"You know, I look at thatsmart mouthof yours every damn day, and I’vewonderedwhat it would feel like on my co?—"

I don’t let him finish.

Taking a step back, the stool slides out of my path and I throw the rest of Harper’s cocktail in hisfucking face.

"Don’t you dare talk to me like that," I snap, my voice steady even though my blood is boiling.

Steve freezes, drenched in whiskey and humiliation.

A few nearby patrons glance over as Steve stands there, face red, jaw ticking as he calculates his next move. From the side of my vision, the bartender stands up straight. I can tell he’s watching us and expect a bouncer at any second to kick me out.

I can see it in Steve’s eyes—the fury, theloss of control, the way he’s struggling to mask it.

He steps forward and I flinch in instinct.

"Consider yourself fired, bitch."

Then out of nowhere, a large,tanhand clamping around the back of Steve’s neck.

Everything happens fast.

One second, Steve is standing there, gloating.

The next—his face meets the fucking bar.

A sickening crunch echoes through night air as his nose breaks.

Ijumpback, eyes widening as Steve crumples to the floor, completely unconscious.

My mouth falls open.

My best friend, ten feet away, is frozen mid-step as she finally returns from the bathroom.

Tall, Dark, and Tattooed stands there like nothingjust happened, adjusting the cuffs of his rolled-up sleeves, exuding pure dominance.

Patrons glance over, but no one reacts.

Like this isn’tunusualhere.

Like heownsthis place.

“I–” I have no fucking idea what to say.

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