Page 2 of Surrender to Me

“Thank God.”

I stepped inside and was immediately met with the low hum of jazz and the scent of whiskey and cigars curling through the air. It wasn't crowded and I was thankful. I slid onto a barstool, exhaling sharply.

The bartender, a heavily tatted man with piercing eyes, smirked. “Need something strong?”

“You have no idea,” I muttered.

He nodded, already pouring Tequila on the rocks. And then, before I even picked up my glass, a deep, slow voice cut through the air behind me.

“Put it on my tab.”

I turned and there he was. The fine ass man from the beach. Up close, he was even more handsome, making my mouth instantly go dry. He was tatted the fuck up too. The waves in his hair were a tsunami and his dark eyes were intense. A diamond chain with a cross rested on his muscular chest and an expensive watch adorned his wrist. A perfectly cut jawline and his smirk was slow and confident. And the way he was looking at me? It sent a shiver down my spine.

I should have picked up my drink, ignored the fine ass older man in front of me, and spent the rest of the night sulking in my villa about how much I was failing at this retreat. But I didn’t. Instead, I turned in my seat, slowly facing him, one eyebrow raised.

“I can pay for my own drink, y’know.”

His lips curved at the edges, amusement flickering in his eyes. He wasn’t just attractive—he was commanding. The kind of man who took up space without trying, the kind who made you want to know what he was thinking even when he gave nothing away.

“I don’t doubt that, sweetheart,” His voice was smooth, low, teasing. “But it’s already paid for. You can either argue about it or drink it.”

I huffed a quiet laugh, picking up the glass the bartender slid toward me for a sip. “You always this generous to strangers?”

“Only when I feel it’s necessary.” He leaned back against the bar, casually rolling the sleeve of his crisp black button-down a little higher. Something about that movement, the slow, unhurried confidence of it, made heat prickle down my spine. “Lemme guess. You’re here for that entrepreneur retreat?”

The bartender placed a glass of something amber and strong in front of him without asking for his order, which told me he was a regular there. He lifted it slowly, studying me over the rim as he took a sip.

“Uh, yeah,” I admitted. “I’m looking for an investor… or at least a lead. A meeting. Something. But instead, I spent two hours making small talk with people who had no interest in what I’m building.”

His gaze flickered with something unreadable. “And what is that, exactly?”

Taking another sip of my drink, I studied him for a moment, debating whether I should waste my pitch on a man who was probably just looking to charm me out of my dress for the night. But fuck it. I had nothing to lose. “Honey Luxe Beauty,” I said. “Clean, luxury skincare. All plant-based, backed by science, and focused on melanated skin. No fillers, no toxins, just pure, results-driven formulas.”

He nodded slightly as if committing it to memory. “I respect it. What’s stopping you from advancing?”

I exhaled, swirling my drink. “Funding, obviously. I built this brand from the ground up, but I need serious capital to grow.”

His lips pressed together, and he took another sip, his sharp gaze assessing me. It wasn’t like the way the investors had looked at me tonight—like I was some charity case or an unproven risk. This man looked at me like he saw the ambition burning in my chest. Like he understood it.

“And what would you do,” he mused, setting his glass down, “if you got the money?”

I leaned in slightly, mirroring him without meaning to. “Expand the product line. Increase production. Build out a team. Right now, it’s all on me—formulating, branding, marketing. It’s growing, but without big money, I’m stuck.”

He nodded once, slow, considering. And then, he asked the question that changed everything. “What if I gave you the money?”

I blinked. “What?”

His expression didn’t shift. “You need funding. I have money. I could write the check.”

My heart stalled, a dozen emotions slamming into me at once—shock, excitement, disbelief, suspicion. Because this wasn’t how things worked. I set my glass down, narrowing my eyes. “Just like that? No questions asked?”

“Oh, there are questions,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Along with terms and conditions.”

And just like that, the heat between us shifted. Something darker. Something… unspoken. I swallowed hard. “Terms?”

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the bar. “You want the funding? You spend the rest of the weekend with me. No distractions. No outside world. Just us.”

My breath caught. He wasn’t talking about business meetings. He was talking about me and him. Physically. Sexually. Every possible way. I stared at him, heat pooling between my thighs, but my brain was racing. Because he was fucking insane. I mean, yes, it was the easiest way to get what I wanted but damn.

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