Page 2 of The Grumpy Billionaire Baby Daddy

After a long day of box lifting and organizing, Eleanor and I walk to the club at night.

We get there in no time. “Ruthless. That’s it! That’s the club’s name,” she says in a slightly raised tone.

“Let’s go!”

She grabs my hand, rushing in with gusto.

Stepping into this new realm feels like traversing into uncharted territory. I've never experienced anything quite like it. The last time I was in such an extravagant setting was during Prom, but even that memory is tainted by the disaster that followed. I ended up getting drunk and embarrassingly vomiting all over the dance floor.

As I take in the scene around me, the room is dimly lit, adorned with pulsating purple and red lights that create an otherworldly ambiance. The booming music reverberates through my entire being, as if it could awaken the dead. The air is heavy with the acrid scent of alcohol, threatening to overwhelm my senses.

People on the dance floor move with frenetic energy under the flickering disco lights, seemingly high on adrenaline. Some daring individuals have already discarded their shirts, exuding an air of wild abandon. My heart skips a beat as I realize that Eleanor, my companion, has vanished into the throng of revelers, leaving me alone in this pulsating, sensory overload.

What the actual hell?

I walk to the bartender behind the counter.

“A glass of margarita, please.”

I plop down on the bar stool, holding my forehead in my hands. Eleanor doesn't surprise me anymore. She didn’t even wait for a second before leaving me. I run my eyes around the bar, searching for a sign of her. Nothing.

“Here, miss.”

The bartender passes the glass toward me. His hair is shaved, and his smile is warm.

“First time?”

I nod and take a sip.

“Mmm. It’s good.”

“Thanks. It’s on the house. What are you celebrating?”

“A new beginning,” I say without thinking.

“Congrats.”

I smile and look for any sign of Eleanor, or at least her blue top. Finally, my eyes catch something blue at the other end of the room. It’s El, and she’s already grinding on the dance floor with a dark hottie. I shake my head and take a sip, tapping my feet to LMFAO’sShotsblasting in the room. Eleanor never found it difficult to clinch any man she wanted. In fact, she did a lot of rejecting. Even though she was the popular girl, and had all the guys drooling, she never seemed to appreciate the obsession. She didn't date that much and had a good eye for men. The pizzazz around her didn't distract her. She often found good use of them though, when she was bored, like tonight.

A man at the opposite end of the counter fixes his gaze on me, a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand. Our eyes meet, and he offers a wave before turning away. I take a sip from my second shot, swirling the liquid in my glass. Tonight was supposed to be about cutting loose, but here I am, alone without any company. The one person who was meant to be by my side has already vanished into the crowd.

I signal for another shot, downing it quickly and placing the glass back on the table with care to avoid shattering it. A few nearby patrons whistle and clap, drawing my attention. I shrug nonchalantly, but the whistles grow louder, and someone catcalls. I turn to see the commotion, only to realize that the attention is not directed towards me.

A man on a raised platform is showcasing his impressive dance skills, drawing cheers from the crowd. I let out a belch, feeling a wave of concern wash over me. Getting drunk tonight would not be ideal, as the looming threat of a dreary hangover looms in my mind. I need to be cautious with my alcohol intake.

“Mind if I join you?” I turn to find a tall guy behind me. He’s handsome, but he’s not my type. With his glasses and his corporate shirt, he looks more like a nerd. Who wears a shirt to a bar? What’s next, a three-piece? Against my better judgment, I flash him a smile. Any company is better than no company tonight.

“It's a crime to be out here alone, you know?”

He sits in the empty chair beside me even though I didn't invite him yet. His shy smile reminds me of the high school nerd everyone made fun of. He turns to the bartender.

"I'll have what she's having."

His face curves into a smile and it dawns on me that this is a bad idea. This man isn't my type; it becomes even more obvious when he tries to lock eyes with me. His gaze glides over me and I shudder. His presence is a tad bit obnoxious.

"Listen… I think this was a mist—"

"Do you want to maybe go somewhere quiet?"

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