The dark-haired man in the booth is gorgeous, but I can tell with one glance that he’s also trouble. A wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing. In a conservative black suit and white dress shirt, he could be any other businessman enjoying a drink with friends after work.
Except he’s alone.
And he’s not enjoying himself.
He looks how I feel: miserable.
“Now listen, Shay. You have to promise me. No more moping, okay? It’s my birthday. The least you can do is act as if you’re having a good time.”
Chelsea propels me through the entrance of the swanky hotel bar in Beverly Hills, her hand on my elbow, her head bent toward mine. Jen and Angel are ahead of us. The three of them are dressed to the nines in stilettos, colorful outfits, and hair out to there. They look fantastic. A flock of flamingos on the hunt for single men.
I’m the raven of the group, all in black with a mood to match.
I’m only here because we’re celebrating Chelsea’s birthday. If it were up to me, I’d be home in bed with the covers pulled over my head.
The things we do for our friends.
“I am having a good time,” I lie brightly. “That dance club we just left was so fun.”
She squeezes my elbow. “Maybe you should tell that to your face. That smile is tragic. Stop thinking about the twatwaffle.”
Hearing her nickname for my ex, I wince. “Please don’t call him that.”
“He deserves to be called a lot worse. Stop defending him. And every time you miss him, just remember there are plenty of fish in the sea.”
“You know what else there’s plenty of in the sea? Trash.”
“Listen, the only way to get over a man is to get under a new one. That’ll fix things.”
“I need a new man like I need a roach infestation.”
She clucks in disapproval. “Don’t let one bad apple turn you off to the whole apple tree. You’ll find Mr. Right eventually. In the meantime, let’s find you Mr. Well Endowed so you can let off some steam.”
We follow Jen and Angel, making our way into the lounge. Outside, it’s a typical summer evening in LA, the air balmy, the palm trees swaying, and the stars shining bright, but in here, it’s cool and dim.
All the upscale hotel bars around the city have this same intimate, candle-lit ambiance. It’s as perfect for a deal-making meeting between studio executives as it is for a pair of lovers who are married to other people to sneak in a cocktail before heading up to their room.
The difference with this place—and the reason Chelsea chose it—is that it has a reputation for being the spot frequented by the wealthiest men in town.
If I’ve heard it from her once, I’ve heard it a thousand times: “It’s just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor one.”
She might be looking for love, but I’m looking for peace of mind. My ex was hell on my sanity.
I glance over at the dark-haired man in the booth against the wall again. He’s still staring at me. The hunger in his gaze makes my heart skip a beat.
When he licks his full lips, a little shiver of desire courses through me. But I look away and toss my hair over my shoulder.
The last thing I need right now is the attention of a hot stranger who looks like he’s the cause of many a woman’s therapy bill.
I’ve already got my own demons to deal with.
I don’t need another one.
