Page 12 of Dissonance

She glances my way, gaze moving over my face, before dropping briefly to the suit jacket stretched across my shoulders.

The bartender sets a glass in front of me before sliding a beer bottle across the counter, already open, condensation beading at the neck. She takes a proper sip, eyes locked on mine, her throat working on a swallow.

“Better?” I ask.

She nods, mouth curving. “Much.”

Up close, she’s easier to read and harder to look away from in equal measure. Young—early twenties, I’d guess—but nothing uncertain about the way she holds herself. Freckles dust the bridge of her nose, barely visible unless you’re standing close enough to notice. Two small indentations sit at the top of it—glasses, probably. A hair tie wraps around her wrist, so habitually there it’s probably been replaced a dozen times without a second thought. Small things. The kind you only clock when your attention narrows to one person instead of spreading across an entire room.

“Not what I expected,” I say, nodding at the bottle.

She lowers it slowly, eyes narrowing with something that might be amusement. “And what were you expecting?”

“More of the expensive champagne they serve at these things.”

“Sometimes expensive things are overrated.” Her expression shifts, dry humor moving across her face. “Besides, my brother swore a martini was the only drink worth ordering.” She glances at the barely touched glass still sitting where she left it. “My brother is a dirty liar. Or maybe I just hate vermouth.”

I chuckle. “Yeah. I stopped trusting what my brother said a long time ago.”

My fingers twitch with the urge to push the strand of hair that’s fallen across her forehead back into place. I don’t. I turn back to the bar instead, letting the moment pass.

“You’re not from here,” she says.

“The accent gave it away?”

She pinches her thumb and forefinger together. “A little.”

“Scotland.”

Her eyebrows lift. “That’s a long way from Miami.”

“I live in New York.”

“Ah.” Her gaze drops to the glass of water in my hand. “But you’re here for…work?”

“Something like that.” I nod, leaving it there. “You?”

“Obligation.” She sighs as the music swells around us, watching the guests like she’s already grown bored with the whole thing. Something soft and floral drifts off her skin as she shifts, warm enough I catch it without meaning to. “But I’m counting the minutes until this thing is over.”

“Big fan of charity galas?”

“Mhmm,” she hums, lifting the bottle again. “I’m a fan of leaving them.”

I grin, ready to ask her more, just to keep her talking, when she adds, “And I’d really like to take this dress off.”

Her words land low in my gut, my pulse kicking as my gaze drags down the length of her in a way that is definitely not professional and one hundred percent not subtle. She notices—of course she does—her tongue sliding slowly along her lower lip, her eyes darkening in a way I recognize all too well.

Yeah. That look isn’t subtle either.

She grabs a small sequined bag from the bar and sets her half-drunk bottle beside it.

“Well,” she says lightly, shoulder brushing my arm as she steps past. “I’ve had about as much of this as I can take for one night.”

The contact is brief, accidental, maybe. My fingers grip around nothing, every muscle in my body pulling toward her. Then she glances over her shoulder, green eyes finding mine. “I hope you find something better to do with the rest of your night.”

She walks away without looking back. She doesn’t need to. Her hips sway with that same easy confidence I noticed across the room, and the crowd parts around her like it always does for people who move like they know exactly where they’re going. She stops briefly beside two men near the edge of the dance floor—father and son, clearly—the older one kissing her cheek, the younger saying something that makes her roll her eyes before pulling her into a loose hug, then whispering something close to her ear that makes her laugh. She slips away, disappearing through the ballroom doors and into the hotel lobby.

I check my watch. A few minutes left. I should finish my shift, do the handoff, check in with Gunner, make sure the exits are clear before I clock out. I should do a lot of things that are not staring at the doors she just walked through.