Chapter 1

The dress Noelle wore tonight had taken almost all her remaining savings.

She bought it three days ago in some fancy boutique. Stood in the fitting room mirror and pictured it:

Walking into Drake’s dumb waterfront restaurant. Candles. Him finally looking at her like "wow".

Five years together and he kept promising her “the special dinner.” The one he never actually did.

Spoiler: he didn’t show.

No call. No text.

Just her, alone, at a table for two, day-drinking her second glass of wine and blowing up his phone.

Then, an hour later: ding.

"Noelle, we’re done. I can’t be with someone who picks a crusty little bakery over her inheritance. I need a woman with class. With power. With connections. If your dad cut you off, then there’s nothing here for me.”

A broken laugh escaped her.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she read the message again.

And again.

Five years.

Five years for money and a last name.

That was it. That was all she was to him.

So she got up. Went to the bar.

And kept ordering drinks until Drake’s stupid text turned into a blurry mess on her phone.

Forget him.

Forget her dad.

Forget the bakery.

Forget the five years she wasted.

Tonight? She wanted to black out.

Noelle Bennett slammed her empty glass on the sticky island bar at Silverstone Lounge.

"Another one," she told the bartender, holding up two fingers. "Make it a double. Actually triple."

The bartender looked past her. Panicked.

The manager came over. Big guy. Black shirt. Annoyed face.

"Miss... I think you’ve had enough."

"I PAID FOR THEM," she said, waving her empty hand in the air like that proved something. "I can sit here and drink till the sun comes up if I WANT."

"And you’re drunk," he said, real nice but firm. "So we’re gonna need you to leave."

Right then, two security guys in matching polos showed up next to the manager.

Noelle realized they’d probably been watching her since glass number 3 when she cried and then pretended she didn’t.

"Fine." She stood up too quickly. The room swayed before steadying itself. Her dress, the one she bought for a man who'd dumped her on their anniversary, slid up her thigh, and she yanked it down forcefully. "Fine, I'll go. But first, I want a dancer from the club or an escort for the night. One of the hot ones."

The manager blinked. "We—"

"I have a credit card," she cut him off, "and an ex who needs to see what he’s missing."

"Miss—"

"Don’t 'miss' me," she poked his chest. "Are all guys in this city cowards, or is it just the two I’ve met tonight?"

That was it. He grabbed her arm. With a quick motion, she pushed him away. He stumbled back, and the room, which had been observing quietly, now openly gawked. Phones were raised. A woman at the nearest table laughed into her hand.

Noelle turned away from it all, rushing toward the exit and completely forgetting about the stupid low stool behind her.

Her heel caught on its leg. Suddenly, the floor vanished beneath her. Gasping, she lunged forward, flailing, arms windmilling, and crashed straight into... a man. His shoulders, his chest, his lap—all rising to catch her before she hit the ground.

The music continued playing. But everyone near that booth froze in place.

He went stiff under her.

Three men in dark suits who had kept their distance all night moved toward the booth in unison.

Surprisingly, he raised two fingers without looking at them, causing the men to halt mid-step.

Noelle lay half sprawled across the stranger's thighs, her palm pressed flat against his warm and solid chest.

He smelled of cedar and oud, dark and clean, the scent lingering around him even in the crowded room.

She reeked of wine and warm pastry dough, blueberry muffins, melted chocolate, and underneath it a soft floral note, like crushed lavender left in the sun. The scent slid into his head and quieted the constant noise that usually made his head ache.

It didn’t seem to bother him; if anything, he leaned down slightly and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he enjoyed her fragrance.

She looked up at him. He had sharp cheekbones and his mouth looked unfamiliar with smiles, but the corner of it lifted as though he was considering one. His eyes were so dark they absorbed rather than reflected the lounge's dim golden light.

Oh," she said, poking his jaw to check if he was real. "You’re cute."

"You have no idea who you’re talking to, do you?" he said, amused.

"Of course I do," she swayed on his lap, drunk smile firmly in place. “You're one of the dancers, aren't you?” She squinted at him. “No. Wait. You look like their expensive escort.” She patted his chest. “I got lucky.”

His mouth twitched. Around them, people held their breath. His men moved again. He gave the smallest shake of his head. They stayed put.

"Am I now?"

Her fingers drifted to his lapel, smoothing it with a careful concentration.

He caught her wrist, making her pause before it could wander lower, his grip loose but immovable. "Is that what you think I am."

"How about you make me have the time of my life and make me forget—" she stopped, some small sober part of her slamming the door on that sentence before it could finish itself. "I'll pay you lavishly if you make me forget the last twenty-four hours. Deal?"

Around them, the booth had gone very quiet.

The man beneath her tilted his head, considering her. "Deal."

She lit up, sliding off his lap, unsteady, gripping his forearm to keep from listing sideways. "One condition first."

"A condition?” His eyebrow furrowed.

“You charge extra for those?”

"I guess so."

"I'll tip you generously." She winked. "Pretend you're my boyfriend. My new one. I need my ex to see it." Her throat tightened around the word ex, and she hated that it did, hated that four drinks in she still couldn't say Drake's name without her chest caving slightly. "I can't breathe, thinking of that smug look on his face. You'll help me get revenge right?” she batted her eyes, looking up at him.

The stranger watched her for a second. Her little pout still managed to look sexy despite her messed up state.

"Can you do that?"

"Depends." He rose too, unhurried, straightening his cuffs. He was taller than she'd clocked from sitting on him. “Anyone stupid enough to leave someone who looks like you deserves whatever’s coming,” he said. “Where is he?”

She smiled, wobbling.

He followed her through the crowd without being asked twice, his men falling into step a respectful distance behind.

Noelle weaved through the crowd, muttering under her breath, until she spotted a familiar broad-shouldered man near the VIP lounge entrance—Drake, laughing with two friends, glass in hand, looking carefree.

She pointed.

The stranger smirked and cut right in front of Drake, making him trip. His drink spilled all over his hand.

"Watch where the hell you're—" Drake spun around, pissed. Then he froze.

"Noelle."

Her stomach sank. Yep. This was exactly what she'd been getting drunk to avoid.

His eyes flicked to the guy next to her, putting the pieces together.

"Who the—"

He didn't even finish. The other guy shoved him and Drake hit the floor hard, drink flying. And the stranger didn't even look particularly invested in having done it.

One of Drake's friends went white. "Wait, is that—"

The other friend yanked him back. "Shut up. Don't. Let's go. Now."

They picked Drake up like a sack of potatoes and dragged him out, still sputtering. Not one of them looked back at her.

Noelle watched them go and grinned.

Hell yeah.

"Feel better?" the guy next to her asked.

"So much better," she slurred. Blame the wine. "My bag. I need—"

She took two steps and immediately ate shit. Her heel gave out and the floor came out of nowhere except an arm snatched her around the waist before she could face-plant. Like he KNEW she was gonna do that.

"I can walk," she told him, very seriously.

"Sure you can," he said.

And then he just... picked her up. Bridal style. One arm under her knees like it was nothing.

She didn’t even fight it. Talking was hard. His shoulder was surprisingly comfortable. She decided that she could live with being carried.

"You’re not just cute," she mumbled into his shirt as they got to the car. His guys peeled off, one opening the door like this was a movie. "You’re hot. Like, actually hot. And ripped."

"Thanks."

Her hand did a little tour of his chest. "You gotta get tipped a lot, huh."

"You’d be the first," he said, setting her down on the leather seat all careful.

He climbed in next to her. Door shut. Suddenly it was just dark, quiet, and smelled like him and expensive car.

She turned to him and poked his jaw. Dragged her fingers down his neck.

"You’re real quiet for someone I’m paying, you know."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Your name," she said. Her fingers stopped at his collar. "I should know whose name I'll be screaming later.

Something flickered in his eyes. Amused. Dark. Dangerous.

"Should you?"

"Obviously," she said, feeling very smug. No clue what was happening but she was winning.

He stared at her for a second. Then, "Seven. Call me Seven," he said.

She rolled the name around in her mouth. "Seven."

Cute. Dumb. Perfect.

She had no idea who the hell she just picked up.