Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Yes, please,” she says, settling in. “A glass of white wine would be nice.”
I signal the waiter, ordering a bottle of their best, and glance at her. “Food?”
She shakes her head, smiling faintly. “No, I’m good. I couldn’t eat if I tried.”
We lapse into silence, the space between us charged but cordial. The club pulses on, and soon enough, faces I know appear. A hedge fund titan, a gallery owner, a politician and his wife, all stopping by to shake my hand, but I keep it short, my focus on Lauren, not wanting her to feel sidelined. They drift off, but I catch her watching curiously.
“Sorry,” I say, leaning closer, voice low over the music. “It’s what happens when you get the middle table. Didn’t mean for you to get swarmed.”
“It’s okay,” she says, her smile easy, disarming. “I get it. You’re a big shot.”
I laugh and relax, grateful for her grace, and we slip into talk, the kind that feels like stepping onto new ground.
“Besides coming here and hogging the best table,” she asks, her eyes searching mine, “what do you do for fun?”
I pause, considering. “Other than refurbishing the manor, I love riding, playing polo, and hunting with my birds of prey. The city is mostly for business. Where I earn money to pay for my other pleasures.”
She nods, like she finally understands what makes me tick. Then I turn it back. “What about you? Besides reading, what keeps you happy?”
Her laugh is soft. “Honestly? I don’t know. Back home, I was a sales manager, grinding away to pay the bills, so it was… friends, going out on the weekends. But something was missing. Like I hadn’t found me yet. Chicago was all pressure, no space to breathe. Here…” She glances down, fingers tracing the stem of her glass. “No one knows me. Things are slower. I can figure out who I am.”
I lean closer, drawn in. “Is that why you won’t sell the land?” I ask, the pieces clicking. “You want to stay. It’s your chance to build a new life.”
“Yeah,” she says, meeting my eyes steadily. “Exactly.”
I nod, something shifting in me, respect overtaking ambition. “I get it now. I’ll stop pushing you to sell. You need this—not the money, but the place and the time.”
Her smile is warm, genuine, like sunlight breaking through. “Thank you,” she says softly, but it carries a whole world of meaning. “I’m glad you understand.”
“I do,” I say, and I mean it. “This adventure will change you. Helicopter to London.” I gesture around us, teasing lightly. “Not every day, right?”
She laughs, bright and free, the sound loosening something in my chest. “No kidding. I’d only seen one in movies before tonight.”
“I hope this is the beginning of a very good experience,” I say, watching her, hoping she feels it—the thrill of the night, maybe even me.
The lights dim, the crowd hushing as the MC steps onto the stage, his booming voice announces Raye. I glance at Lauren, her face lit with anticipation, and feel a quiet victory—not just for the night, but for her, here, sharing this night with me.
Chapter
Thirty-One
LAUREN
The Vellum Club’s lights pulse softly, the crowd a low murmur as the MC’s voice cuts through, sharp and electric.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, Raye!” he announces, and my breath catches, and my body leans forward, every nerve alight. Raye, this close. It’s a dream. She strides onto the stage, all confidence and glow, her white silk dress catching the spotlight like a flame.
“This one’s for someone special out there,” she says, her voice teasing, mysterious. “Don’t know who you are, Lauren, but you’re one lucky bitch.”
A laugh ripples through the room, and my heart stutters, a wild thought blooming—me? No way. But I feel Hugh’s eyes, steady and warm, fixed on me from the side, and I fight to keep my face neutral, not daring to show the thrill sparking through me. Could he have… arranged this? The idea’s absurd, too big, but it lingers, dangerous and tempting.
Raye launches into her set: “Escapism,” “Ice Cream Man,” her voice raw, soaring, wrapping around me like a current. I’m lost, swept into her world, each note hitting like it’s really just for me. I sip my wine, the glass cold against my lips, and let myself sink into it—this moment, this dream, this incredible fantasy.
Only a month ago, I was in Chicago, adrift, my life a treadmill of sales quotas and late nights. Now I’m here, in a glittering London club, red dress hugging my skin, with a man like Hugh beside me—impossibly handsome, wildly rich, pulling me into a fairytale I never dared imagine for myself. It’s actually surreal, like I’ve stepped into someone else’s story, and I almost feel like I should pinch myself.
Raye’s songs bleed into each other, and my heart feels full of joy, freer than I’ve felt in years—maybe ever. The show ends too soon, the crowd roaring as Raye waves and vanishes backstage. I’m still buzzing, my smile wide and unstoppable, when Hugh leans closer, his voice low. “Want to meet her?”