As I made my way downstairs, my updated to-do list ran through my mind. Now, all I had to worry about was finding two new bartenders, studying for my exam, working my current shifts, prepping for my private events, and finding ways to keep working with Isabella.
Isabella, who was currently dangerously teetering off one rung of the bar ladder in impossibly high-heeled shoes. As I rounded the last step, I could see her long, tan legs from across the lounge. She had one foot out and one arm reaching high above her head.
“What the hell, Isabella?” I rushed over to the ladder and, without hesitation, gripped her waist so she could right herself. The heat of her skin through the waistband of her skirt beckoned my fingers to the flesh underneath the hem of her top. She was warm and soft, and I wanted to explore more of her.
I’d thought of nothing else but the feel of her underneath me every night since the wine cellar. I heard her soft moans in my sleep and would wake up to a rock-solid hard-on, and remembering the way her throat felt underneath my hand was the only thing I thought of as I jerked myself.
“What are you even doing up here? And in these shoes? Are you insane?” My questions came out in a fury.
“These shoes are perfectly acceptable, thank you very much,” she said as she reached the shelf and slid a wine bottle into an empty slot. “I was just putting the leftover wine from the event back up; otherwise, it would sit behind the bar for days.”
“Well, I appreciate your tidiness, but you could’ve asked me to do that,” I said. I hadn’t let go of her waist, and I wouldn’t until she was safely back on solid ground.
Finally, Isabella started making her descent. When she had less than three rungs left to go, I lost my patience and lifted her up off the ladder and set her back on the ground. I held onto her for a moment longer as she swayed.
“That ladder goes up a lot higher than it looks,” Isabella said as she blew a stray curl out of her face, her cheeks red.
I chuckled. “Yeah, it really does.”
“Well, thank you for coming to my rescue, beast,” Isabella said as she tapped my chest and stepped out of my grasp. I missed the feel of her between my hands.
“Beast? Is that what you just said?” I caught the phrase a second later.
Isabella sucked in her lips, clearly not meaning for me to hear. She sighed and said, “It’s what you looked like the first day I met you. I walked in, and you were on this ladder. And in my head, I thought you looked like Beast from Beauty and the Beast. But, like, a smutty version.”
“A smutty version?” I chuckled and followed Isabella through the lounge as she set up the tables.
“Yeah, ’cause you didn’t have a shirt on. And you look like . . . that . . .” Isabella waved an arm in my direction.
“Oh, my heavens, is Miss Isabella Esposito giving me a compliment?” I teased.
“Take it however you want, Max,” she said.
“Beast. Take it however you want . . . Beast.” I locked eyes with Isabella before adding, “Maybe I will.”
I found joy in the fact that even as her cheeks flushed, she didn’t take her eyes off mine.
“Have you heard the news? About the new club?” I needed to change the subject before I walked over to her and actually did what I wanted to do.
Isabella released a breath. “Yes, when Nat gets an idea for something, there’s no stopping her. I think she went and talked to the owners of Mirage, like, the day after your event.”
“Our event,” I corrected before diving in with what was on my mind. “I heard you’ve been dubbed the official Event Maestro for the Mirage Guild,” I said, eager to confirm the rumors of her new title.
“Yeah, something like that,” she replied nonchalantly, adjusting the chairs around the marble-topped tables. “Just helping out with promotions at the moment; it’s not a full-blown career or anything.”
“But it could be, couldn’t it?” I ventured, placing the mercury glass vases filled with cream roses on the tables. “The success of the wine and chocolate night wasn’t just a fluke. It’s opened a lot of doors, hasn’t it? Seems like you’ve got a real knack for this.”
“Trying to get rid of me?” Isabella teased, and my brows scrunched up.
“The opposite, actually.” I stopped my movements and smiled over at her. “I’d love to see more of you at Mirage.”
Isabella stared back at me as she let my words sink in, a little bit of that heat simmering in her eyes.
FOURTEEN
ISABELLA
I should’ve seen the storm clouds gathering over my day from the moment the morning started on a sour note. First, it was a nick on my knee in the shower, then came the shattered body oil bottle. I should’ve taken the hint then. The coffee shop’s oat milk drought should’ve been my second warning, and the accidental dousing of my limited-edition blouse in cold brew was a siren call I blatantly ignored.
