“Just a hunch.”
I pause at the door, glancing over my shoulder just in time to see him watching me with that same unreadable expression—part curiosity, part hunger, and something else I can’t quite put my finger on.
By the time I get back to my apartment, the sky is growing dark, and I’ve missed my window for a relaxing night in. The echo of our interaction at the bar is looping in my head like a record I can’t turn off. I toe off my sneakers and peel off my jean shorts as I walk toward the kitchen, too wired to sleep. My body is buzzing, every nerve still lit up from the heat of Cillian’s stare.
After opening the fridge, I grab a cold bottle of water and press it to the side of my neck. My skin is flushed, overheated, even though the apartment is cool. I take a few sips and lean against the counter.Why hell are you thinking about him, Maddie? Cillian Fucking King.I knew what kind of man he was before he even opened his mouth, but sitting inches from him, I suddenly didn’t care. I sat there and flirted with him, liking that he looked at me like he needed to have me.
I didn’t move to the city to get tangled up in men like him. I pad across the room to the mattress and flop onto it before staring at the ceiling. My mind not once deviating from thoughts of Cillian King—his voice, that smile, those sparkling eyes. And fuck… The way he looked at me like I was a challenge—a game he’s very interested in playing.
I swipe open my phone, click on the notes app, and type:
Don’t fall for Cillian King.
I stare at it for a second. Then, add to it.
Especially if he’s going to keep looking at you like you’re already his favorite sin.
In a couple of nights, he’s going to see me again—up close, in heels, and under stage lights—at the opening night of King’s Temptation. I have no idea how he’s going to react when he finds out he’s my boss. What I do know is that I’m not as ready for this as I thought. And worse? I still want it anyway.
Madison walks out the door with only a short pause to glance over her shoulder.
I’m left standing at the bar like an idiot—one hand still holding my drink, and the other twitching anxiously at my side. For a moment, I merely stare after her—with a befuddlement plastered across my face—watching the door close and wondering what the fuck just happened.
That never happens.
Women don’t turn me down.
It sounds arrogant and cocky as hell as it runs through my thoughts, but it’s true. I’m not delusional. I know who I am, what I look like, and what my name carries—now more than ever. I don’t chase after women, because I don’t have to. I meeta cute girl, chat with her for a bit, share my interests, and the rest usually falls into place. But Madison Roark? She smiled, shot me down with a few words, and walked out of this bar like she owns the whole fucking city.My fucking city.
I set my glass on the bar roughly and shake my head.
Madison Roark…
She wasn’t just pretty. She was fucking stunning. Dark brown hair, long and loose, cascading down her back like it had a mind of its own. Brown eyes, but not the soft and warm kind, hers are dark and deep. Her perfect skin had soaked in summer—golden and smooth—framed by that oversized tank top that hung off one shoulder like it didn’t belong to her. Her shorts—cut off, frayed, and unforgivably short—made it impossible not to notice her legs. Long. Strong. Toned from more than just countless hours of walking on the treadmill at the local gym. She was petite, but not the slightest bit delicate. Nothing about her struck me as a woman who needed a man to take care of her.
And that face…
There aren’t words for a face like Madison’s. It’s the kind you don’t forget—high cheekbones, expressive brows, and pouty pink lips I can think of several uses for. Beautiful.Devastatingly beautiful.
It’s what drew me to her from across the bar. A gorgeous woman to spend the night with. And then she opened her mouth.Absolute fire.She was quick, sharp, and didn’t hesitate in the slightest to call me out on my bullshit. From her confidence, I can only surmise that she’s very used to being underestimated. Nothing about me intimidated her.
From our short interaction, I’m certain she’s a feisty little brat. I don’t enjoy brats… Normally.
The more I replay our conversation, the more irritated I get—not because she walked away, but because she left me wanting more. She didn’t outright reject me. Not really. With those parting words—“I’m pretty certain you’ll be seeingplentyof me soon enough”—it was more like she was baiting me as she walked out the door and disappeared into the night.And fuck, did it ever work.
Those words… I don’t know if they were supposed to be a warning, a promise, or if she was just fucking with me. But the way she said it… stuck. They burrowed deep, and I need to know what she meant—almost as much as I need to know more about her.
I don’t realize how long I’ve been standing at the bar, staring at the door, until the bartender gives me a curious look. I shake my head, mutter something about closing my tab later, and make my way back to the booth.
Enzo’s the first to notice my expression. His eyes flick up as I approach, reading my face the way he reads everyone—sharp, fast, accurate. His brow arches, and a faint smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, but he stays silent.
Nikolai leans back in the booth, grinning like the devil himself. “Oh no. You struck out, didn’t you?” I slide into the booth, ignoring him as he scoots closer to Eavan to make room for me. Without reacting to his comment, I pick up his half-finished drink and take a long sip. “Wait—seriously?” he adds, leaning forward and plopping his elbows on the table with intrigue. “That wasn’t just a flirtatious chat? You made a move, and she shot you down?”
“Sheleft,” I answer flatly.
Enzo raises a brow. “Was she with someone?”
“No.”
