Chapter 6

The jazz trio in the corner had shifted to a slow, sultry rendition of *Fly Me to the Moon*, the saxophone wailing like it was begging for mercy, but I barely heard them over the pounding of my own heart. We had slipped away from the main floor of the rooftop restaurant, escaping the clinking of champagne flutes and the polite, upper-crust chatter of the city’s elite. The private back room was dimly lit, smelling of aged leather, expensive cologne, and the faint, sweet scent of the mimosa bar we’d left behind. It was intimate, secluded, and utterly perfect for what I knew was coming. He was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the sprawling city skyline, but I knew he was watching my reflection in the glass. I adjusted the slit of my silk dress, the fabric sliding up my thigh, and walked toward him. The heels I wore clicked softly against the hardwood floor, a rhythmic announcement of my approach. He didn’t turn around immediately. He just let me come to him, letting the anticipation stretch out like a rubber band ready to snap. "Come here, baby girl," he said, his voice a low rumble that