When they arrived at the hotel, the exterior didn't give much away—polished, tasteful, boring. But the moment they were led through a side corridor and taken down a private elevator into the underground ballroom, it was like entering a different dimension.
At the far end was a dance floor lit from beneath. Well-dressed guests glided across it. The men were in tuxedos; the women in gowns.
Lounges were scattered throughout the room.
And then there were the servers—barely clothed women in heels so high it was a miracle none of them had snapped an ankle yet. They moved like trained dancers, offering drinks and smiles. The cocktails on their trays sparkled under the lights. The guests accepted them with the disinterest of people whose urine was, frankly, more valuable than some countries' GDPs.
Eva blinked, stunned. "Brian," she whispered. "This is not a birthday party. This is a money orgy."
Brian gave her a cheeky wink. "Welcome to the one percent, darling."
"Wow! Is this how famous people live?" Eva gasped, her wide eyes darting around.
"No… this is how wealthy people live," Brian corrected with a smirk, lowering his voice as if revealing a great universal secret. "Famous people lease Bentleys. Wealthy people buy them in dozens."
Eva let out a soft whistle.
Brian grinned, leading her by the elbow to a sunken lounge area. "Bingo. Welcome to the circus."
Almost immediately, a stunning woman with impossibly long legs and cleavage that defied gravity glided over to them. She was dressed in red lingerie that left little to the imagination. She set down a frosted bucket of champagne and two crystal flutes.
The girl gave them both a flirtatious wink before sashaying away.
"Ooooh… this is going to be good," he chuckled under his breath, taking the champagne bottle out of the ice and beginning to pour.
Eva turned to him, lifting a brow. "Why?"
Brian leaned in. "Because Alex… your booty call just walked in."
The flute Eva had just picked up slipped between her fingers and wobbled, only saved by her reflexes. "What?"
Brian tilted his chin ever so slightly toward the entrance. "Nine o'clock. Look casual."
Eva turned, trying and failing to look nonchalant.
Alex Baldwin. In the flesh. Wearing a tailored midnight-blue suit that hugged his frame. He looked every bit the man she'd last seen naked in her kitchen.
Her eyes narrowed, following the overly enthused greeting he received from the mayor's son and then landed on the woman glued to his side. Long legs, pouty lips, and so much obvious plastic surgery, she looked like she'd been Photoshopped in real life.
"Oh. My. God," Eva breathed and snapped her head back around.
Brian clinked their glasses together, giddy. "See? This is gonna be good."
Eva forced a laugh. "So if he's here… I mean… we both agreed it was just a one-time thing."
"Not when you are looking like that," Brian argued, his eyes slowly taking in Eva's entire frame. "Honestly, I don't know if I should be proud or worried. That dress is lethal, honey. You're basically a Bond girl right now."
Eva gave a dry laugh.
"Alex never attends these kinds of parties. He's the mysterious billionaire who rarely leaves his fortress of solitude but somehow showed up at the exact event where his one-time kitchen-table conquest just happens to be glowing like a goddess dipped in moonlight."
She arched a brow. "Is that your way of saying he's tight with the mayor?"
"I'm saying the man is probably tight with the president himself," Brian said, lifting his champagne with flair. "But damn girl… the man is fine."
"Will you stop looking?" Eva hissed under her breath, her hand twitching toward her champagne. "I don't want him to know I'm here."
Brian gave her a mock-scandalized look. "Please. In that dress? With that hair? He knows, sweetie. You are the event."
"Brian!" she said under her breath, trying not to giggle. She glanced toward Alex again. He was laughing at something the mayor's son had said, but Eva felt those eyes skim over her, lingering just long enough to make her pulse stutter.
"Fine! This is gonna be good," Brian said again, clearly enjoying every second of her misery.
As the night wore on, the party bloomed into controlled chaos. Music thumped, laughter echoed, and the air buzzed with alcohol. People were flirting with abandon, dancing like they owned the room.
At some point, Brian excused himself to "go mingle with the peacocks" and vanished into the crowd of industry elites, leaving Eva alone on the sofa.
She crossed her legs and forced herself not to scan the room for Alex. Nope. Not gonna look. Not even a side glance. But she felt him again, watching her.
And then, one of the barely clothed waitresses glided over to her.
"Refill?" the girl asked, expertly topping up Eva's glass before she could answer. Then, in one graceful motion, the waitress handed her a small, folded piece of paper.
"From the gentleman over there," the waitress said with a knowing smile, jerking her chin toward the far end of the lounge.
Eva's eyes followed the direction.
Alex was on his feet now, jacket unbuttoned, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. He had one hand in his pocket and the other holding a drink, but his eyes were fixed solely on her.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she unfolded the paper. Just a line, written in sharp, decisive writing.
"Bathroom now!"
Eva looked up across the room at him. He didn't look her way again.
Well, someone is needy, she thought, trying to calm the erratic beat of her heart.
She turned toward Brian, seeking his help but he was deep in conversation with the director of Megawind.
Eva let out a breath and rose from her seat. Her legs felt too aware of themselves, every step a silent alarm bell. She hated that her heart had become a traitor.
The hallway leading to the bathroom was quieter, padded with luxurious carpet, the lights dimmed low and warm like they anticipated sins. She pushed open the heavy bathroom door and stepped in.