Camilla's POV
Perhaps I was losing my mind. The thought kept spinning through my head like the heavy bass that vibrated through the crowded nightclub. This place was absolutely packed tonight. With so many men here, what were the odds it was actually him?
Red shirts were everywhere I looked. Burgundy, cherry, crimson - some bright, others muted. Apparently it was the color of choice for guys hitting the clubs tonight.
My gaze swept the room constantly, catching flashes of red fabric at every turn. If I was thinking clearly, the man I'd glimpsed earlier had an entourage with him. I'd noticed them - stone-faced men with alert eyes and muscular builds that screamed security detail. But this guy, standing so casually at the bar now, appeared completely solo.
What sense did it make for someone important enough to breeze past the velvet ropes into VIP to suddenly ditch that exclusive sanctuary for the regular crowd? The logic didn't add up.
