"Me."
The word settled between us, heavy and irrevocable.
Zane whitmore looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time.
And I knew, with absolute certainty, that whatever happened next, there was no turning back.
Zane didn't answer right away.
He leaned back against the booth, one arm resting along the leather, his posture loose in a way that felt intentional. Like he wanted me to notice how little effort he was using to hold the situation.
I didn't move either.
The distance between us stayed exactly where I'd put it.
"You're confident," he said finally.
" you can say that ," I replied with indifference.
He watched me for a long moment, eyes unreadable. I could feel the weight of his attention, the kind that made you aware of every word you were about to say before you said it.
"I didn't come here for you," he said.
My jaw tightened. "No. You came for her."
"Yes."
"And you thought a nightclub was an appropriate place to start?"
