The VIP Room(76)

That is, until I heard his voice. It was low and dark, like hot chocolate with caramel drizzled on top, and it sent shivers down my spine. He had to be hot. No one with a voice like that could be anything else.

I snuck a peek and froze. Holy crap. Hot didn’t begin to cover it. Our eyes met and I couldn’t move, couldn’t turn away.

His eyes were the crisp, fresh green of a Granny Smith apple. I’d never seen eyes like that before. On anyone else I might have wondered if they were contacts, but not on this man. His eyes were extraordinary, but serious.

This man didn’t put up with bullshit. Not one who’d wear colored lenses. His face could have come out of a magazine, with his thick, dark hair, those bladed cheekbones, and that full lower lip.

But he lacked the empty blandness of a model in an advertisement. No, his face had character. He had fine lines around his mouth that suggested he laughed a lot. A tan that said he liked to be outdoors. His gaze was assessing, evaluating me. I wanted to tear my eyes away and look anywhere else, but I couldn’t.

He wasn’t just a regular guy. I knew that already. Spinal shivers from his voice aside, the bartender had called him ‘Sir’ when he’d come in.

And that suit. I didn’t know a ton about fashion, but it was too well tailored not to be custom made. He was way out of my league—way, way out.

“Bad day?” he asked in that chocolate and caramel voice. More shivers ran down my spine. A suspicious heat grew between my legs. Women would pay just to hear this guy talk.

“Bad week,” I said, my mouth moving before I could stop it.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The bartender delivered his drink, and he took a sip, eyes still on mine. He waited with all the patience in the world to hear my pathetic story.

Suddenly, I was less depressed and more ashamed. How had I let my life come to this?

“I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to a stranger’s problems,” I said, not wanting this beautiful man to know what a mess I was.

“I’m never too busy to listen to an attractive woman,” he answered. I snorted a laugh, choking a little on my appletini. He must be working an angle. Men like this didn’t hit on me.

Maybe he thought I was, easy, or maybe he was another scammer. I’d had enough of that lately. I couldn’t afford to be taken in again.

“Smooth,” I said, still giggling a little. “But whatever you’re selling, I don’t need any. I’ve got enough trouble as it is.”

“I’m not selling anything.” He actually looked affronted, as if I’d insulted him. “Really. I just got off work, wandered in here, saw you, and wanted to get to know you better.”

“Why?” I challenged, tossing back the rest of my drink.

Sure, this was the most beautiful man I’d seen in real life. However, his sitting beside me and starting a conversation just because he liked the way I looked was a little hard to swallow.

Girls like me did not attract men like him. I was too plump, too boring, and too plain. Besides, I was not having a lucky week. Or month, if we’re being honest.

“Because,” he said, leaning in so his lips almost grazed my ear, “you’re the only real thing I’ve seen in this place in months. You’re gorgeous, and you don’t even know it. And I want to know you better.”

I snorted again. Not the most elegant sound. Maybe I’d had one drink too many—no, I’d definitely had one too many. I just couldn’t buy it. I had decent self-esteem, but come on.

This guy could get any woman he wanted. I was a somewhat overweight accountant who lived in a tiny bungalow, drove a beige sedan, and contributed regularly to her retirement account.

All I was missing was a few cats, and I’d be all ready to become a little old lady at twenty-five. I might live in Vegas, but it could have been the small midwestern town I’d grown up in for the all the excitement in my life.

“Sorry. Not interested,” I said. “The last hot guy who told me I was gorgeous ended up cleaning out my savings account. That was after telling me how hard it was to date such a fat ass long enough to get my bankcard and pin. I’m not looking for a guy like you.”

I waved my hand in the air in a gesture meant to encompass all that was him. “I need a nice, boring guy. Maybe another accountant. Or an actuary. Someone like that.”

“How much did he get?”

I sat back, startled. All the smooth had drained from his face. It was like looking at a different man. His arresting green eyes were narrowed, his lips tight. He looked pissed and even though I knew it wasn’t directed at me, he was a little scary.

Why had I told him that? My most humiliating secret and I blurted it out to a complete stranger? I had second thoughts about ordering another drink.

“Ten thousand,” I mumbled, flushing with embarrassment. I’d been stupid, and I’d paid for it.

“How did he get it?” His voice was hard. Uncompromising. I thought about not answering, but I didn’t have it in me to stay silent, especially not with that commanding tone in his luscious voice.

“It was a back-up savings account. Not the one attached to my checking. But it had a bank card. I never used the card, and all the info was in a file in my office. He found it and stole the card. Then he made the maximum withdrawal every day until it was empty. I only check the account once a month, so I missed it. I feel so stupid.”