Seven Nights of Sin (Penthouse Affair #2) novel Chapter 38

Presley

The sun just set, and with it, all the warmth was sucked from the city, it seems. Today was cooler than usual for July, and the evening air is damp.

Tugging my sweater tighter around me, I check the maps app on my phone to make sure I’m walking in the right direction. If the GPS is accurate, then Moon and Stars Lounge and Bar should be right here. I frown, looking at the barbershop where the tarot card parlor should be.

Turning, I finally spot it—an unassuming narrow staircase that leads down toward a dark wooden door with a silver crescent moon nailed to it.

A little chill of excitement runs down my spine. I was surprised when Dominic agreed to meet me here. It was a place neither of us had been, which would ensure it would be neutral ground.

He said that I could name the place, so why not pick a spot I’ve been dreaming of coming to for months?

I walk into the dimly lit lounge and wait for my eyes to adjust to the dark. The door swings closed behind me. The lounge is all velvet and low-hanging lights, with a bar at the far back of the room. Art on the walls depicts the goddesses in all their beauty and ferocious glory. It’s surprisingly fuller than I thought it would be.

When I can make out the shadowy figures, huddled over their tables with glasses of wine, I find the silhouette I’m looking for. As I gaze at the line of his broad shoulders and the curl of hair at the nape of his neck . . . a little pang of worry shivers through me, and I desperately want to turn and run back to Bianca’s apartment and bury myself in her couch cushions.

This is going to be impossible.

“Hey,” I say, keeping my composure.

Dominic turns, his eyes so dark and empty that I almost take a step back in shock.

I take in everything in a matter of seconds.

Thick eyelashes. A strong jaw. Too pretty of a mouth. The notch of an Adam’s apple peeking out above his shirt collar. He’s perfection, but he looks more somber than I’ve ever seen him—even if he’s trying hard to hide it.

“Presley.” Dominic stands from the table and pulls out a chair for me.

I take a seat, acutely aware of how stiff we’re both acting. A glass of water is waiting for me, so I take a greedy gulp.

“This is quite the little spot,” he says, his gaze flitting from table to table. “I ordered a drink, and they asked me what my zodiac sign is.”

“What is your sign?” I ask, intrigued.

“Aquarius,” he says, then gives me a curious look. “What?”

“No, it’s just . . . of course you’re an Aquarius.” I should have known from the beginning. The rebellious nature, the desire for innovation, the need for emotional freedom . . . it all makes sense.

“I’m not a big water person. I don’t love swimming.”

“Aquarius is an air sign,” I say with a smirk into my glass of water.

“Ah, well, you’re the smart one. So, what are you?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s your sign?”

“Scorpio.”

He shudders dramatically. “That sounds intimidating.”

“We’re conniving . . . vindictive.” I smile sweetly. “But also loyal friends and lovers. Ride or die, as they say.”

“Ride or die,” he repeats, as if he’s never heard the phrase before.

He raises his glass of whiskey to my water, and we clink them together amiably. Sitting here, talking like we’re on our first date . . . it’s definitely weird.

Better to cut to the chase.

“Anyway. There’s something I want—”

“Do you want a real drink? Let me get you a drink.” Suddenly, he’s on his feet and heading toward the bar.

Okay . . .

He has to know why I asked him here. He knows we need to talk. Is he avoiding it?

When he returns with a tall glass of bubbly, I smile. At least he knows my drink.

“Thank you,” I say. I clear my throat, attempting to summon the courage I need in order to have this conversation. I practiced it in the mirror this morning, ran it by Bianca before I left, and even rehearsed it on the walk here.