I felt my jaw flex.
The animal inside was eager to pounce. I fought the urge to clear the whole goddamn bar with a single swipe and take her right then and there. The moment felt frozen, as if the universe slowed time, daring me to reach out, touch her, taste her.
Fuck her.
“What can I get you ma’am?” I heard the bartender say to Maddie, breaking my trance.
She looked in my direction. “Mr. Sinclair, our table is ready in the restaurant. That is, if you are ready to eat.”
I turned my attention to the bartender. “I’d like to eat my meal here. Is that a problem?”
My question caught him off guard. “Um, to be perfectly honest, sir, I have no idea. I know Chef Claude is pretty particular about how his restaurant operates.”
“Well,” I began as I took my seat at the bar once again. “Tell you what… You can go over there and bring us back a couple of menus or by this time next week, there won’t be a hotel for any of you to work in. Feel free to tell Claude to come and discuss it with me if feels the need. How’s that?”
After a quick, hard swallow, he nodded.
“Sir… yes, sir. I’ll be right back. I’m sorry, Mr. Sinclair.”
As he walked away, I slipped my hand around my drink glass, now wet with condensation. I raised it to my mouth and sucked down the last of the liquor that remained. Placing it back down on the bar, I glanced in Maddie’s direction to see her eyes locked on mine in an icy stare of disbelief.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said breaking my gaze. She lowered her hands into her lap and continued, “It’s not my place to say.”
I smirked. Raising my elbows to the edge of the bar, I tented my hands and tapped my index fingers together.
“Please,” I began. “If you’ve got something to say, by all means feel free.”
Straightening her posture, she cleared her throat a bit and smoothed the lines of her dress at the same time.
“Well, I suppose I don’t see why you felt it necessary to be rude to that man when all he was trying to do was answer your question about how Chef Claude likes to serve his meals.”
I nodded. “And so you think that’s what I was. Rude?”
“Basically, yes,” she replied, still confident but not quite as much as she was a few moments earlier.
“Hmm, well, what you think of as rude, I think of as direct.” I paused for a moment and then leaned in towards her before I continued. “You see, Maddie, I'm a man who knows exactly what he wants. Plain and simple. Do you know what I want, right now, Maddie? Do you?”
Doubt and uncertainty etched into her features as I spoke. She remained silent for a few seconds before lifting her hands from her lap and folding them on the bar in front of her. At last she looked back at me and shook her head back and forth in silence.
“I want to eat dinner with you.”
Her eyes remained locked on me as I spoke, when just then the bartender appeared in my peripheral vision.
In his hand, he carried two menus.
“Mr. Sinclair,” he began, as he leaned across the bar and extended them to Maddie and me. “Here are your menus, sir. Compliments of Chef Claude.”
MADDIE
After we’d finished dinner, Mr. Sinclair excused himself and went to his room for a few minutes. Before he did, he left me with instructions that he wanted to hit one of the hottest clubs in town. I explained that I needed some time to make a few calls and arrange a table for us. To be honest, I was lucky Mr. Sinclair’s bank account had nine zeroes in it, because unless you were a serious A-lister, that’s what it would take to get in.
After a short limo ride across town, we pulled up in front of the club. Exiting the vehicle, I gestured for him to follow me around to a side door entrance, past the long lines and ropes outside the front of the establishment. While we walked, he closed the space between us and put his hand in the small of my back, sending a tingle up my spine in the process.
As we walked by the line, a guy about my age yelled out, “Hey what the fuck? You guys let hookers in and we’ve been out here for two goddamn hours? This is some bullshit, man! Come on!”
My eyes widened and I stopped right away. Who the hell did that sonofabitch think he was talking about?
Me?
I turned to say something but before I could do a thing, I felt Mr. Sinclair’s hand grip my waist with a firm squeeze.
“Wait right here,” he said. “Don’t move.”
Turning, I watched as Mr. Sinclair walked away from me back in the direction of the man who’d hurled the insult. The warm night air licked at my skin while the hairs on the back of my neck stood at rapt attention. A few seconds later, Mr. Sinclair reached the roped area where the man stood surrounded by what I assumed were his friends.