HIRED BY HIM

I wasn’t supposed to be here. Not in a dress that clung to my body like it had something to prove. Not under lights that flashed too bright, too fast—like they were trying to expose every bad decision before I even made it. And definitely not staring at a man who looked like trouble dressed in black. But life hadn’t exactly gone according to plan. Three rejection emails. One polite “we regret to inform you.” And the last one—the one that mattered—still hanging somewhere between hope and silence. So here I was. Drowning the frustration in overpriced cocktails and music loud enough to silence my thoughts. Or at least, that had been the plan. Until him. He didn’t move like the others. Didn’t laugh too loudly or lean too close to people he barely knew. While the rest of the club pulsed with chaos—bodies colliding, voices rising, glasses clinking—he stood apart. Still. Controlled. Like the noise knew better than to touch him. And then… he looked at me. It wasn’t accidental. It wasn’t casual. It was deliberate. Like he had chosen me out of everyone in the room. My fingers tightened slightly around my glass. “Relax,” I muttered under my breath, forcing my gaze away. “It’s just a look.” Men looked all the time. That didn’t mean anything. Except… this one felt different. I shifted in my seat, pretending to focus on the bartender as he slid another drink across the counter. The cold glass pressed against my palm, grounding me. I took a sip. Too sweet. Too strong. Or maybe that was just my nerves. “Trying to escape, or just hiding?” The voice came from behind me. Low. Smooth. Too close. My breath caught before I could stop it. Slowly—very slowly—I turned. He was there. Closer than I expected. Up close, he was worse. Not just handsome—no, that word didn’t do him justice. There was something sharper about him. Something precise. Like every detail had been intentionally put together, from the clean line of his jaw to the way his dark shirt fit him just right. His eyes held mine. Steady. Unapologetic. “You left,” he said, as though we’d already been speaking. I blinked. “I didn’t realize I was supposed to stay.” A faint smile touched his lips—brief, controlled, like he wasn’t used to giving them away. “Most people do.” “I’m not most people.” The words came out before I could second-guess them. For a second, I wondered if I’d pushed too far. Then his gaze sharpened. Not annoyed. Interested. “Good,” he said quietly. “I don’t like most people.” Something in my chest tightened—and I hated that it did. This was exactly the kind of man I should avoid. Confident. Mysterious. The kind that didn’t explain himself because he didn’t need to. The kind that complicated things. Still… I didn’t walk away. “Then why are you here?” I asked, tilting my head slightly. “You don’t seem like the club type.” His eyes flicked briefly around the room before returning to me. “I could ask you the same thing.” Fair. I hesitated. Because the truth wasn’t something I usually shared with strangers. “I needed a distraction,” I admitted finally. “From?” “Reality.” The word felt heavier than it should have. He studied me again—closer this time. Like he was looking for something beneath the surface. “And did you find one?” he asked. I met his gaze, refusing to look away first. “I’m still deciding.” Silence settled between us—but it wasn’t empty. It was thick. Charged. Like something unseen had shifted, and neither of us was pretending it hadn’t. Then he stepped closer. Not enough to touch. But enough that I felt it. The change in air. The subtle pull. The awareness of him—too near, too present. “Careful,” he murmured. “You might not like what you decide.” My pulse quickened, but I kept my expression steady. “You don’t know that.” “No,” he agreed softly. “But I know you don’t scare easily.” That should have been my cue to walk away. Instead, I smiled. Small. Defiant. “Maybe I just haven’t met the right reason.” For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Gone as quickly as it appeared—but real. Interest. Curiosity. Something deeper. “Maybe you just did,” he said. The music surged louder, bass vibrating through the floor, through my chest, through every rational thought I should have been holding onto. People brushed past us, laughter and movement and chaos pressing in—but somehow, none of it touched this space between us. It was just him. Just this moment. Just this dangerous, unspoken pull. “Dance with me.” Not a question. A statement. Simple. Certain. Like he already knew my answer. I hesitated. Not because I didn’t want to. That was the problem. Everything about this felt like a bad idea. The kind you regret in the morning. The kind that lingers longer than it should. “I don’t even know your name,” I said. His gaze didn’t waver. “Does it matter?” It should have. It really should have. Instead, my fingers tightened around my glass one last time before I set it down. Maybe it was the music. Maybe it was the frustration I’d been carrying all day. Or maybe… it was him. “Fine,” I said, sliding off the stool. “Just one dance.” Another small smile. This one slower. Like he knew something I didn’t. “Of course.” He held out his hand. For a brief second, I stared at it. Then I placed mine in his. Warm. Firm. Certain. And just like that— I stepped into something I didn’t understand. Something I wasn’t ready for. Something that felt a lot like trouble. And this time… I didn’t try to stop myself.