Catch But Don't Release

Chapter 2

Brody wasn’t ready to leave.

He told himself it was the whiskey—smooth, slow‑burning, the kind meant to be savored rather than rushed—but he knew better. From his seat at the corner of the bar, half‑shadowed and unobtrusive, he had a clear, uninterrupted view of Emily.

She sat angled toward her friends, one arm resting casually on the table, her body loose in a way it clearly hadn’t been at the office. Her laughter rose easily now, free of restraint, and every time she smiled Brody felt something tighten in his chest. It wasn’t loud or theatrical—just honest. Real. The kind of laughter that made people lean in without realizing they were doing it.

He lifted his glass and took a slow sip of whiskey, eyes never leaving her. The amber liquid burned just enough to ground him, though it did nothing to dull the pull he felt toward her. He watched the way she listened as much as she spoke, the way her hand brushed Lola’s arm when she laughed, the way her hair fell over one shoulder and stayed there, as if it belonged.

This is dangerous, he thought distantly.

Emily shifted in her seat and leaned toward her friends, murmuring something Brody couldn’t hear. Then she pushed back her chair.

Bathroom break, she said, already standing.

Brody straightened slightly without meaning to.

Emily turned, weaving carefully through the crowd, and for a few steps she was lost to him—until she wasn’t. As she pivoted to head toward the back hallway, her gaze lifted.

Their eyes met.

The connection was immediate and electric, a clean strike of awareness that sent a ripple through them both. Emily slowed without realizing it, her steps faltering just a fraction. There he was—the man from the door. The one she hadn’t stopped thinking about, despite telling herself it was nothing.

Brody felt the moment land like a physical force. Up close or far away, it didn’t matter—something about her demanded his attention. He stood abruptly, chair legs scraping softly against the floor, instinct overriding caution.

Emily’s path to the restroom took her directly past him.

As she drew closer, Brody stepped forward, heart beating far too fast for a man who negotiated billion‑dollar deals without blinking.

“Hi,” he said, offering a hand. “I’m Brody.”

Emily stopped. Really stopped this time. She smiled, warm and curious, and placed her hand in his. “Emily.”

The contact was brief but charged—her hand smaller than his, her grip confident. Brody felt a surge of satisfaction that surprised him.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, the question easy but deliberate.

Emily hesitated, glancing back toward her table. “Well… I’m here with some friends.”

Brody nodded as if he’d expected that, unwilling to let the moment slip through his fingers. ‘Then how about I buy your friends a round? On me.”

She laughed, a soft, incredulous sound. “That’s really nice, but I couldn’t possibly let you buy everyone drinks.”

“I’m sure your friends won’t mind,” he said lightly, his smile deepening.

Emily studied him for a beat, something playful sparking in her eyes. “Okay, big spender. If that’s what you want.”

Brody felt absurdly triumphant.

He signaled the bartender and ordered another round, gesturing discreetly toward Emily’s table. As the bartender moved off, Emily tilted her head.

“I should actually use the bathroom before they think I abandoned them,” she said.

Of course, Brody replied, already watching her walk away.

While she disappeared down the hallway, Brody crossed the room to the table. Lola noticed him first, her eyes widening with interest. Janet followed, then Kimberly. Eric leaned back slightly, appraising him.

Evening, Brody said smoothly. I’m the reason drinks are about to appear.

Eric blinked, then grinned. Well okay then. Want to join us?

If I may.

Lola scooted over immediately. Sit here. And I have to say—it’s not every day a handsome stranger walks up and buys a group of women drinks.

Brody smiled, effortless. Not every day strangers let a guy sit with them.

Laughter followed, the tension breaking just enough.

Moments later, Emily emerged from the hallway—and stopped short.

Her friends were sitting with him.

Her heart flipped, then stumbled, then picked up speed. She watched as Brody laughed at something Lola said, his posture relaxed, his presence somehow commanding the table without trying. Then he looked up.

Their eyes met again.

This time, Brody stopped talking altogether.

Every person at the table noticed—the way his attention narrowed, the way the rest of the room seemed to fade as Emily approached. She felt it, too, that invisible pull drawing her back into his orbit.

Whatever this was, it was no longer accidental.

And neither of them wanted it to be.