The CEO’s one night stand

Chapter two: Men are nasty

Not in a million years was Alex prepared for this. Isla was devastatingly beautiful, but he had never planned on settling down—least of all with her.

The thought of her seeing the headline and believing she still had a shot at becoming Mrs. Gavin, made his ego burn. It shattered it into a billion pieces and he hated that she would get the chance to gloat. Damn her.

His phone rang. Alex glanced at the screen, half-expecting another alert or a message he had no interest in reading.

Instead, Miles’s name flashed across it—his oldest friend, the only man in New York who still called him at ridiculous hours without an agenda.

He answered on the second ring. “If this is about the headlines—”

“Forget the headlines,” Miles cut in, his voice already loud with energy and the faint clink of glasses in the background.

“I’m not calling to psychoanalyze your tragic love life. I’m calling because you’re sitting in that ridiculous glass cage of yours, staring at the skyline like a brooding billionaire cliché, and I refuse to let you do it alone tonight.”

Alex’s mouth twitched despite himself. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re one dramatic sigh away from writing poetry. Listen—Leila’s birthday is happening tonight. Private bar downtown, the one with the hidden entrance and the bartender who actually knows how to make a proper drink.”

Alex sighed, “I am not ready for that kind of noise, man.”

Miles was not ready to give up. “Listen. It’s a small group. Good music. No press or Isla. Just people who don’t give a damn about your last name or your latest public disaster.”

Alex stayed quiet, staring at his reflection in the dark window.

Miles pressed on, grinning through the phone. “Come on. One night. You show up, you drink something expensive, you remember you’re still the guy every woman in that room will pretend not to stare at. Worst case, you hate it and leave in twenty minutes. Best case… you actually have fun for once and stop letting one chaotic ex live rent-free in your head.”

A beat of silence.

Then Miles lowered his voice, pure mischief. “And between us? Leila’s friend list tonight is dangerously interesting. Fresh faces. No gold diggers who already know your net worth. Just say the word and I’ll have a car downstairs in fifteen.”

Alex exhaled slowly, the tight coil in his chest loosening just enough to feel the pull of something reckless. But being reckless was not him.

“I’m not ready for anything like that,” he said, voice low and steady. “Not the bar or the crowd. Not whatever fresh faces you’re trying to dangle in front of me. Tonight’s already enough of a mess.”

Miles didn’t miss a beat. “Come on, Gavin. One night. That’s all I’m asking. And who knows… I might even propose to Leila tonight. Birthday girl deserves a little drama, don’t you think?”

Alex let out a short, genuine laugh—the first real sound of amusement that had left him all evening. “Propose? Miles, isn’t Leila like the fifth girl you’re currently dating? Or did I lose count somewhere between the model from Milan and the one who kept ‘accidentally’ leaving her lingerie at your place?”

Miles’s laughter boomed through the phone. “Details, details. Leila’s different. Mostly. Look, just get in the car when it shows up. Wear the black shirt that makes you look dangerously single, show your face for an hour, and if you still want to crawl back to your penthouse and brood, I’ll personally drive you. Deal?”

Alex dragged a hand down his face, the ghost of a smile still tugging at his mouth.

“I fear your end, man.”

“And you’re boring when you stay home. Car’s already on the way. See you soon, Romeo.”

The line went dead. Alex stared at the phone for a second longer, then shook his head and headed toward the closet. Maybe a little fun would do.

************************

Nyla’s friends had found her near the bathrooms—eyes red, phone clutched like a weapon—and refused to let her stay home alone.

“You’re not sitting in your apartment replaying those pictures,” her best friend, Jill, had declared, linking their arms tightly.

“Leila’s birthday is happening right now at that private place downtown. It will be a very small exclusive crowd.

Good drinks. No one there knows Max. You’re coming.”

Nyla had protested. She had tried to pull away. Leila was not in her close circle of friends. But the thought of her empty apartment and the silence that would only make Max’s smiling face sharper had broken whatever resistance she had left.

So she let them pull her into a waiting car.

Twenty minutes later she stood outside a nondescript black door on a quiet side street, the kind of entrance that gave nothing away.

A discreet bouncer checked names on a tablet, then stepped aside. Nyla hesitated on the threshold, suddenly aware of how raw she still felt.

Her makeup was imperfect. Her dress, chosen hours ago for a completely different night, felt like it belonged to someone else. She had not planned to be here. She had not planned to be anywhere except curled up with her heartbreak.

Jill squeezed her hand. “One hour. That’s all. If you hate it, we leave. But at least you’re not alone with those photos.”

Nyla managed a small nod and stepped inside.

She accepted the glass of champagne Jill pressed into her hand and let herself be guided toward a quieter corner of the private bar.

She took a small sip, eyes drifting over the small group of laughing faces, none of whom knew that two hours ago her entire future had collapsed in a series of i********: photos.

She was still standing there, half-listening to Jill’s attempt at distraction, when the door opened again and Alex stepped inside.

Miles was already crossing the floor with a grin, clapping a hand on his shoulder, already pulling him toward the birthday circle.

Nyla’s fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. He looked too good to be true. He had an expensive look without trying. Handsome in a way that felt almost wrong.

Alex’s gaze swept the room once, restless, already half-regretting the decision to come.

It landed on her.