ARIA

At ten to five, Nicco and I walk into the Rooster Lounge. My gaze darts around, taking in my surroundings. This place is unlike any bar or pub I've visited back in the States. From the Chesterfield-style leather booths and chairs to the dark, rich woods, the entire establishment reeks of old money and old-world charm. Crystal-draped bronze chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Faint wafts of cigar smoke fill my nostrils. Up ahead, the mirrored bar is packed with top-shelf brands. Hennessey. Macallan. Dom Pérignon. Any one of these bottles would wipe out my entire paycheck.

Anxiously, I check my phone.

4:53 pm.

It's almost go-time. Happy hour starts in seven minutes. Nicco and I need to find Mr. Manning and win him over.

Jazz music plays in the background. Some of our coworkers have already arrived. They're gathered by the bar. I recognize Stacy from Accounting and Dan and Stephan from Mergers and Acquisitions. Stacy spots us first. She smiles and waves at us. Nicco ignores her, but I wave back, trying not to let my nerves get the better of me.

Once we grab our drinks, a beer for me, a scotch for Nicco, Dan and Stephan approach us. Dan is older. Mid-fifties. The guy is Stephan's supervisor. Dan starts kissing Nicco's ass like there's no tomorrow while Stephan tries to flirt with me like he always does. I make an effort to play nice with everyone, but I can tell from the slight tick Nicco's jaw and his terse replies that he's irritated by both of them, especially Stephan.

I wonder what the poor guy did to offend Nicco?

A minute later, my boss excuses us from their company. We move to the other side of the lounge. I start scanning the crowd around us. Two forty-something men in suits are drinking at the bar. A tall, brown-haired, bearded fellow with black-rimmed glasses is standing to my right. He has a whiskey in hand. The Beard only looks to be a few years older than me, and his side profile is kind of cute.

He turns his head right then, and, from across the room, we make eye contact.

I don't look away.

The Beard winks at me.

Feeling a bit buzzed from my beer, I smile back.

He's fuckable enough, I guess. I consider giving the Beard my number after happy hour is over. After surviving a psychotic month under Nicco's tyranny, I feel as though I deserve a bit of stress relief this weekend.

Nothing like no-strings-attached sex with a stranger to help a bitch forget about fucking her hot boss, right?

Feeling restless and agitated, I chug the rest of my beer. It tastes like regret hitting the back of my throat. I shouldn't have given in. I've been good for so long. I pray this momentary lapse in judgment won't come back to bite me in the ass.

Beside me, Nicco clears his throat.

Loudly.

The sound startles me, and I suddenly realize that he has been watching me make goo-goo eyes at the Beard this whole time.

Shit.

Embarrassed about being caught, I steal a glance in Nicco's direction. What I see makes me frown. For some reason, there's an annoyed gleam in his green eyes even though his face is all smiles.

To my relief, Nicco doesn't tease me about the Beard. He simply leans in and asks, "Have you seen Manning?"

Even though there's nothing sexual about this question, Nicco's tone is low, intimate, and his closeness calls to me like a moth to a flame. It makes me want to move closer to him as well.

But I hold myself back, muttering, "No, but I've been keeping my eye out for him."

Nicco leers in the Beard's direction. "Is that what you were doing earlier?"

I feel overly warm and rosy-cheeked from the beer. "Yes?"

He chides softly, "Liar."

The corner of my mouth tilts up. "Guilty."

My boss' gaze drifts toward the Beard again. "You like him?"

"Maybe," I hum.

"Why?"

The alcohol makes me want to tell Nicco: Because I can't fuck you. But I manage to hold back. Yet again.

"Because he seems available," I grumble instead, "and interested."

Nicco narrows his gaze. "I see."

I shrug off his judginess. "It's not like I'm looking for a relationship. Sometimes, a bitch just needs a quick fix."

Judginess.

Is that even a word?

My head is swimming, and I feel smiley as hell.

His jaw tightens. "Is that what you are looking for?"

I eye him steadily, attempting to act more undrunk than I feel. "Yes."

Undrunk.

Did I just make up another word?

Nicco holds my gaze, scowling. "He is not the kind of man who can satisfy women."

I can only assume that he's referring to the Beard.

"How would you know?" I challenge.

Not surprisingly, the alcohol is making me bold. Bolder than I should be. Hell, it makes me feel invincible. Just like old times.

My boss smirks. "He is not me."

I scoff. "Maybe you should mind your own business."

"Maybe you should not sell yourself short."

My brow lifts up. "Excuse me?"

"I simply think that," my boss counters, "you deserve someone who knows how to treat you right."

Why does Nicco care so much about my love life, anyway?

Chuckling darkly, I feel equally annoyed and amused by our banter. "Maybe that's not what I want."

"No?"

"No."

"What do you want, Aria?" he inquires.

I want a Mr. Darcy who fucks like Massimo. I toss Nicco a rueful look. "The kind of man who only exists in fiction."

Confusion flashes across his handsome face. "What do you mean?"

Filled with liquid courage, I sway toward him on the soles of my heels. Gently, I place a steadying palm on his chest and murmur, "I want a man who can fuck my brains out and bring me to my knees all the while making me feel as though my heart is the most precious goddamn thing he has ever..."

My voice trails away when, from the corner of my eye, I notice a salt-and-pepper head of hair and a very recognizable silver mustache.

Oh, hey.

It's Manning.

He's finally here.

Without hesitation, I push away from Nicco and make a beeline toward my new target, hiccuping over my shoulder, "Manning's here. Let's go!"

I sway and stumble with every step. Alcohol blurs the rest of the night as an all too familiar numbness takes hold of me.

***

I don't know when I passed out, but I feel as though I've been sleeping for days.

Barely half awake, I release a pained groan. It's like my head has been run over by a tank. I haven't been this hungover since my unhinged partying phase during freshman year of college.

Ugh.

As my consciousness settles back into place, I can't help noticing how silky my sheets feel against my bare legs. My pillow also seems much softer and fluffier than usual. In fact, it doesn't feel like I'm sleeping in my bed at all.

I crack one eye open. Morning light hits my groggy vision, making me wince. The sun is rising over the London skyline. Both eyes open. I'm greeted with a majestic penthouse view of the whole fucking city.

Awed and amazed, I glance around some more. There's a ridiculously large flat-screen TV mounted on one of the walls. The room is beautiful, stylish, and sophisticated. Every piece of décor and furniture looks expensive. Definitely some pricey designer shit. I sit straight up.

Where am I?

It appears I'm in someone's bedroom. This wouldn't be the first time I've woken up in a stranger's house. Instinctively, I glance down to check my state of undress.

My black cocktail dress?

Missing.

Instead, I'm wearing a man's white dress shirt. But my bra and underwear are still on.

When I hear the shower running in the attached bathroom, I realize that I'm not alone. Alarm mode sets in.

Who's in the shower?

How did I get here?

Quickly, I run through my memory of last night's events.

1. I remember going to happy hour with Nicco around 5 pm.

2. I remember our successful encounter with Mr. Manning.

3. I remember being impressed by Nicco. He had no trouble going head-to-head his meeting Manning. He even convinced the decrepit, old brute to apologize to little, old me.

4. I remember wanting to go celebrate afterward with the Beard.

5. I remember Nicco tagging along with us.

6. I remember going to a strip club with both of them.

That's pretty much the last thing I can remember. I cringe inwardly. Fuck me. I should've stayed away from alcohol tonight. It always has a way of bringing out the stupid and crazy in me, and old habits die har—

Suddenly, the sound of the water spray shuts off. My head whips toward the door. I hear some rummaging in the bathroom. Then, the door swings open and, to my shock, out strolls my hot, sexy, green-eyed boss, wearing nothing but a white towel around his waist.

Nicco smirks at my dropped jaw. "Morning, beautiful."