Naomi

Even though I'd gotten the stamp of approval to meet with Celeste's ex-husband and I had my new assistant, Alexis, arrange a meeting, I still had doubts over the issue.

The foremost being that I hated mixing business and pleasure and working with Julian. It was mixing the two with the addition of trouble.

I hated being boxed into a corner, so I searched for other options.

After all, I've been in the tech industry for over seven years, and in that time, I've met several impressive people with equally impressive bank accounts; surely, someone would be able to assist with the kind of funding I needed.

Ten calls and a lot of groveling later, I hung my head in disappointment, the cool texture of the wooden desk beneath helping to cool down the headache I could feel at the back of my eyeballs.

I can't give up.

Every word I said to Celeste the other day was true: Alana's Tech is my baby, and we've been through so many milestones together that it almost felt like my child.

I bought my first car from the profit bonus I got from my first big project.

Then I bought my first house after being promoted to CTO(Chief Technology Officer).

I also made my first million here.

“Urghh!” I groaned, banging my head on the desk.

Tired of being frustrated, I got out of work early for the second time in a row and got into my car.

Driving around aimlessly seemed to calm my nerves, but I needed something more.

So I drove into a bar several miles from my office, named Andie's.

It wasn't your fancy bar, but the interior was classy and instantly made you feel at ease.

Black and gold trim on the tables gave it a sophisticated look, as well as the soft jazz song crooning through invisible speakers.

“Is there anything I can help you with, darling?” a middle-aged lady with kind eyes and a slightly dirty apron that was tied around her neck asked me.

“No, I'm good, thanks.” I returned the smile, heading straight for the bar, which wasn't too populated by this time.

I have my tired body up the bar stool, feeling older than my years.

Placing my bar in front of me, I looked up as a bartender approached.

“Hello, beautiful.” He grinned, displaying slightly stained teeth. “What can I get you?”

I thought about it for a moment.

My initial plan when I walked in through the door was to get slightly buzzed and head home, but now that I was here, staring at the bartender, I wondered why I was in such a hurry.

It's not like I had anyone waiting for me.

“I'll take whiskey,” I tell him, pushing my hair back. “With ice please.”

Without taking his eyes off me, he reached for a bottle of whiskey from the bar, grabbing a glass. “Whoa, whiskey, huh? Sounds like you had a tough day.”

He pours two fingers of whiskey into the glass before sliding it over to me. I grabbed it and downed the entire thing in a single gulp, relishing the burn as it slid down my throat. “Oh, you have no idea.”

The bartender rolled his shoulders, the movement causing his ride to ride up, displaying a series of tattoos. “You know, I've been told that strenuous activities release stress.” He lowered his voice in what he must have thought sounded like a sexy whisper but was just annoying to me. “If you need help in that department, I'm more than willing to assist.”

My nose curled up in disgust…not because he wasn't attractive.

Far from it,

He had an evenly toned body, tattoos, and full lips that seemed to know a way around a woman's body, but even as I looked at him, I felt…nothing.

Not a pitiful whimper of desire.

I blamed it on my emotional state, a strained smile tugging at my lips as I shoved my now-empty glass toward him. “Thanks but I'm not interested.”

He recoiled, stung at rejection but took it in stride. “No biggie, it's your loss though.” He poured another shot which I quickly finished.

He was about to move farther down the counter to attend to others when I snapped my fingers at him.

“The bottle…” I tripped over my words, feeling the effects of the whiskey. “Just leave it.”

He did as I requested, leaving me alone to drown in my thoughts and also more whiskey.

In no time, I started the slow decline from tipsy to full-blown drunk, unable to stop myself from downing glass after glass.

I could see why it was hard for alcoholics to stop…alcohol just has a way of clearing the noise and baggage from your mind.

Or so I thought.

“Hello, can I have a glass of rum please?” A deeply masculine and faintly familiar voice rumbled next to me as a man sat down on the stool.

I raised my head up, my eyes widening as, even in my drunken state, I was able to recognize Julian Hart.

Holy sh*t, what the hell is he doing here?

Choosing to ignore him, I hastily looked away, but not before he saw, instantly recognizing me. “Naomi?”

Sh*t, sh*t, sh*t!

“Hi!” I said way too loudly, a dead giveaway of my inebriated state. Wincing, I looked down at my glass. “Sorry.”

Hiccuping, I topped up my glass, nearly filling it up halfway.

I could feel Julian's concerned gaze at the side of my head for a long time before he finally mustered up the courage to talk. “Are you okay?” He asked. “You don't seem okay.”

I wasn't sure if it was a culmination of my emotional state or how much I'd drunk, but my eyes misted at the show of concern even though it was mostly fake.

I opened my mouth to tell him off, but instead, I started to spew everything, down to what was happening in the country.

Honestly, I don't remember from then on, but the last thing I remembered was Julian's hot breath washing over my ear as he carried me.

Or maybe I dreamt about that part…