"Emma, don’t touch it!" Lily yanks me to my feet, giving me a quick once-over. She must see I’m about to lose it because she hustles me to the kitchen, away from prying eyes. "Hop up." She pats the counter, and I hoist myself up, still choking back tears. She lifts my pant leg to reveal the cut. "Ouch!" she winces, stepping back to look at me. "Blood’s not my thing, Emma. Was that the guy from the bistro?"

"Yeah," I mumble, cringing as Gabi walks over, but he doesn’t seem mad.

"You okay, Emma?" He crouches down, grimacing at my bloody knee.

"Sorry," I whisper. "I don’t know what happened." He’s probably going to fire me for making a scene.

"Hey, relax." He stands, his sharp features softening. "Accidents happen, sweetheart."

"I’ve caused such a mess."

"Enough," he says firmly, grabbing the first-aid kit from the wall. "It’s not the end of the world." He pulls out an antiseptic wipe and tears it open. I clench my teeth as he gently cleans the cut, the sting making me hiss. "Sorry, but it’s gotta be clean."

I hold my breath as he patches me up, taping gauze over my knee before helping me down. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah." I bend my knee and give a grateful smile, reaching for a new tray.

"What’re you doing?" he asks, frowning.

"I…"

"No way," he chuckles. "Bless your heart, Emma. Go to the bathroom and get yourself together." He points to the exit.

"I’m fine," I protest, though my knee’s not the problem—I’m dreading facing the crowd or *him*. I just need to keep my head down and get through my shift without any more disasters.

"Bathroom!" Gabi snaps, taking the tray and setting it aside. "Now." He steers me toward the door, not letting me argue. "Go."

I force a smile through my embarrassment and slip out of the chaotic kitchen, stepping into the main room and trying to rush through unnoticed. But I feel those piercing blue eyes on me, confirming I’ve been seen. I feel like a failure—clumsy, foolish, and way too vulnerable.

I weave through the plush carpeted hallway until I reach the over-the-top bathroom, all cream marble and glitzy gold. It’s so fancy I almost don’t want to use it. I pull the fifty from my pocket, stare at it for a second, then crumple it and toss it in the trash. No way I’m taking a guy’s money. I wash my hands, then face the massive gold-framed mirror to fix my hair, sighing at the haunted, curious sapphire eyes staring back at me.

I barely notice the door swing open, too focused on tucking a few stray hairs behind my ears. But then a shadow falls over me as I lean toward the mirror. It’s him. M. I gasp and stumble back, bumping right into his solid, lean frame—exactly as I’d pictured it.

“You’re in the women’s bathroom,” I whisper, turning to face him. I try to step back, but the sink traps me. Despite my shock, I can’t help but take him in—his sharp three-piece suit, his smooth jawline. His scent hits me hard, all rugged masculinity with a hint of rich, earthy wood. It’s dizzying. Everything about him throws my sensible side into chaos.

He steps closer, shrinking the already tight space between us, then drops to one knee, gently lifting the hem of my pants. I press myself against the sink, holding my breath, watching as his thumb brushes softly over the bandage covering my cut.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, his voice low, those piercing blue eyes meeting mine. I can’t speak, so I just shake my head slightly. He rises slowly, his expression thoughtful for a moment before he says, “I’m trying so hard to stay away from you.”

I don’t point out that he’s failing miserably at that. My eyes are glued to his lips. “Why are you trying?” I ask.

His hand grazes my forearm, and it takes everything in me not to flinch at the heat his touch ignites. “Because you seem like a good girl who deserves more than just a mind-blowing night.”

I’m surprised I’m not shocked by his bluntness. Instead, I feel a strange relief—he’s into me, too. My gaze locks with his. “Maybe that’s all I want,” I say, egging him on when I know I should be running the other way.

He pauses, his fingertip tracing a slow path up my arm, lost in thought. “No, you want more than that.”

He’s stating it, not asking. Honestly, I’m not sure what I want. I’ve never really thought about my future, not in work or love. I’m just… drifting. But one thing’s clear: I’m on shaky ground here. This guy—forward, dark, and unfairly gorgeous—is trouble. He’s just admitted he’d only offer me a fling, nothing more. I don’t even know him. Jumping into bed with him would be reckless, against everything I stand for. Yet, I can’t find the will to stop. For the first time, I feel alive, buzzing with unfamiliar sensations, a needy pulse throbbing between my thighs.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“I don’t want to tell you, Emma.”

Before I can ask how he knows my name, Lily’s voice from the party echoes in my mind. I want to touch him. My hand hesitates, then rests on his chest, feeling the firmness beneath his suit. He inhales sharply but doesn’t pull away, just watches as I explore the solid planes of his body through the fabric.

His eyes meet mine, and he leans in slowly, his breath warm on my face. I close my eyes, ready for his lips to meet mine, his scent overwhelming, his closeness setting my skin on fire.

But then voices—women laughing and chatting—shatter the moment. Suddenly, he’s pulling me down the row of stalls, pushing me into the last one. The door slams, and I’m pressed against it, his hand over my mouth, his face inches from mine. My chest heaves as we stare at each other, listening to the women at the mirrors, touching up makeup and spritzing perfume. I’m silently screaming at them to hurry up so we can finish what we started. I was so close to feeling his lips, and now I want him even more.