Almost is Never Enough

The beat pulsed in her veins like an electric jolt, but Ava Hart could hardly process it amid all the commotion in her mind. Her friends were still dancing on the rooftop club's other side, but she had fought to have some air and room to think.

She could feel her phone buzzing in her bag: another call from work.

It was her birthday. She was not supposed to spend her evening on spreadsheets and campaigns, regardless of whether her ad agency had just secured its biggest account. 

This evening was about laughter. Freedom. Forgetting her problems for some hours.

She felt eyes on her as she danced; it felt hot and burned into her core.

She gave him attention thereafter.

He leaned against the railing, bracing himself, Manhattan glinting behind him like a pricey background. He was dressed in a black blazer. No tie. Open collar. Jawline that could halt rational thought in its tracks.

He glanced over his shoulder to see that she was gazing at him.

She stepped back quickly, blushing. Well done, Ava. Well done.

He bridged their chasm in an atmosphere of superiority that bordered on insanity.

She held her breath when she saw him moving towards her.

He stopped in front of her.

You don't like crowds? He asked, speaking in his smooth, smoky tone.

She glanced at him. "I like them okay. I need to get away from acting now and then."

He smiled lazily, in charge. "Honest. I like that."

She leaned to one side. "And you?"

"I prefer women who don't play games." He extended his hand. "Jaxon."

She accepted it. "Ava."

Their hands touched for an additional second longer than was needed.

Are there other people with you?

Friends. You?

He shrugged. "Was at a conference meeting here. Did not mean to stay on, but." His gaze drifted to her. "Things have a way of happening." 

She could have left him. She ought to have smiled and rejoined her friends-she needed to-but she was stopped. 

Heegarding her as if she were the only person in the room.

 "Go with me," he said. She took a breath. "Where?" 

"Somewhere less crowded," he said to her. She stood there frozen, and then she nodded.

His penthouse was preposterous.

Floor-to-ceiling windows. Such a silhouette that shone like it had been computer-generated. Paintings on the walls that must have cost more money than she made in one year.

She moved to the window and gazed outside over toward the city. "You live here?"

"Sometimes." He poured two glasses of scotch. "I travel on my job."

She sipped her drink, still staring at the cityscape. "What is it that you do?"

I own belongings.

Mysterious and secretive 

She stood before him. "So rich and secretive. Deadly mix."

He stepped closer to her. "Still here, anyway."

She was. And as he leaned over to kiss her, she let him.