THOSE EYES

Chapter Three

The bass from the club’s speakers was thudding in Alexander’s chest before he even reached the door. Neon lights pulsed in crimson and gold above the entrance, catching in the slick shine of the pavement. The air carried the faint bite of expensive cologne, cigarette smoke, and the sweet tang of spilled liquor.

Inside, the club was alive, crowds moving like a restless tide under strobe lights, the DJ’s deep beat lacing through the laughter, shouts, and clink of glasses. Bartenders worked in a blur, sliding shot glasses down the counter, while women in sequined dresses danced on elevated platforms, hair swinging like golden whips in the light.

Jerry was waiting near the roped-off section, a glass in hand, grin wide enough to be seen across the room.

“Alex! My man!” Jerry pulled him into a hug that reeked of whiskey and good times. “About time you showed up.”

They cut through the crowd, Jerry leading him into a private VIP lounge draped in red velvet and gold trim. Plush leather couches formed a half-circle around a low glass table loaded with bottles, vodka, champagne, whiskey, and bowls of ice. Several women lounged in the corners, laughing, leaning into men who were already deep into their night.

“You didn’t wait for me to start the party,” Alexander said with a smirk, loosening his collar as they sat down.

“You know me,” Jerry grinned, pouring them both a drink. “Time waits for no man, and neither do I.”

They toasted and settled in, the music now a deep, steady thrum through the walls. Conversation drifted between old times, college pranks, disastrous nights, the dumb risks they took and somehow survived. Laughter came easy, the kind that shook the shoulders and made the whiskey go down smoother.

Partway through, a tall blonde in a glittering black dress glided over to Alexander, her perfume thick and sweet. She leaned in, fingertips grazing his arm. He caught her eye briefly, then shook his head with a polite wave.

When she moved away, Jerry raised an eyebrow over his glass. “What, not the ladies’ man anymore?”

Alexander chuckled. “Not my type.”

Jerry leaned in, his grin curling sly. “Then I know exactly where to find your type, vixens. The kind of beauty that’ll strip your soul bare just by looking at you.”

Alexander swirled his drink, a faint smile touching his lips. “That so?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Jerry said.

Jerry stood up, beckoning Alexander to follow him. They passed through the noisy, dancing crowd, then moved into a dark pathway.

The bass thumped low and steady, the kind of beat you could feel in your chest before you heard it. Jerry pushed open a heavy velvet curtain, and the noise of the main club dulled to a seductive hum. The private room was a world apart, dim, bathed in the soft glow of crimson and gold lights. Shadows clung to the corners while the air carried the mingled scent of perfume, whiskey, and faint cigarette smoke.

A polished pole stood at the center of a small, raised stage. At its base, a dancer in glittering heels moved like silk on water. Her hair spilled over one shoulder as she arched her back, letting the music guide her hips in slow, deliberate circles. The mirrored walls caught fragments of her movements, multiplying her into an endless display of curves and motion.

Jerry grinned, tossing his jacket onto the plush leather couch. “Now this,” he said, “is the real VIP.”

Alexander followed more slowly, eyes scanning the room, the bottles chilling in a silver ice bucket, the small table already littered with half-filled glasses, the dim, intimate lighting that made everything feel a little unreal. Jerry flopped down, patting the seat beside him.

The dancer wrapped one long leg around the pole, swung effortlessly, and landed in a low crouch, her gaze locking on the newcomers. The music shifted to a deeper, more sultry rhythm as she began to crawl forward, her hands trailing lazily across the polished floor.

Jerry leaned back with a laugh, already pouring drinks. “Man, you’re too uptight. Loosen up.”

Alexander accepted his glass but stayed watching, half curious, half distant. The dancer rose to her knees in front of them, her fingers teasing along the line of her own body, her smile equal parts invitation and challenge.

And just like that, their gazes collided and held. Her grass-green eyes drilled into him, as if peeling back the layers of his soul.

Her cherry-red lips parted, the tip of her tongue sweeping across the top one in a slow, unhurried stroke. There was something magnetic about those lips, soft, full, glistening as though they held the taste of temptation itself. He couldn’t recall seeing any quite so inviting.

The door creaked open, letting in another swirl of perfume and bass from the main floor. A tall brunette in glittering red heels stepped in, her hips moving with a deliberate, slow sway. She headed straight for Alexander, a sly smile curling her lips.

Alexander didn’t spare her a glance. With a casual flick of his hand, he waved her off.

The brunette only smirked at the dismissal and drifted toward Jerry instead. Jerry grinned like a man about to be blessed, spreading his arms in welcome as she slid onto his lap.

Alexander barely registered their laughter. His world was narrowed down to the rhythm of the dancing stripper’s movements.

Never breaking eye contact with Alexander, she closed the distance between them, her hips swaying in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, each step deliberate, like a silent challenge.

Alexander sat back in the leather chair, one arm draped casually over the side, the other holding a glass of whiskey that caught the glow. His gaze followed her, not hungrily, but with the cool precision of a man who noticed everything.

“You look like you don’t scare easy,” she murmured as she came closer, her voice a low purr barely audible over the music.

“I don’t scare at all,” he replied, taking a slow sip.

She smiled at that, circling behind him. “We’ll see about that.”

Her fingertips brushed along the back of his neck, feather-light. Then she came around to face him again, planting one heel between his knees. With a languid roll of her hips, she lowered herself onto his lap, her hair spilling over her shoulder, brushing against his cheek.

Alexander didn’t move, though his grip on the glass tightened just enough for the ice to clink. “Is this supposed to be part of the welcome package?” he asked, his voice steady, but his eyes a shade darker.

“Consider it… a preview,” she said, her lips curving in a wicked smile.

Her hands roamed, not quite touching, but close enough to make him aware of every inch of space between them. She leaned in until her breath warmed his ear. “Most men would’ve tried to touch by now.”

“I’m not most men,” he said, his gaze catching hers in the mirror across the room.

She tilted her head, studying him like he was the first puzzle she’d ever wanted to solve. Then, without warning, she slipped away, dancing just out of reach, each step a wordless dare.

And Alexander, drink still in hand, leaned back and watched her go, the faintest curve on his lips betraying that she had his full attention.

****

Alexander’s eyes cracked open to a dull gray ceiling. The pounding in his skull was merciless, each throb a sharp reminder of last night. He groaned, rolling to the side, and reached for the lampstand. The warm light flickered on as his fingers closed around the small glass bottle of aspirin. Two pills clinked into his palm; he tossed them into his mouth and washed them down with lukewarm water from the bedside table.

For a moment, he sat still, letting the bitterness fade before pushing himself up. The carpet felt cool under his bare feet as he made his way to the bathroom. Steam soon curled in the air as he stepped beneath the hot shower. Water cascaded over his broad shoulders, streaming down the lines of muscle across his chest and abdomen.

Images from last night slipped in uninvited, a glint of green eyes in low light, the curve of lips that had tasted faintly of champagne, the faint perfume of jasmine clinging to his shirt. Her laugh had been low, almost wicked. Alexander smirked faintly under the spray.

By the time he emerged, the fog in his head had cleared, replaced by sharp focus. He dressed in a three-piece navy-blue suit that hugged his frame like it had been stitched for him alone. The jacket skimmed his shoulders perfectly, the waistcoat molding to his torso, hinting at the power beneath. Even the trousers fell with a precise cut, the fabric gliding over strong legs. A navy tie and polished black shoes completed the look — command in motion.

Outside the hotel, the morning air was crisp. The black sedan waited, driver already standing at attention beside the open rear door. Alexander slid in without a word, the city blurring past as they made their way to the company headquarters.

When the car pulled up to the entrance, a neat line of directors awaited him. As soon as he stepped out, their heads dipped in unison. He acknowledged them with a curt nod and strode forward, the sound of his polished shoes tapping on the marble steps. The directors hurried to keep pace behind him.

“Mr. Gracias,” a voice began. A tall man with salt-and-pepper hair stepped closer. “Anthony Hunter, Senior Director…”

“What’s the status of the monthly report?” Alexander cut in, his gaze fixed ahead.

There was a beat of stunned silence. Anthony blinked, then stammered, “Uh… yes, the report… it’s… progressing well. Our stock price increased by 0.008%, sir.”

Alexander’s eyes slid to him, sharp and unyielding. “That doesn’t sound like a good report. Is this the standard of competency I should expect?”

The hallway fell utterly still. Even the air seemed to hesitate. This was supposed to be their best monthly performance of the year — yet here was the new CEO, unimpressed.

A man with a smooth voice and calm demeanor, Williams Coker, another director, stepped forward. “Perhaps we should take you to your office first, Mr. Gracias,” he suggested, offering a diplomatic smile. “It might be better to go over details there.”

Alexander said nothing, simply resuming his stride. They followed, the tension hanging like a storm about to break.

They halted in front of the elevator, the metallic doors still sealed, the glowing numbers above frozen in their slow descent. Alexander slid his hands into the pockets of his tailored trousers, shoulders settling in a casual stance.

Then it came — soft, intoxicating, familiar. Sweet and alluring, the perfume that had tangled itself in his senses last night. It slipped into his nostrils and stirred the memory like a match striking dry tinder.

The crisp click of stiletto heels echoed against the polished floor, growing sharper, closer. He turned toward the sound, gaze lifting.

And there they were. Those mesmerizing, dangerously seductive green eyes — the very ones that had seemed to bore through his soul before.

Their gazes locked, and her steps stilled. Neither of them blinked, the air between them tightening like a pulled string.

“Oh, gracious God, you’re here.” Anthony exhaled, tension melting from his shoulders. He gestured between them. “Mr. Gracias, meet your secretary, Mackenzie Jordans.”

“Mackenzie…” Alexander’s lips formed the name slowly, his brows knitting. A low, derisive smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, dripping with something between disbelief and disdain.