chapter 4

Samantha

I rushed to the bar as fast as I could, my heart hammering in my chest, thoughts swirling like a storm in my head. But when I arrived, the scene was far from the lively, bustling space I had imagined. Instead, the bar was eerily quiet, the remnants of last night's chaos left in the hands of a few cleaners. Chairs were upturned, tables wiped down, and the only sound came from brooms brushing across the floor.

It was the early hours of the morning, after all.

I scanned the room, feeling a wave of impatience. Where was he? My stomach knotted with tension, my hands clenching into fists. As I approached the counter, the bartender from the night before caught sight of me. His expression lit up with a curious smile, one eyebrow lifting as he wiped down a glass.

"Hey there, miss. Good to see you again," he greeted, his voice lazy and smooth, like he had all the time in the world. "Can I get you something?"

I barely registered his question. My mind was already spinning with desperation, and the words came tumbling out of my mouth without warning. "How can I find Mr. Smith?"

His smirk widened, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Seems like someone couldn't get enough of Mr. Smith last night."

Heat crept up my neck, and I quickly shook my head, embarrassed by the implication. "No, it's nothing like that," I stammered, my voice coming out quicker than I intended. "I just... I need a favor from him. It's urgent. Do you know where I can find him?"

The bartender chuckled softly, leaning back against the counter with an air of knowingness that made me want to crawl under a table. "Relax, miss. No need to get shy. Trust me, you're not the first one to come back here asking for Mr. Smith. Begging him for more, even. But hey, it's cool if you don't want to admit it."

I opened my mouth to protest again, but he cut me off with a wave of his hand. "Look, I don't know where he is right now. Tracking that man down is like catching smoke. He shows up when he feels like it, and your best bet is to sit tight and pray he walks through that door today."

He glanced at my tense shoulders, his smirk softening into something a little more sympathetic. "How about I pour you a cocktail while you wait? Something light, yeah?"

With a sigh, I slumped into one of the bar stools, nodding reluctantly. "Sure, why not," I muttered, glancing at the door once more, as if staring hard enough would make Jack Smith magically appear.

Hours passed, and my hope slowly dissolved like the ice in my drink. The afternoon turned into evening, and the bar began to fill up again. A slow trickle of patrons entered, but none of them were Jack. Frustration simmered beneath my skin. My head buzzed with the effects of my multiple drinks, and my bladder screamed for release. I couldn't take it anymore.

I called the bartender over, paid my bill, and slid off the stool, my movements sluggish from the hours of waiting. Just as I turned toward the door, feeling utterly defeated, I collided with something-or rather, someone-solid. The impact jolted me back, and my breath caught in my throat.

I looked up, and there he was. Jack Smith.

My heart stuttered. His familiar, piercing eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a sudden rush of warmth, followed by a wave of nerves that made my stomach flip. I fumbled with my purse, the strap slipping from my shoulder, and the whole thing tumbled to the floor with a soft thud.

"You missed me that much, Samantha?," Jack said, his voice low and smooth, as he bent down to retrieve my purse. His hand brushed against mine as he handed it back, and I swear I felt electricity shoot through me.

I swallowed hard, trying to pull myself together, but his sudden appearance had thrown me off balance. "Hmmm... yes... I mean, no," I stammered, my words tripping over themselves in my haste to make sense.

His lips quirked into a half-smile, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "I see," he said, his tone casual, as though he hadn't just completely derailed my composure. "You look like you were on your way out. Don't let me keep you."

With that, he turned and strode toward the bar, his movements calm and confident. The bartender, upon seeing him, grinned knowingly and immediately began mixing what I assumed was Jack's usual drink.

Panic gripped me. This was my chance-probably my only one. I couldn't let him just walk away, not after everything.

"Wait!" I called after him, my voice trembling with urgency. "Please, we need to talk."

Jack paused mid-step but didn't turn around immediately. He approached the counter, accepting the drink the bartender slid across to him. Without so much as a glance in my direction, he downed it in one swift motion, then finally turned to face me. His gaze was sharp, unreadable.

"Talk about what, Samantha?" he asked, his voice level, but there was an intensity in his eyes that made my throat dry up.

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. His gaze was like a laser, cutting through me, and I felt small, exposed. I'd come here to ask for help, but now, standing in front of him, all the carefully rehearsed words in my head seemed to scatter like dust.

"Hello?" Jack prompted, arching a brow. "Didn't you hear me?"

"I-I'm sorry," I blurted out, my voice barely above a whisper. I fumbled with my purse, my fingers brushing against the phone I'd been holding onto for him. "I... I wanted to return this. You left it behind last night."

I handed him the phone, my hands trembling slightly as our fingers brushed once again. He took it from me, slipping it into his pocket without breaking eye contact. His silence unnerved me.

"Thank you," he said finally, his voice smooth as silk, but his expression remained guarded.

I opened my mouth to speak again, but his next words stopped me cold.

"So, is that all?" he asked, his gaze piercing. "Or is there something more?"

The weight of his question hung heavy between us. My heart pounded in my chest, and I felt a lump form in my throat. I knew this was my moment, but fear clawed at me. What if he refused? What if this whole thing was a mistake?

But I had no other choice.

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to meet his gaze. "I'm in a lot of trouble, Mr. Smith," I admitted, my voice shaking with vulnerability. "And you're the only one who can help me."

For a moment, there was silence. His eyes searched mine, and I couldn't tell if he was intrigued, amused, or something else entirely. Then, a soft chuckle rumbled from his chest, and his lips curved into a smile-one that made my stomach flip, though I wasn't sure if it was in fear or something else.

"I see, Samantha," he said, his voice a touch softer now, almost as if he was entertained by my plea. "Tell me about this trouble of yours. Let's see if it's something I can fix."