THREE

Alex’s POV

I’m halfway through a bourbon I don’t want, standing by the elevator bank in my hotel lobby, when I see her.

At first, I think I’m imagining it. Some kind of hallucination brought about by both exhaustion and unexplainable obsession. But no, it’s her. The brunette from last night’s mixer.

The woman I couldn’t stop watching and sadly, my employee's fiancee. My hand clench at the thought of her belonging to another man. She has been occupying more of my headspace than I care to admit and she’s in a fucking wedding dress. Barefoot. Hair a little wild. A nearly empty bottle of Dom Pérignon dangling from one hand like a weapon and an emotional shield. The other hand lifts the edge of her beaded, silk train as she strides through the lobby like she owns the place. Or like she’s about to burn it to the ground. I can't tell which.

I notice as heads turn and people stare. A bellman drops a luggage cart to gawk while a middle-aged couple pauses mid-conversation, the wife’s mouth falling open as she takes in the image of this unhinged, furious bride. Her husband looks utterly mortified.

For me, it’s the expression on her face that does it. That lethal mix of fury and freedom. Like she’s five seconds away from committing a crime and dares anyone to stop her.

I feel my pulse kick. Some call it predator instinct. You don’t get to where I am without knowing how to spot blood in the water.

And tonight, from her face, I see that she’s bleeding rage and pain.

I don’t hold back for a second. I set my drink on a glass tray, straighten my cuffs, and find my way across the marble floor of the lobby. She doesn’t see me coming. She’s busy scanning the room like she’s looking for someone in particular.

When she finally locks eyes with me, it hits me like a cold glass of water. The memory of last night’s challenge and how she’d held my gaze like she wasn’t afraid comes rushing back to me. She doesn’t drop it now either. If anything, she lifts her chin, a look of a dare in her eyes and she smiles.

I stop a few feet in front of her. Close enough to catch the scent of the alcohol she was drinking, her expensive perfume and to notice the smudged mascara beneath her sharp eyes.

“Interesting look,” I say and she snorts.

“Well you should see the groom. He looks much better.”

The sarcasm wasn't hard to spot at all. Her words are slurred but still razor sharp and it piques my interest the more

“Trouble in paradise?”

She lifts the bottle, takes a long swig, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Paradise doesn’t exist" her chin lifts up as she speaks "Turns out my fiancé’s been celebrating our upcoming nuptials with cocaine and strippers.”

I should feel sad for her but I feel a big ball of satisfaction settle in my stomach. So Browning finally showed his true colors without waiting to be married to her first. I knew the man was weak, but this? This is better than I could’ve hoped for.

I don't want her seeing my happiness at her assumed misery so I school my face into something neutral. “Tough break.”

She lets out a short laugh, which does a good job at showing how hurt she was rather than the opposite. “Yeah, well. Better tonight than after the vows, right?”

“You are a smart woman.”

She tips her head, studying me like she’s deciding whether I’m worth her time. I only get that look from bigger investors when trying to convince them to invest in my company and I never flinch at them and I don't know but it feels different coming from her.

“Let me guess,” she says, voice low and eyes traveling from my head to my shoes. “You’re one of those men who believes women are only good for fucking or filing paperwork.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Not at all. I find them excellent for running high-revenue divisions. And occasionally for very good whiskey recommendations and yes I find them also good for fucking but rarely for filing paperwork.”

She blinks at that, thrown off balance by my response for a second.

"Yeah right" she tried to brush it off and I take a step closer to her

"I am an honest man. I see what I want and I go for it. No beating around the bush”

A beat passes and the air thickens between us. Super charged like at the mixer yesterday.

She takes another sip of her drink, then points the bottle at me. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? Men always want something. Money, sex, control, a tax break. Doesn’t matter what mask they wear—it’s always about taking.”

I open my mouth to speak but decide against it instead seeing that I can’t argue with what she has said. She’s not wrong at all.

I let the moment stretch, watching the fury in her eyes and face. The way she’s frayed at the edges but still holding herself together with sheer spite.

Then the words are out before I even fully register them. “Then marry me instead.”

She freezes. I do too but I recover quicker.

I see the exact second she processes the request. The moment confusion clouds her face and then morphs into curiosity.

Her lips part. “What?”

“I said,” I repeat, stepping into her space, lowering my voice so only she can hear, “marry me instead. I'm being honest about what I want" I shrug registering that this is a very reckless, dangerous and utterly fucked-up offer I have no business making. But Christ, I’m enjoying this too much to stop.

She stares at me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m serious and I don’t flinch or blink.

And then she laughs. This one isn't sharp and full of hurt as before. It's even more shaper and unhinged

“You know what?” she says, lifting the bottle in mock salute. “Let’s do it"

I blink. Not once but twice. I wasn't expecting that at all. Not even a little but the thrill that rolls through me is immediate and undeniable.

I want this woman and whatever in the chaos it is that she has to offer.

"Really?" I ask again just to be sure and she shoves the bottle into my hand, leans in like she’s going to tell me a secret, and whispers,

“You’re insane but yes I'm in”

I smirk. “Takes one to recognize one.”

For a second, we just stand there, two disasters in human form, measuring the distance between ruin and opportunity.

I should walk away. I should let her sober up, let this night crash around her like it’s supposed to. But instead, I find myself wanting to see if she really means what she was saying.

“Come on,” she says, grabbing my hand. “Are you going to buy me a drink or what? We have a wedding to get to”

And just like that, she’s pulling me toward the bar, dragging me along with her and I go willingly with her.

We reach the polished marble counter, and she waves a hand at the bartender. “Two of the most expensive whiskeys you’ve got.”

The man glances at me like he’s seeking confirmation and I nod.

“Make it three.”

She grins at that. And her beauty leaps at me, my chest and dick tightening.

When the glasses arrive, she snatches one, raises it toward me.

“To dodging bullets,” she makes a toast and I lift mine.

“And making bad decisions.”

We clink our glasses and take a drink. The whiskey burning like hell.

I watch her over the rim of my glass. Watch the way her throat works as she swallows, wondering how it would looked wrapped around me. I take in the flush climbing her neck and the way her fingers drum restlessly against the bar.

“Tell me your name,” I say.

She smiles at me "Melody" she says in a singsong voice, "Melody Jansen" she whispers like a top secret and I laugh

“Alexander Kincaid,” I offer and she nods.

We fall into a strange, charged silence. The bar noise fades, leaving just us and the hum of whatever the hell this is.

I don’t do spontaneous. I don’t do chaos. I control every variable, every risk. But right now, with Melody Jansen in a wedding dress, half-drunk and reckless, I’m ready to go against every rule I’ve ever made for myself.

“I wasn’t kidding,” I tell her.

She arches a brow. “About what?”

“The proposal.”

She studies me. I've lost count of how many times she has done that this night.

Then she grins. “No you're not”

“I am.”

She laughs again

“That would make a hell of a headline though, wouldn’t it? ‘Crazy estranged bride ties the knot with total stranger in Vegas scandal.’”

"I think I like the sound of that, don't you?"

She snorts into her drink. “You’re an asshole.”

“Takes one to recognize one.”

That earns me a real laugh and I think of how I could get addicted to that sound.

A beat passes, and the humor on her face fades, leaving something raw in its place.

“I was going to marry him,” she says quietly, staring into her glass. “I was going to spend the rest of my life pretending it was enough.”

I say nothing because I have nothing nice to say. I couldn't tell her I was happy it turned out this way.

She looks up at me. “You ever do that?”

“Settle?” I ask and she nods.

I drain the last of my drink, set the glass down hard. “I don’t settle. I take what I want.”

She watches me for a long time. Then, as if reaching a decision, she pushes her glass aside, grabs one bottle of the whiskey we just ordered and slides off the barstool.

“Come on, Alexander,” she says, voice low and dangerous. “Let’s see what you’re willing to take.”

And I follow her because fuck it. I want to see too.