Three – Collision

Wren

For a second, I forget how to breathe.

He’s tall. Towering, actually. The kind of tall that forces your neck to crane and your brain to misfire. His frame takes up the entire doorway, shoulders broad beneath a black button-down that clings like it was tailored to his sins.

He looks like power in a suit. Dangerous, effortless, like he’s not just dropping by, but he owns this place. His eyes are the most beautiful pair of eyes I’ve seen. They’re steel gray, sharp enough to cut bone. The kind of stare that doesn’t just look at you, it pins you in place. Like he already knows your secret, and he’s deciding what to do with them.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just watches me like I’m a puzzle he’s already solved and grown bored of.

I stumble back, heart thudding so loud I’m sure he can hear it. “I—I’m sorry. I thought this was the exit.” I manage, my voice dry like I’ve been starved of water.

His gaze dips, briefly, to the access card in my hand. Then trails slowly down my body, past the short skirt I’m wearing and the thigh high stockings, before coming back up. Something flashes past his eyes but it’s gone before I can make sense of it.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

His voice is low. Rough. Like gravel dragged across silk. And yet, there’s no hint of anger—just calm, lethal curiosity.

I should leave. Apologize again and disappear like I was never here. But my feet betray me. I stand frozen, caught somewhere between shame and fascination.

“I’m really sorry, sir.” I stutter, my palms sweaty as I lock eyes with this beautiful, and yet dangerous man.

Slowly, he steps forward, his masculine scent overpowering my senses. He smells faintly of wood and something that isn’t cologne, something very masculine.

“You’re new,” he says, the baritone sending chills down my spine as he looks me down again.

There’s something about the way he looks at me. Like he’s already decided I’m prey, and he’s thinking about the filthiest ways he wants to ruin me. I don’t know if I should flattered or irritated.

“I’ve been working here for three months,” I say, fingers tapping against my thigh mechanically. “Sir.”

“Hmm-mm.” He hums, not in approval and it’s not dismissal either. I can’t get a read on this man.

Who’s he? Is he the boss? The Nico Ravelli everyone’s been whispering about? The man who none of the staff have seen face to face but only the mention of his name is enough to still the room. This man doesn’t look like a client. He looks like a man who would enter a room and own it.

“What’s your name?” This man asks, voice deep and calm at the same time.

“It’s Wren, sir. Wren Foster.”

The man stays quiet, taking one commanding step until he’s crowding my space. My breath hitches as I crane my neck up to look him in his cold gray eyes.

“Well, Wren Foster, if anything I hate most is my staff breaking rules they’re not supposed to break,” he says, his cold gaze not wavering. “Are you the type who enjoy breaking rules?”

I gulp. “No, sir. I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

“Of course it won’t. Unless you’re tired of your job.”

I can’t believe he’s threatening to fire me because I took a turn and decided to use the private door all because I wanted to check my phone just to make sure my father is still breathing and not passed out in some alleyway.

“It won’t happen again, sir.” I say, breaking eye contact as I stare at his muscular chest in my line of sight.

He takes a step back, give me one last look, before he sidestep me and walks away, down the private hallway leading to the private elevator.

I turn around, watching his toned back as he disappears around the corner only then did I let out a breath of relief.

I don’t need to be told twice but I may have just had an encounter with Nico Ravelli. The man who runs this place. The man people whispered about, and the man who may have marked me without words.

I sigh, turning around as I walk toward the elevator. I would have to check my phone later. Hopefully by then my father would still be alive and not drunk out of his ass and maybe in a hospital because of alcohol poisoning.

As I step out of the elevator and step inside the bar area, the low bass hits me, and I don’t know if it’s just me, but there’s a change in the air. And a part of me knows it has to do with Nico Ravelli.

Without thinking, I crane my head toward the upstairs lounge where Nico Ravelli sits, watches, and judges us like a god. A strange feeling creep down my spine, like I’m being watched by him, but the feeling is suddenly replaced when an irritating voice cuts through the haze.

“Where the fuck were you?” Teri’s voice comes through like a menace. “Skipping out during work hours? Really?”

I sigh, turning my gaze toward her. “I wasn’t skipping work. It was my break, and I had to step out.” I say, trying my best not to snap at her.

What’s her shit? Always in my face trying to provoke me? I mean I get it. She’s hot, she’s sleeping with the manager, she’s even more beautiful than me, but for some reason Teri always gives me shit. It’s not like she behaves that way with the other waitresses.

It’s just me. It makes me wonder why she’s always out to get me.

“Are you seriously talking back at me, Foster?” She asks, taking a step toward me, crowding my space.

She forgets we’re not in the locker room and there are patrons everywhere. If she hits me, which I can’t put it past her, that’s bad for business.

“Teri, I’m not talking back. I just told you it was my break and I had to step out for a minute.”

She laughs. It’s not friendly. “Oh, this bitch thinks she’s the shit. I can put you in the ground this minute and no one will blink an eye. You know why? Because you’re nothing, Foster. You’re just a scared little girl who thinks she’s tough.”

Wow. Is this even necessary? Trying to make me feel small so that she can feel good about herself? Someone clears their throat behind me, it’s deep, commanding, and dangerous at the same time.

I freeze, the air on my arms and back all coming to stand in ovation. It’s him. I can feel him, his scent, his presence.

And the shock on Teri’s face, indescribably beautiful, I want to laugh.

What the fuck is he doing?

“Is there a problem?”