CHAPTER 2

CHLOE POV

The neon sign outside The Blue Velvet Lounge buzzed nonstop, making my already pounding head feel even worse. I'd long since ditched my custom emerald dress and changed into an oversized black hoodie I'd dug out from the bottom of my closet, along with my oldest pair of sneakers. My hair was tied into a messy topknot that stayed in place thanks to one bobby pin and sheer luck.

After getting dumped, fired, and robbed of three years of hard work in just twenty minutes, I'd apparently skipped the part where I cried my eyes out and gone straight to making terrible decisions.

I signaled the bartender for another tequila shot. That made four. Maybe five. Honestly, keeping count was the least of my problems.

Across the dimly lit lounge, a man sat alone in a corner booth made of dark mahogany. He looked completely out of place. While everyone else wore casual jackets or loose shirts, he had on a perfectly fitted charcoal suit, the top button undone and his silk tie loosened just enough to make him look effortlessly arrogant.

Liam Vance.

I'd seen his face in architecture magazines and heard his name more times than I could count during those bitter office conversations at Sterling-Vanguard. He was the golden boy of urban design, the architect whose minimalist projects kept beating our agency in one contract after another. To Ethan and Mr. Sterling, Liam was public enemy number one. He was known for his perfectionism, and losing a contract wasn't exactly part of his reputation.

Tonight, though, he looked less like a successful architect and more like someone who wanted the entire world to leave him alone. He sat nursing a glass of scotch, his attention fixed on a stack of blueprints spread across the table. He looked like a walking storm cloud dressed in expensive Italian wool.

Maybe it was the anger. Maybe it was the betrayal. Or maybe I'd simply had too much tequila. Whatever the reason, the alcohol gave me enough courage to cross the sticky floor before my common sense could stop me.

I wasn't going over there to congratulate him on his success. I was looking for someone to take my anger out on, and apparently, the universe had decided to put Liam Vance right in front of me.

Without asking for permission, I slid into the leather booth across from him, planted my elbows on the table, and accidentally knocked a few of his architectural sketches out of place.

Liam didn't even flinch. He slowly looked up from his glass, his sharp gray eyes settling on me with the kind of detached curiosity usually reserved for examining a problem he hadn't decided whether to fix or ignore. His gaze traveled over my puffy eyes, oversized hoodie, and the unmistakable smell of cheap tequila clinging to me.

"If you're looking to hire an architect for a backyard gazebo, my retainer starts at fifty thousand," Liam said in a smooth, low voice. "And if you're looking for a hookup, your eyeliner is running."

The nerve of this man.

"You," I said through clenched teeth, leaning toward him and pointing a finger at his chest. "You're the reason I didn't get promoted."

Liam raised one dark eyebrow and took a slow sip of his scotch. "I'm flattered, Ms. Harper, but I spent my afternoon reviewing foundation stress tests for a museum in Brooklyn. I wasn't exactly keeping track of your career. Remind me who you are?"

"Don't play dumb with me!" I shot back, my voice cracking under the weight of everything I'd been holding in. "Every time Sterling-Vanguard lost a bid, Mr. Sterling took it out on me. Every time a client complained about a timeline, your sleek little glass-and-steel buildings became the standard we were expected to beat! You're an architectural parasite!"

A faint, humorless smirk appeared on Liam's face. "Architectural parasite. That's a first. Usually, corporate executives just call me expensive. And for the record, Chloe, since I assume your employee badge is already sitting in a dumpster somewhere, I still have no idea what department you worked in."

"I'm the senior event coordinator!" I slammed my palm against the table, making his glass rattle. "I'm the one who made those cold, lifeless buildings you design look like places where actual human beings would want to celebrate something! And today, my piece-of-trash ex-boyfriend stole my work, blamed me for a catering disaster, and got me fired while the owner's daughter stood there clapping like a brainless seal!"

Something changed in his expression. The amusement in his eyes faded, replaced by a sharp stillness that made him look far more serious than before. He placed his glass on the table, and the ice clinked against the crystal.

"Your boyfriend?" Liam asked, his voice quieter now.

"Ethan Miller," I spat, the name leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. "That corporate snake who smiles at you like a golden retriever while secretly stabbing you in the back. He took credit for my entire summer gala. Three years of my life, and all that work, gone."

I sank against the leather booth, the anger that had kept me going suddenly fading. All that remained was the empty, aching feeling in my chest. I reached into my hoodie pocket and pulled out a black Sharpie, one of the things I'd kept from my event-planning kit. Then I grabbed a clean white napkin near the edge of the table and started doodling on it without really thinking.

"They think I'm finished," I muttered, pressing the marker harder against the paper. "They think that just because I'm unemployed, I'll crawl into a corner and cry over a tub of ice cream."

"Are you going to?" Liam asked, watching as I continued drawing.

"Never."

I looked up at him, and a ridiculous idea suddenly popped into my head. It was reckless, probably stupid, and fueled by way too much alcohol and a whole lot of spite. But at that moment, I didn't care.

I grabbed the napkin, turned it around, and shoved it toward him.

I'd drawn a rough, blocky office building with a giant explosion above it. Beside the building was a stick figure wearing what I hoped looked like a fancy architectural suit.

"Let's get revenge," I said, the words coming out slightly slurred as I leaned across the table. "You hate Sterling-Vanguard's corporate monopoly. I hate Ethan and the old man. So let's start our own agency. You design the spaces, I plan the events, and together, we crush them in the market."

Liam stared at the napkin without saying a word.

Ten seconds passed. The silence between us grew heavier with every second.

I expected him to laugh in my face. Maybe he'd call security or throw a twenty-dollar bill onto the table to cover my drinks before walking away.

Instead, he chuckled.

It was a low, genuine laugh, and for a moment, it changed his entire face. The usually stern expression softened, revealing a side of him that was annoyingly attractive. He picked up the napkin and ran his thumb over my ridiculous drawing as if he were holding a contract worth millions.

"An event planner and a rogue architect walk into a bar and decide to start a rival firm on a cocktail napkin," Liam said, studying the drawing with a new glint in his gray eyes. "It's chaotic, wildly unprofessional, and statistically bound to fail within a month."

"Is that a yes, or are you just a coward?" I challenged, folding my arms across my chest.

Liam carefully slid the napkin across the table, folded it once, and tucked it into the inside pocket of his tailored jacket.

"Drink some water, Chloe," he said calmly as he stood and tossed a black card onto the bill tray. "We have a business meeting at eight tomorrow morning. Don't be late."

Then he turned and walked out of the lounge, leaving me alone in the dim light with a half-empty glass of tequila and a very strange feeling in my stomach.