Chapter 17 I liked it
KADEN'S POV
I pull the phone from my pocket, I shouldn't look. I’ve looked five times since he sent it, and the sixth doesn't make the words any less infuriating.
“You left before I could hear the violin. I’m curious if you play it as well as you pretend you hate me.”
I stare at the message again, like the words might rearrange themselves if I give them enough time.
They don’t.
The bass from the club floor pounds through the walls, vibrating up through the soles of my sneakers and into my ribs. Orphic is packed tonight...shoulder-to-shoulder bodies, flashing lights cutting through the haze like strobe-lit lightning.
I mutter a curse under my breath and shove the phone back into my pocket.
Asshole.
If I’d known Bastian would turn out to be such an insufferable jackass, I wouldn’t have given him more than two minutes of my attention two nights ago. I definitely wouldn’t have handed him my....
“Whiskey sour.”
I look up. A guy’s leaning halfway over the bar, shouting his order through the music. I nod once, already reaching for the shaker.
“Got it.”
The bar is chaos. Glasses clink, people wave bills in the air, someone further down yells my name like I’m the only bartender alive tonight. The line of orders is already stacking up in my head.
Good.
Work is good. Work means I don’t have to think.
I shake the drink, strain it into a glass, slide it across the counter.
Another voice calls for tequila. Someone else wants a gin and tonic. My hands move automatically....bottle, ice, pour, garnish...like muscle memory has taken over and kicked my brain out of the driver’s seat.
Which would be great. If my brain would actually cooperate. Because instead it keeps circling back to earlier.
To Bastian.
And the way I apparently forgot how to function like a normal human being for a solid ten minutes in his damn office.
What the hell was that?
Seriously.
I grab another glass, filling it with ice a little harder than necessary while mentally interrogating my own judgment.
Why did I just stand there?
Why didn’t I shove him away the second he got in my space?
Why did I let him touch me?
Worse....why the hell did I like it?
The realization makes my jaw tighten. Makes me want to dunk my head in the freaking ice bin! I pour bourbon into the glass and slide it toward another waiting hand.
I liked the weight of him. I liked the way his thumb felt against my skin. I liked the absolute, terrifying certainty in his voice.
This is ridiculous. I’m not some easily flustered idiot who falls apart because a rich guy with a sharp jawline and a superiority complex decides to flirt with him. And yet my brain apparently short-circuited like a cheap power strip.
Fantastic.
“Two vodkas!”
“Coming!”
I grab the bottle, trying to regain some semblance of control over both myself and the crowd forming three layers deep at the bar.
Focus, Kaden.
Drinks. Money. Change. That’s it, but still... I can’t shake the restless edge crawling under my skin tonight. Part of it is irritation. The other part is the uncomfortable suspicion that Bastian might decide to show up here again.
I’m on edge, my eyes constantly flickering toward the entrance every time the door swings open. I’m terrified he’s going to appear out of the shadows like a well-dressed jump scare in a horror movie.
I feel like a cat that knows the vacuum cleaner exists somewhere in the house.
All nerves.
Waiting.
Ready to bolt the second the damn thing appears.
I pour another drink and shove it across the counter, muttering under my breath as I grab the next glass. After some time, I’m finally settling into the rhythm of it. The chaos stops feeling like chaos after a while. It becomes a kind of current....fast, loud and relentless, but predictable if you know how to ride it.
For a few blessed minutes, my brain actually shuts up.
Then—
“Kaden!”
The voice cuts clean through the noise, I freeze.
My hand slips and I nearly send seventy-five dollars' worth of gin shattering onto the floor. It’s pathetic. My brain knows the pitch is all wrong, too bright, too friendly....but just hearing my name called in this building has me wound tighter than a piano wire.
I glance across the bar and spot Dante standing on the other side, waving both hands over his head like he’s flagging down a helicopter.
I exhale, tension draining from my shoulders. Not Bastian....just Dante. He’s wearing a sleeveless black shirt that shows off the kind of shoulders you only get from spending a stupid amount of time in the gym....which I know for a fact he does, because we work out together sometimes.
He flashes me an easy grin.
He’s Josie’s boyfriend....a tatted-up Mexican who works at a dance studio downtown, and somehow manages to know literally everyone in Los Angeles. He's got enough social energy to power the entire block. The guy collects connections the way some people collect pokemon cards.
He’s always trying to set me up with modeling gigs. And has been dating my roommate for almost four years....which still blows my mind a little.
In this city?
In this century?
That kind of relationship longevity feels borderline supernatural. I give him a quick smile and hold up a finger. Dante just nods, leaning back against the bar with a relaxed "take your time" wave.
I finish the remaining orders before finally stepping down the bar toward him.
“Hey,” I say, scanning the crowd behind him. "Where’s the boss? You lose her in the queue?"
"Bathroom," Dante laughs. "She hit the door running. You know how she gets when there’s a line."
That tracks.
Dante’s the kind of person who somehow always has a practical solution when things get messy....which is probably why Josie drags him into half her projects. He helps film her content sometimes, throws in ideas, keeps things organized.
He leans in a bit, his expression shifting to something more sympathetic. "Hey, man, I heard that commercial gig I sent you for fell through. Casting director went a different way last minute. Sorry about that."
"It’s all good, Dante. Seriously," I say, and I mean it. In this town, a 'no' is just the local greeting. "Don't sweat it."
He smiles, then leans a little closer over the bar, lowering his voice like he’s about to deliver gossip. There’s a new spark of curiosity in his eyes. "Well, Josie mentioned you might not even need it. Said you landed something else.... something pretty fucking massive."
The air in my lungs suddenly feels very thin. Massive. That’s one word for it. Catastrophic is another. I immediately think of the office, the way Bastian’s thumb felt against my hip.
Am I really taking the job?
I let out an awkward, strained laugh, shaking my head as I reach for a clean glass to keep my hands busy.
"God, Josie really needs to work on her definition of 'confidential,'" I mutter, trying for a light tone that doesn't quite hide the tremor in my voice.
"Come on, man, she’s just hyped for you," Dante says, oblivious to the fact that I’m currently spiraling. "So, is it true? You moving up in the world?"
For a split second the memory of Bastian’s voice slides through my head...low, confident, way too close to my ear.
‘Take the job, Kaden’
I look toward the back office door, half-expecting the guy to be standing there, listening.
"Something like that," I murmur.