Chapter 35 Chaos
KADEN'S POV
There's something incredibly, fundamentally wrong with me.
I’ve always prided myself on having a leash on my own impulses. In the LA scene, that makes me a goddamn unicorn. Between the aspiring starlets looking for a shortcut and the producers who think a line of coke is a personality trait, I’m usually the one evaluating the room, calculating the exit strategy, and taking a detour the second my instincts flash red. I don't do "spirals." I do logic.
Except now. Now, my internal compass isn't just broken...it’s spinning so fast it’s starting to smoke.
The worst part is that I’m fully aware of how fucked up this is. Whatever this... thing is with Bastian Steele. It’s a textbook disaster. He’s my boss, he’s a high-functioning neurotic, and he probably views human emotions as a series of spreadsheets. But the second the bastard gets within breathing distance of me, the second he puts those cold, possessive hands on my skin, my brain just taps out.
Logic doesn't just leave the building, it jumps off the freaking roof. All I can think about is how much further we can push it, how much darker the room can get, and how loud I can make him.
And God, I enjoy it.
I don't want to admit it. I want to tell myself I’m just playing the game to get through this contract, but that’s a lie I can't even tell with a straight face. I enjoy the friction. There’s something dark and unhinged about the way we collide. A kind of euphoria that makes everything else fade.
It’s a bad idea.
It’s a catastrophic, life-ruining idea.
And yet, I’m leaning into the flame like I’ve spent my whole life being cold.
Even now, behind the bar at Orphic, I should be focused on the prep. I should be thinking about the house-made bitters or the inventory for tonight’s rush. Instead, I’m staring at the muddler in my hand and thinking about the way Bastian looked earlier.
The rush is still humming in me. It’s that same electrical buzz you get right before a car crash. That split second where you realize you're going too fast to stop, and you just decide to see how much damage the impact can do.
"So, how was the debut?"
I frown and glance beside me to find Ava watching me with a glint in her eyes.
"What're you talking about?"
She leans her elbows on the bar, a shark-like grin spreading across her face. "Nice try. I finally caved and joined Josie’s pilates class this morning. Between the leg lifts and the heavy breathing, she let it slip that you’re 'off-market' for the next few weeks on some high-profile gig. By the way she nearly choked on her own tongue trying to take it back, I’m guessing this isn't exactly public domain yet."
I frown, the citrus stinging a small nick on my thumb. Josie apparently has a mouth like a leaky faucet when she’s on a work-out high.
I pour two negronis into chilled rocks glasses, sliding them across the bar to a couple of guys before turning back to the only person in this building I actually trust and consider a good friend. "Keep it under your hat, Ava. Seriously."
She mimes zipping her lips, then throws the invisible key over her shoulder. But her curiosity is already vibrating. She leans in, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "So, who’s the lucky brand? Josie wouldn't cough up a name, even after I offered to buy her a post-class smoothie. Is it denim? Please tell me it’s fragrance. I want to see you pouting in black and white while standing in a shallow pool of water."
I shrug, the weight of the "Steele" name sitting heavy in my gut. I hate this part. Orphic is a small world, the second people find out I’m the face of a billion-dollar legacy coincidentally owned by our new boss, the questions will start. Was it a casting call? Or was it...something else?
I’m probably overthinking it. Everyone is bound to find out eventually, but I’d prefer it to be when the billboards are already up and I have the paycheck safely cleared.
"I can't say," I tell her, giving her my most apologetic look. "Non-disclosure agreement. Contractual silence. All that corporate bullshit."
Ava scoffs, rolling her eyes so hard I’m surprised she doesn't see her own brain. "Oh, please. Like I’m going to ring up TMZ and give them an exclusive." She pauses, her eyes narrowing, "If it’s that private, what is it? Secret Service? Are you the new face of a clandestine government agency?"
"Exactly," I drawl, sliding a tin of napkins her way. "I’d tell you more, but then I’d have to kill you with a cocktail umbrella."
I gesture with my chin toward the group of impatient tourists hovering at the end of the bar. "Less investigative journalism, more service. Go earn your keep."
I give her a light shove toward the register, but as she walks away, my hand goes instinctively to the back of my neck. I can still feel the ghost of Bastian’s fingers in my hair.
A while later, I’m halfway through wiping down the counter, leaning into a conversation with a couple of regulars who’ve had just enough to start repeating themselves, when something shifts out on the floor.
It’s subtle at first, just a ripple. The kind that doesn’t belong to the music.
I straighten slightly, eyes narrowing as I glance over the crowd, trying to piece it together through bodies and flashing lights.
Two guys arguing. There’s a girl caught in the middle, looking glazed and unsteady. Typical drama, I figure...some guy overstepping with someone else’s girlfriend.
One of them, white shirt, throws his hands up like he’s done with it, turns like he’s about to walk away. Except the other guy, who's in a leather jacket, doesn’t let him. He grabs him and yanks him back. White shirt swings. Misses. And then it escalates fast. The other guy tackles him straight to the floor, the kind of takedown that’s not sloppy or drunk, it’s intentional. Controlled.
I pause mid-wipe, watching as leather jacket reaches into his jacket and pulls something out.
Zip ties.
He secures the guy’s wrists like he’s done it before, like this isn’t his first time handling something like this. The crowd starts to circle, phones half-lifted, curiosity outweighing common sense as usual. Security finally moves in. Late as always. They hover for a second, trying to figure out what’s actually happening instead of just reacting to it.
The girl’s talking now, she looks....off. Not drunk exactly. Something else.
Ava appears beside me, following my line of sight. “What’s up this time?”
“Not sure,” I say, frowning slightly.
Before I can get a better read, Kimmy slides up to the bar, already stacking empty glasses into a tray.
“Hey, what’s going on out there?” I ask, nodding toward the floor.
She doesn’t even hesitate.
“Guy spiked her drink,” she says, like she’s reciting something she just heard. “Apparently someone saw it and stepped in. Thank God, because seriously, what the hell is wrong with people?”
Ava lets out a disgusted hiss, and the two of them launch into a low-frequency rant about the absolute filth some men are capable of. But I’m not listening anymore. My focus is glued to the center of the storm.
Because Bastian Steele has just seemingly emerged from the shadows.
There’s a shift in the crowd, a different kind of ripple. The kind that moves around someone. My grip tightens slightly around the towel in my hand as I watch him. He says something to the guy in the leather jacket. The guy nods immediately, still holding white shirt down.
Security’s still hovering, looking confused. Bastian turns to them next. I can’t hear what he says, but I don’t need to. I can see the way his shoulders set. The way his jaw tightens. The way his entire presence sharpens into something cold and exact.
He’s beyond pissed.
He gestures toward the door. They hesitate, exchange a glance like they’re trying to decide whether to listen. Bastian says something else, shorter. And just like that, they frantically move. He turns back to the guy in the leather jacket, says something. It's almost as if he knows the guy.
There's another nod, then leather jacket hauls white shirt up like he weighs nothing and starts dragging him toward the back, the guy still thrashing, still fighting.
Bastian turns to the girl and says something, quieter now... calmer..
And then Tony appears. Slightly out of breath, like he just realized something’s happening in his own club. He starts talking but Bastian doesn’t even look at him. He just lifts a hand and Tony shuts up immediately.
He then gestures toward the girl, says something that has Tony nodding like his life depends on it before he gently takes the girl by the arm, guiding her away from the chaos. Bastian watches for half a second, then he turns and follows leather jacket toward the back.
No hesitation, no looking around. And not once does he glance toward the bar.