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I couldn't help but gawk at him, my mouth hanging open like I'd just been hit over the head with a cartoon-style mallet. Mr. Fairchild, my boss, the guy who definitely wears suits pricier than my rent, the kind of person who could silence a boardroom with just a raised eyebrow was perched on a bar stool in this chaotic, neon-lit club, looking absurdly polished and totally out of place.
His dark hair was immaculate, not a single strand daring to misbehave, and the way the club lights glinted off his chiseled jawline should probably be illegal. Meanwhile, I was pretty sure my face was resembling a traffic light stuck on red.
"M...Mr. Fairchild..." I finally squeaked out, regretting the squeak the moment it left my lips.
He tilted his head slightly, those storm-gray eyes locking onto mine with that familiar intensity that usually sent me scrambling to double-check spreadsheets for typos. Up close, with the bass pulsing around us and the scent of his expensive, woody cologne cutting through the club's haze, my brain short-circuited in about six different ways.
"What—" I swallowed hard, trying to keep my thoughts together. "W–what are you doing here?"
He let out a long, tired sigh, one I'd heard plenty of times in the office, usually just before he'd ask me why he didn't have the quarterly projections on his desk yet. "I could ask you the same thing, Theodore."
Hearing my full name made my spine straighten up, like I was about to get a performance review, turns out he had that effect on me.
I still wasn't sure if was a good or bad thing, but whatever...
"We've got the Aurora app launch in less than three months," he continued, his voice low and gravelly over the music.
"Beta testing starts next week, and the marketing team is hounding me about the reveal event. We still haven't finalized the partnership with Nexus; there's a ton of work to do. So, enlighten me, why are you here, drinking... whatever that is?"
He gestured toward my pathetic soda water with lime, and I turned to it...genuinely offended, but grateful by its lack of alcohol.
Heat rushed to my face so fast I thought I might spontaneously combust. "I—I don't come here often!" I blurted out, the lie slipping out before I could stop it. "Like, at all! This...this is basically my first time in a place like this. Miles and Jessie dragged me out, peer pressure. Really intense peer pressure, ha ha!"
Across the bar, I spotted Justin...sorry, Gavin, wiping the same spot on the counter for the third time, one eyebrow raised so high it was practically in orbit.
His face was screaming "really?" so loudly I didn't even need to hear him say it. I shot him a wide-eyed, silent plea: Please, for the love of everything holy, don't expose me right now. Shut the fuck up!
He smirked, subtly shook his head, and thankfully moved on to another customer. Small mercies, I guess.
Turning back to Mr. Fairchild, I gripped my glass like it was a lifeline. "But...um, why are you here, sir? If you don't mind me asking. This doesn't exactly seem like your, uh...scene."
He took a moment before responding, scanning the club as if assessing a poorly designed mockup, mild disapproval mixed with genuine confusion, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle with half the pieces missing.
Finally, he sighed through his nose and glanced back at me. "I came to... unwind," he said, the word sounding strange on his tongue, like he'd practiced it a few times in the mirror but still wasn't sold on it.
"Someone recommended this place. Said it might help me experience the nightlife in New Athens. You know, feel like a different person for a night... whatever that means."
He paused, frowning at a nearby group erupting in cheers over what looked like a successful body shot. "I've been under a lot of stress lately...work, company expectations, board pressures. And then there are... personal matters I'm dealing with also. So I figured I'd give it a shot. So far, I'm not impressed, and I feel like I've wandered into an alien habitat. I'm seriously considering retreating to my apartment with a glass of scotch and some peace and quiet."
The idea of Mr. Fairchild trying to "unwind" at a club was so ridiculous that I nearly let out a giggle. I could picture him standing rigidly on the edge of the dance floor, arms crossed, looking like an expensive statue someone misplaced.
Mr. Fairchild...dancing, maybe I might be alive to witness it at this rate.
He looked at me again, one brow arching. "I don't suppose you have any tips on how one is supposed to... participate in this?"
And then, because my self-preservation instincts had apparently taken the night off, the words blurted out of me before I could stop them.
"I can teach you, sir!"
The instant those words left my mouth, I wanted to dive into my soda water and never come up for air. Mr. Fairchild's eyes widened slightly, the closest he ever got to outright shock and he stared at me as if I'd just offered to teach him ancient Greek.
I froze, my cheeks burning hotter than the sun, already rehearsing my resignation email in my head.
Mr. Fairchild turned fully toward me on his stool, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow arching slowly, deliberately, in that usual way that could make interns cry.
The club lights highlighted the sharp angles of his face...high cheekbones, a hint of stubble along his jaw, those cold-hearted storm-gray eyes that always seemed to be calculating the worth of your soul and for a second, I completely forgot how to breathe.
He didn't say anything right away, just studied me with that unreadable expression he wore during board meetings when someone had clearly messed up, and he was weighing how much mercy to give.
In that silence, my brain finally caught up with my mouth.
Oh Lord... what have I done??