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Xavier blinked slowly, trying to wrap his head around this declaration like it was some foreign concept.
"Dance," he repeated, testing out the word as if it might have changed meaning after three Nuclear Peaches.
"Yes!" I grabbed his hand, tipsy and bold Theo was taking charge now—and pulled him toward the dance floor. "Come on, sir. You've made it this far. You've survived my terrible influence. Let's make some history!"
He let me pull him up, steadying himself with one hand on the bar for a moment, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "Lord help me."
But he followed.
And I could've sworn I heard Gavin laughing hard enough to drop a glass behind us.
I tugged Xavier toward the packed dance floor, all the enthusiasm of a kid dragging a reluctant parent onto a roller coaster. My fingers were still wrapped around his wrist because letting go would mean admitting defeat. The crowd parted just enough for us to squeeze in, bodies pressing close on all sides.
The air was thick with sweat and perfume, and the relentless thump of bass felt like it was trying to rearrange my insides. The strobe lights were merciless...flashing white, then purple, then this searing pink that made everyone look like they'd been dipped in candy coating.
Xavier dug in his heels about two steps from the edge, his free hand coming up to adjust his collar like he was worried about paparazzi lurking in the fog machine.
"Theodore," he said in a voice still carrying that unmistakable CEO authority, "this is undignified. A billionaire CEO doesn't gyrate in public places. If anyone recognizes me, it'll be all over every gossip site by morning...'Fairchild Heir Loses Mind in Nightclub Orgy' or something equally tasteful."
I turned to face him, still holding his wrist, and couldn't help but giggle—part from the alcohol, part from sheer disbelief at this conversation.
"Sir, honestly, nobody here is looking for billionaires. They're too busy trying to find their friends, their next drink, or someone to dance with. It's a miracle nobody's spotted you yet, but really? In this lighting, you just look like a very tall, very handsome guy who wandered in off the street...uh, not that I think you're handsome... which you definitely are, you're just a conventionally attractive alpha..."
He shot me that flat, unimpressed stare that usually made junior executives rethink their life choices making me stop my rambling. The buzz from the shots was hitting me just right...warm, floaty, brave and I decided to double down.
"Besides, you can't really let loose in a club without at least giving dancing a shot. It's basically a law of nature. Getting tipsy and dancing go hand in hand. Like peanut butter and jelly!"
Yep, I was definitely drunk...just watch the shit coming out of my mouth.
His stare deepened, and I could feel my confidence wobble a bit.
"B-but if you really don't want to," I added quickly, releasing his wrist and raising my hands in surrender, "I wouldn't dream of forcing you. I promise. We can go back to the bar. Or leave...or I can call you a car. Whatever you'd like."
Xavier exhaled one of those long, suffering sighs I'd heard him use during conference calls when the marketing team suggested another viral TikTok campaign. He glanced around at the sea of dancing bodies, then back at me, and something almost resigned softened the sharp lines of his face.
"I'm not… good at this," he admitted, sounding like those words had been dragged out of him.
I bit my cheek to stifle a laugh. Of course, he wasn't good at it. The man navigated life like he was perpetually attending a funeral for fun itself...rigid shoulders, precise steps, every move calculated. There was no way someone so controlled could just let loose without a ton of therapy first.
But I plastered on my brightest, most encouraging smile. "There are no rules to dancing, sir. Seriously. Just let your body move to the music. Feel the rhythm. Close your eyes if that helps."
To show what I meant, I did a little shimmy, hips swaying, arms loose, a spin that was more enthusiastic than graceful and let out a shameless, tipsy laugh. The shots had definitely kicked in; everything felt sparkly and possible.
Xavier watched me with a frown that deepened into something suspiciously like suspicion. "You're sure you don't do this often?"
"Nope!" I lied cheerfully, popping the 'p' like it was a challenge. "First time in forever. Total novice, just vibing."
He rolled his eyes so hard I was worried they'd get stuck, but then...by the miracle of miracles, he actually started to move.
And oh boy. It was… painful. Adorably, hilariously painful. His shoulders barely shifted, his hips moved maybe half an inch side to side, like he was testing the structural integrity of the motion, and his arms hung at his sides as if they'd personally offended him. He looked like a very expensive mannequin someone had plugged in and set to the lowest setting.
I pressed my lips tightly together to keep from laughing, probably looking like I was in pain. Then I started dancing too—nothing fancy, just bouncing to the beat, arms up, letting the music guide me—and shot him encouraging grins every few seconds. "Yes! Like that! Keep going, you're doing great!"
"This is stupid," he muttered under his breath, but I swear, the corner of his mouth lifted in the tiniest, most reluctant smile I'd ever seen on him. It vanished almost instantly behind another eye roll, but I caught it. My heart did a ridiculous little flip that had nothing to do with the alcohol.
The song built to a drop, the bass hitting hard enough to vibrate in my teeth, and the crowd around us surged and cheered. I whooped along without thinking, throwing my hands up, and Xavier, still moving like a robot learning to express emotions...actually mirrored the motion, lifting his arms a cautious six inches before dropping them again as if they'd betrayed him.
I beamed at him, probably looking like a complete idiot. "See? You're a natural!"
"I feel like an idiot," he corrected, but that small smile flickered again, warmer this time, and he kept moving.
And just like that, in the midst of a packed, sweaty dance floor under the strobing lights, billionaire CEO Xavier Fairchild danced...badly, stiffly, grudgingly, but he danced.
Right then, I decided this was officially the best worst idea I'd ever had.
<3rd Person Pov>
Across the club, the dance floor churned like a vibrant storm of bodies and light. Jessie moved through it confidently, hips rolling smoothly to the relentless beat, her laughter cutting through the chaos.
Beside her, Miles was lost in what he clearly believed was a Grammy-winning rockstar performance, one arm thrust skyward as if clutching an invisible guitar, shredding imaginary strings while his head banged exuberantly, causing his hair to flop wildly into his eyes.
He nearly took out an innocent bystander with a rogue elbow, only saved by Jessie's quick dodge and a teasing shout that vanished into the music's roar.
Then, mid-spin, Jessie's gaze drifted across the crowd and locked onto something impossible.
What the hell…?
Her body stilled instantly, mouth agape, eyes widening comically. Without warning, she seized Miles's flailing arm in a tight grip and yanked him around, cutting his solo short. He stumbled forward, almost crashing into her as the phantom guitar vanished mid-riff.
"What the—" Miles began, still half-lost in his fantasy, but Jessie's urgent pointing interrupted him.
"Look, idiot!"
He followed her finger, squinting through the strobing lights, and froze.
The hell...?