Mistaking The Ruthless CEO For An Escort

The bass from the Neon Lounge's sound system didn't just vibrate in the air; it rattled against Ava Kidd's ribs, making the nausea in her stomach churn violently.

She sat at the edge of the marble bar, her fingers wrapped so tightly around her fourth shot of tequila that her knuckles were entirely white.

She threw the liquid down her throat. It burned like battery acid, but the physical pain was a welcome distraction from the suffocating pressure in her chest.

Her phone screen lit up from inside her open purse on the dark counter.

Lorelei.

The name of her stepmother flashed like a warning siren. Ava's throat tightened. Her lungs forgot how to pull in air. Maybe I should just do what Lorelei always accuses me of, she thought bitterly. Find some rich man to pay my way. My friend even joked this hotel has a secret menu for that. Elite male escorts.

She didn't answer. She shoved the phone deeper into her bag and snapped it shut, the harsh smack of leather and metal barely audible over the deafening music. She pressed her thumbs into her eyes until she saw sparks.

A bartender slid a vibrant, neon-blue martini across the counter. It stopped inches from her hand.

"From the gentleman in the Armani suit at the corner booth," the bartender shouted over the music.

Ava didn't even look at the corner booth. Her stomach twisted into a tight, sick knot.

She pushed the glass away with the back of her hand. She pushed too hard.

The blue liquid sloshed over the rim, splashing directly onto the lap of her cheap, black silk dress. The cold wetness seeped into her skin instantly, making her shiver.

"Keep it," Ava muttered, her voice thick and raspy.

She grabbed the edge of the bar and forced herself to stand. The moment her weight shifted onto her heels, the tequila hijacked her equilibrium.

The floor tilted. Her ankle wobbled, and she stumbled sideways, her shoulder slamming hard into the back of a tall man standing nearby.

"Whoa, easy there, sweetheart," a greasy voice slurred.

Three men in unbuttoned dress shirts immediately turned their attention to her. Their eyes dragged up and down her ruined dress like she was an item on a menu. One of them reached out, his thick fingers grazing her bare arm.

Ava's skin crawled. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her sternum. She tried to step back, but her legs felt like lead.

Before the man could grab her waist, a figure stepped between them.

He wore the immaculate, gold-trimmed uniform of The Elysium hotel staff. His broad shoulders completely blocked the predatory men from her view.

"Miss," the employee said. His name tag read Rico. His voice was calm, professional, but his eyes darted nervously around the club. As he reached out, the club's strobe lights caught the heavy gleam of a solid gold Rolex on his wrist-a watch that cost more than his entire year's salary. "You seem unwell. Would you like me to escort you to the private VIP lounge to sober up? It is much quieter there."

Ava's brain was a thick, foggy mess. The word quieter echoed in her skull like a lifeline.

She couldn't go home to Lorelei. She couldn't stay here.

She gave a slow, heavy nod.

Rico immediately gripped her elbow. His hold was firm, almost urgent. He steered her away from the flashing strobe lights and the suffocating crush of sweaty bodies, guiding her toward a dark corridor at the back of the club.

As they passed the velvet ropes, two women in designer dresses glared at Ava. Their eyes dripped with disgust, clearly assuming she was just another desperate girl trying to sleep her way into a rich man's wallet.

Ava didn't care. She just wanted silence.

They reached a set of brass elevator doors. Rico pulled a sleek, unmarked black card from his pocket and pressed it against the scanner.

The light flashed green. The doors slid open in absolute silence.

Rico practically shoved her inside and hit the top button. As the doors closed, she vaguely noticed him pulling out his phone, his thumb flying across the screen to type a single word: Done.

Ava leaned her back against the mirrored wall. The cold glass felt good against her flushed skin. She watched the floor numbers climb at a dizzying speed, her vision blurring at the edges.

The elevator didn't stop at the lounge level. It kept going. Up, up, up, until it hit the Penthouse floor.

The doors opened to a hallway lined with thick, sound-absorbing Persian carpet. The silence was so absolute it made Ava's ears ring.

Rico kept a tight grip on her arm, half-dragging her down the long corridor. They stopped in front of a massive, carved agarwood door.

"It's too dark," Ava mumbled, her tongue heavy. She tried to pull her arm away. "Where is the couch?"

Rico ignored her. He looked up at the ceiling, his eyes locking onto a security camera. He exhaled a shaky breath, swiped the black card against the door's digital lock, and pushed the heavy wood open.

A soft electronic chime sounded.

Rico pushed Ava into the dark entryway. Before she could turn around, he yanked the black card from the slot.

The heavy door slammed shut behind her. The deadbolt clicked into place with a heavy, metallic thud.

Ava stood in the pitch black. She kicked off her pinching heels, her bare feet sinking into carpet so plush it felt like walking on clouds.

"Hello?" she called out. Her voice sounded small, swallowed by the sheer size of the room.

No one answered. The only light came from the neon glow of the Manhattan skyline filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows in the distance.

She dragged her hand along the wall, searching for a light switch. Her fingers brushed against something cold and metallic. She knocked it over.

A heavy art piece hit the carpet with a muffled thud. It didn't break, but the sound made her flinch.

Her mouth was dry. Her throat felt like sandpaper. She needed water.

She stumbled forward, moving blindly toward what looked like a hallway. The air here was different. It didn't smell like a hotel. It smelled like sharp, cold cedarwood and expensive soap.

From the end of the hall, the sound of running water suddenly stopped.

Ava blinked. Cleaning staff? she thought, her drunk brain struggling to make sense of the situation.

She dragged her feet toward the slightly open door at the end of the hall. She pushed it wide open and stepped inside.

She slammed face-first into a wall of solid, scorching hot muscle.

Water dripped onto her forehead. The scent of cedar and raw, aggressive male pheromones flooded her senses.

Ava gasped, her hands instinctively flying up to grab onto the wet, bare chest in front of her.