The man walked in, suited up from head to toe, face serious and cold, totally out of place in the cozy little bar packed with casual drinkers.
With that kind of look, he definitely seemed more at home in some upscale party with business elites rather than slumming it in this no-name dive bar.
Then again, who knows what rich folks are into?
Maybe he just wanted to get a taste of local life?
The bartender plastered on a professional smile.
“Welcome…”
Amelia was having none of it.
She tapped her glass with irritation.
“Welcome what?
You haven’t even poured me a drink yet!
Hurry up!”
The bartender just sighed internally—he’d dealt with her kind of drunk before.
Patiently, he said, “Miss, we’re out of alcohol.
We’re about to close.”
“Bullshit!
They’ve got drinks, why not me?”
Clearly not so easy to trick.
As Eric walked up, the bartender had a brainwave and blurted out, “Seriously, no more booze.
That gentleman just bought everything.
Maybe come back tomorrow?”
Amelia frowned, swayed a little, and slowly turned to the well-dressed man, her blurry eyes trying to focus on his figure.
Propping herself up on the table, she stood shakily and grabbed a fistful of his shirt collar, stabbing a finger at his chin.
“You?
You bought all the drinks?”
Her cheeks were fire-red, clothes askew, hair a mess, and the stench of alcohol clinging to her.
She looked nothing like her usual self.
Eric frowned and pushed down her hand that was poking at him.
“Say something!
Did you buy it all?” She was definitely buying into the bartender’s bluff and now had Eric locked in like she was ready to throw down.
“I got here before you.
Why do you get to take it all?
Ever heard of first come, first served?”
The bartender was sweating bullets, scared Eric might flare up.
“Sir, she’s drunk, don’t take it seriously.”
“You’re drunk!” Amelia turned to glare at him.
“Sellout.
Gave him the drinks just ’cause he tipped big, didn’t you?”
Her hand was yanking Eric’s shirt out of shape now, and the bartender was really panicking.
“Miss, please let go.
I’ll give you one on the house, okay?”
Amelia stuck up one finger, waved it dramatically.
“Nope!”
The bartender gave up, thinking he was doomed, when she suddenly grinned.
“No free drinks.
I gotta pay up.”
She flipped open her wallet, looked left, looked right—no cash.
Frowning, she mumbled, “Where’s my money?”
“I told you, I’ll give it to you for free, don’t worry about it.”
“Nope!” she insisted stubbornly.
“Gotta pay!”
Suddenly, she pulled out a diamond ring, held it up, and chuckled, “No cash, so this’ll do!”
That rock on the ring was massive—like, blind-you-under-the-light massive.
Just as she was about to hand it over, Eric reached out and snatched it from her.
She frowned.
“Hey!
Why’d you take my ring?”
Eric clenched his jaw, holding back his anger.
“You’re trying to trade your wedding ring for a drink?”
“So what?
None of your business!”
Eric looked like he’d swallowed a lemon whole.
The bartender paused, eyes darting between the two.
Wait a minute—how’d he know it was a wedding ring?
That face…
that reaction…
No way, was this her rich husband?!
Amelia stared at his face, then suddenly leaned in with a giggle.
“Hey handsome, how much for a night?”
The bartender wanted to disappear on the spot.
Eric looked stone-faced, his eyes cold like frosted glass—zero warmth there.
“What do you think?” His voice was low and edged with danger.
But Amelia, tanked out of her mind, didn’t catch the warning at all.
She tilted his chin up playfully, her thumb sliding down from his lips to his Adam’s apple.
With a tipsy giggle, she pressed closer, lips almost brushing his, and whispered, “You look expensive.
Bet you don’t come cheap.”
Her breath, full of booze and heat, clung between them with a strange flirtatious tension.
Her pale fingers glided down his chest as her eyes half-closed, oozing mischief.
“How about three grand for the night?” she offered, dead serious.
Eric’s face darkened even more, lips curling with cold sarcasm.
“Three grand?
You sure that’s not a bit low?”
Amelia frowned, clearly offended.
“C’mon, with the way things are these days, that’s not a bad deal.”
“Oh, so you keep tabs on ‘the way things are’?” Eric scoffed.
She mulled it over and then, like it was some grand compromise, huffed, “Fine.
Thirty-five hundred.
Take it or leave it.”
Right then, Eric almost pressed her head into the fish tank to sober her up.
If he hadn’t shown up tonight, would she have just gone off with any guy?
That thought soured his mood even more.
Meanwhile, Amelia was completely oblivious to the storm brewing.
She pulled a card from her wallet and, without warning, shoved it into the collar of his shirt like some drunken mobster, trailing her fingers down his chest.
“No take-backs,” she grinned.
Eric took a deep breath, grabbed her by the back of her neck like a disobedient cat, and started dragging her out.
The bartender finally snapped out of it and called after them, “Sir, your wife still hasn’t paid her tab.”
Eric stopped, shot a cold glance at the woman in his grip, pulled out his wallet and tossed it at the guy.
“Gold card.
No pin.”
His face screamed “not in the mood,” and the bartender didn’t dare push it.
He hurried to process the payment, gently handed the card back, and tried to save face.
“Hope to see you again, Mr.
Bast.”
Eric stopped.
“Who told you my last name was Bast?”
The bartender stiffened as a memory hit him.
Amelia had been completely wasted that night.
Men kept trying to hit on her, so he’d tried to contact her family.
Her phone was dead, so he had to ask her directly.
After ages, she finally slurred out a number.
He’d asked, “Is that your family?”
Amelia nodded.
“My husband…”
“And your husband’s last name?”
She giggled.
“My husband’s last name?
He’s a Bast…
a bastard!”
The bartender had almost dropped the glass.
Now he cleared his throat, face rigid.
“She told me herself, sir.”
Eric stared at him for two seconds, then dragged Amelia out the door.
Just as the bartender rushed out to open it for him, Eric bent down, scooped her up into his arms, and carried her into the rain, holding the umbrella as they disappeared into the wet night.
By the time he finally got her into the car, he was soaked through.
He circled to the driver’s side, sat down, and glanced over—Amelia was out cold, leaning her head against the window like nothing happened.
Eric leaned over, arm brushing across her chest as he grabbed the seatbelt.
Just as he was about to buckle it, an arm suddenly looped around his neck.
He looked up—and there she was, eyes barely open, a lazy grin on her face as she murmured, “So…
where are we sleeping tonight?”