Page 24 of Sinful Lies

I could see his eyes narrow, but his smile only grew wider.

“So”—he leaned in a bit closer—“you gonna let me show you a dance or are you just gonna stand there looking all perfect?”

I took another sip of my margarita, feeling the burn slide down my throat as I grabbed his hand, pulling him into the crowded sea of bodies.

For a random Thursday night in November, this place was packed; honestly, I wasn’t mad about it.

I looped my arms around his neck, my hands playing with his hair. His hands slid down to my hips, pulling me closer until we were practically glued together.

The music was infectious, and I could feel it vibrating through my chest.

I pulled back slightly. “What’s the name of this club?”

When we exited the taxi, I had barely glanced up. I was too busy focusing on not tripping in these damn heels that somehow made me just a little taller than him.

No comment.

“The Diamond.”

Hmm, it sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

He turned me around, pressing me to his front, his chest warm and solid against my back. I could feel his breath on my neck, his hands gripping my waist, pulling me closer.

His teeth grazed my ear. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

I smirked, biting my lip. “You have no idea.”

We kept dancing, and for a moment I let myself get lost in it—the lights, the music, the intoxicating feeling of a man pressed up against me?—

Wait!

The Diamond.

Now it clicked. I had heard the name before.

It was Leonardo Vittori’s club.

Lazzio’s closest friend—or, as I liked to call him, hisbestie.

I’d never met the man, but I’d heard enough to know I should avoid him at all costs. Any friend of Lazzio’s had to be just as insufferable as he was.

Great. Just fucking great.

Of course I’d end up in the one place where Lazzio’s presence lingered like a ghost, even when he wasn’t physically there.

And tonight? I didn’t want to run into anyone from his circle—or him.

I’d seen enough of him this week—hell, this month—to last me a lifetime.

It was tradition at the office: everyone got their birthday off.

For the last two years, I’d kept mine the same.

Get up, work out, head to the store for a vanilla cupcake with strawberry icing, and FaceTime my mom so she could sing me Happy Birthday while I blew out the candle. Then I’d hang up, order takeout, and spend the day in my vault poring over contracts, digging into our clients’ lives. Or, if my heart got too heavy, retreat to a bubble bath with a glass of wine and The Office on a loop for a good laugh.

I’d checked all the boxes today—except the going-out part. That was new.

As predictable as ever, Lazzio had sent his yearly text—“Happy Birthday.”

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