Page 18 of Steel Beauty

Excitement stirs, restless and tempting. What would it be like to be in the same room as Julius Caesar even if I don’t know who he is? Just to feel that energy, that possibility?

My heart picks up speed at the thought. It would be exciting.

I glance at my reflection in the mirror, debating for a moment longer.

What am I thinking? Going out alone in a city I barely know to check out some speakeasy? And for what? To appease my curiosity about a guy who’s already been matched with another woman. A client, no less. It’s completely unprofessional. Irrational, even.

I should stay in, get some rest, and let it go.

But somehow, the thought doesn’t sit right. It’s more than curiosity. There’s something about him that I can’t quite shake.

I tilt my head, eyeing myself with a hint of a smirk. It’s not like I came all the way to Sydney to play it safe. I deserve a little adventure.

The thought is ridiculous. I should stay, unwind, and get a good night’s rest. Who knows what I’ll run into out there?

But isn’t that the point?

I sigh, weighing my options. One night out to see what this place is all about. Just a peek… then I’ll come right back.

Oh, fuck it.

Before I can second-guess myself, I fasten the buttons on my shirt, leaving one extra undone. The deep V opens deeper, transforming my casual blouse into something a little sexier.

Grabbing my bag, I head toward the door, a flutter of anticipation building in my chest. If nothing else, tonight might be interesting.

Chapter6

Alex Sebring

A slow jazztune drifts through the air, weaving between the soft murmur of conversations and the occasional clink of glassware. Dim lighting glows from low-hanging chandeliers, the kind that casts enough shadow to blur edges and leave things undefined. The Rabbit Hole is the perfect place to be in public while remaining hidden.

I sit at a table tucked in a shadowed corner, whisky in hand, taking slow sips that burn enough to feel right. The bartender knows his stuff—smoky, smooth, with the perfect bite at the end. But even the best whisky can’t stop the tightening of the knot winding in my gut.

She’s on my mind.

I take another sip, feeling the burn settle in my chest as I admit the truth to myself—I baited her. I left that breadcrumb about coming here tonight, fully aware of what I was doing. I needed to know if she’d show, if there’s any part of her that feels this pull as strongly as I do.

She’s a professional, bound by rules and responsibilities. But if she walks through that door tonight… that would tell me everything I need to know, wouldn’t it?

Maybe she won’t show. Maybe she’s not interested. Maybe I read too much into our conversations and saw a spark that wasn’t really there at all.

Still, I can’t shake the pull toward her. She’s an itch I can’t scratch, a thought that won’t let me rest. It’s irrational, I know. I signed up for this process to meet my match. Cleopatra is supposed to be the one. Not Charleston.

But the truth is, if Charleston shows up, I won’t be able to walk away. And if she doesn’t come… well, that’s probably for the best.

My knee bounces under the table, a restless energy I can’t shake. I glance at the entrance, hoping against reason that she’ll walk through the door any second now. And I’ll somehow recognize her.

The door creaks open, spilling a shaft of golden light across the dark floor, cutting through the shadows like a spotlight. A cool draft sweeps in, carrying the scents of leather and whisky. Then a woman, alone, steps inside. Her silhouette is framed by the exterior lighting before the door closes with a soft thud behind her.

The woman is unfamiliar, her face one that I haven’t seen here before. It’s certainly one I wouldn’t forget. She pauses inside the doorway, letting her eyes adjust to the dim lighting. She’s dressed simply—a green button-down blouse with rolled sleeves and dark jeans that hug her body just right.

Bloody hell, she looks good in those jeans.

There’s a quiet confidence about her that turns heads without effort. Long brown hair falls in loose waves over her shoulders. Her gaze sweeps the room—brown eyes? Green? Maybe hazel? I can’t tell.

And her face? God, she’s stunning. Not just beautiful. She’s breathtaking. The kind of beauty that sneaks up on you, leaving you off-balance.

I shift in my seat, feeling a sudden restlessness. Something about this woman pulls at me. She could be Charleston—or maybe not. Either way, I’m drawn to her.

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