Page 17 of Kisses and Paperclips

But then my gaze dragged back anyway.

To how she exhaled sharply, tapping her phone against her palm like she could will a solution into existence. From the way she kept looking toward the exit, I hoped she wasn’t debating whether to step into the storm alone.

Before I could stop myself and think twice, my drink was pushed aside, and I was already standing.

Not because I had to.

Not because she asked.

But because watching a woman like Serena struggle and doing nothing about it?

That wasn’t who the fuck I was.

Besides, if she thinks I’m letting her slip through my fingers, she had me all the way fucked up.

Chapter 3

Serena

Ijust had dinner with the Devil.

Julien was that Devil. The kind of devil who could make a woman toss all her good sense straight out the nearest window. Dark skin and chiseled perfection, rocking that low-cut Caesar fade with waves so smooth you could practically drown if you stared too long.

Mm-hmm. That kind of trouble.

The kind that slipped past your defenses with nothing but a tailored suit, a voice smooth as aged whiskey, and eyes that felt like silk dragging slow and easy against bare skin. The kind who had me forgetting my year-long celibacy faster than I could remember my middle name.

Forget your damn name fine.

Forget every promise I’d made to myself about staying disciplined, focused, and far, far away from beautiful men who wore danger like their favorite cologne.

But no.

Self-control yanked me back at the last second, gripping me by the collar like a best friend who knew better. A firm reminder that men like Julien? They were a luxury, not a necessity.

So, I walked away.

Okay, maybe I ran.

And now, here I was, standing in the hotel lobby, arms crossed, staring out at what could only be described as Mother Nature’s personal vendetta against me.

The snow is thick, heavy, and inconvenient. Atlanta wasn’t built for snow like this. The last time this happened, people were stranded on the highway for hours. I, on the other hand, had been nice and cozy, watching it all unfold on the news from the comfort of my couch, hands wrapped around a mug of hot cocoa, silently thanking God I wasn’t one of them.

Tonight, I wasn’t so lucky. Instead of being curled up under a blanket. I was refreshing my Uber app over and over, hoping the alert message of no driver in the area would change. Now I’m stranded.

“What the hell?” I muttered under my breath.

The energy in the lobby mirrored my own—tense, frustrated, and laced with the kind of quiet panic that only bad weather and bad timing could create. People paced with phones pressed to their ears, conversations clipped and urgent.

Across the room, a mother sat on a couch, her youngest curled up in her lap while an older child leaned against her side, wide-eyed and restless. When I caught their gaze, I gave a small wave. The mother managed a tired smile. At least if I ended up stranded on the lobby couch, I wouldn’t be alone. That was the best-case scenario. Worst case? I’d be up all night, too paranoid to close my eyes, convinced someone would swipe my purse the second I let my guard down.

Panic stirred in my chest, but I pushed it down. No big deal. I needed to create alternatives for a ride.

The sharp click of my heels against the marble floor echoed through the lobby like a countdown to my patience running out. The valet desk ahead felt like my last shot at salvaging this night. Behind it was a young man, maybe mid-twenties, cool as a cucumber, completely unbothered by the mess outside.

The sheer nerve of his composure irritated me.

I inhaled, gathering up whatever grace I had left, and gave him the kind of smile I’ve spent the last decade perfecting, the one that always got me my way.

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