Page 3 of Wrong Place, Wright Time
“You know, I always had this pre-conceived notion that apartments above bars would be noisy and dingy. But this…” I stop moving, not even trying to conceal my obvious gawking as I absorb the bright and airy space. “This is stunning.”
His furnishings are simple and sleek—black leather couch in the living area with rustic wooden furnishings that are a shade or two darker than the wood-paneled floor; marble countertops in the kitchen with stainless steel appliances and LED lighting creating an ambient glow around the base of his cupboards, along with great big floor to ceiling windows that highlight the hustle and bustle of the city down below. But most of all, the thing I notice most about this space is the quiet. I can’t even feel the vibration of the music in the bar coming up through the floor. It’s like we’re in another world.
“Some say I have a well-trained eye,” Banks says as he hands me a crystal glass with clear liquid and a lime wedge inside. “Vodka and tonic.” His fingers remain wrapped around the tumbler for a moment longer than they should, ensuring lasting contact between our fingers as I take it from him. I suck in and hold my breath. Something about this man crowding my space and making his intentions abundantly clear sets of every nerve ending in my body. Which in itself is an odd feeling. I’m surrounded by bossy, overbearing men in almost every other aspect of my life. Being a Wright means that every action or decision I make runs through the echelons of our patriarchal family. And if the old men at the top don’t like it, they wield whatever power they have over you to pull you back into line. So, naturally, I’m opposed to any sort of controlling or bossy behavior. But then, Banks isn’t being bossy or controlling, he’s beingassertiveand perhaps preemptive of my needs. Andthat,ladies and gentlemen, is the difference between an alpha, and an asshole whothinkshe’s an alpha.
“Thank you,” I murmur, lifting the glass to my lips as I smile, both at the innuendo in his initial comment and my thoughts following. For the first time in a very long time, I can actually see myself getting naked with something other than my battery operated stand-ins. Banks is intoxicating, which means I need to be careful here too. Smart women shouldnevertrust an intoxicating man with her heart. She’s likely to get squashed and feel stupid when she’s left alone and heartbroken in the morning. I put my mental guards up.
“A seat?” With his eyes on my lips and throat as he watches me swallow, he inclines his head toward the big leather couch that sits across from a flickering fire that seems to be there more for the ambience than the warmth.
I walk ahead and position myself in the far corner, crossing my legs and balancing my glass on my knee. He sits not far from me, mirroring my position in a way that makes my grin even bigger.This guy is good.I feel like I’m the center of his world right now and can’t help but wonder how many women he’s done exactly this with previous to me.
“Tell me about the bar,” I start, lifting my glass and sipping while maintaining eye contact—I can play games too.
“What do you want to know?”
“How did it come about? It’s obviously a play on your name, but how did you know it’d become as popular as it is?”
He chuckles as he lifts his drink to his mouth. “I didn’t.” Taking a small sip, he hisses slightly as he swallows and sets the glass back on his crossed knee, same as me.
“Are you telling me you set that place up without any sort of market research behind your decisions, and it just…worked out for you?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. I used to be a venture capitalist, so I know what works and what doesn’t. And I was great at that, but…” He blows out a breath as he shakes his head slightly. “There was just something kind of hollow about making money for the sake of making money off the ideas of someone else. And I’d had this idea for a bank themed cocktail bar in the financial district for years, so I did what I do best, and I took a gamble.”
“And didn’t look back?” I finish for him, and he nods.
“Not for a second. I mean, there were a few moments in the beginning where I wondered if I was stone cold crazy sinking everything I had into a bar when I didn’t have any experience owning one. But I figured, I’ve been poor before, so if I fell on my face, I already knew how to survive. I knew how to build myself up from nothing, so the risk wasn’t really that high. The gain, however”—he looks around his apartment and a half-smile curves his mouth, giving me a glimpse of the proud man he’s become—“was worth it.”
“I think you’d get along well with my cousin, Tanner,” I say with a sigh. “He’s the big risk taker in the Wright family.”
“What about your brother? Ash, right? I don’t see his name anywhere on the company register.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Been doing some investigating?”
“Family is very important to me, Isla, and since my cousin is closely involved with multiple members of the Wright family, I make it my business to know who all the stakeholders are.”
“That’s fair. Although now I’m feeling a little underprepared because I didn’t study up on you. But then, I did step out in public with you for five minutes, so I’m sure my father’s spies already have an entire dossier written up about you, weighing up the pros and cons of any sort of affiliation with each other.”
“Sounds like…freedom,” Banks says with a laugh.
“Oh, it’s not that bad. I’m exaggerating, of course. They only create dossiers if something like marriage is on the table. Then they’ll talk to us about that person’spotential.” He smirks at that. “For the most part, it’s a pretty cushy existence. I show up to work, I jump through the hoops and the rest of the time, I’m left pretty much alone.”
“As long as you don’t do anything to piss off the patriarchy?” I laugh in response as he drains his glass then nods his head toward mine. “Another?”
I tilt my glass to the side, noting there’s nothing but a little ice and the lime wedge left inside it. “I shouldn’t. We should probably just go. Everyone will be waiting on us.”
I stand and Banks stands with me, taking the glass from between my fingers. “Or,” he starts, his rich brown eyes drinking in every inch of my face as he towers over me. “We could stay. Just a little longer.”
And as his eyes lock with mine, they hold so much promise that I find myself nodding along. “I guess one more drink can’t hurt.”
Isla
Alcohol and regret are common bedfellows indeed, and it’s the former that leads one to the latter. My inevitable tumble into Banks Johnson’s bed is no exception to this rule.
It starts with tension—all great hookups do—then it’s followed by wonderful conversation that makes me feel heard and understood in a way I rarely am. Conversation so good that I keep accepting those offered drinks, completely forgetting the time until that tension is all there is and suddenly, it’s imperative we both act.
I don’t even know who leans in first. But what I am certain of is that the moment our lips touch, everything else just falls away and all there is left in this world is the sensation of his mouth and tongue moving against mine while our bodies collide, pulling each other closer and closer until I’m lifted off the couch and carried into what I’m guessing is a bedroom as lush as the rest of his apartment. But it’s not the furnishings I’m looking at. No. It’s the man holding himself above me, pulling his shirt over his head and revealing a rippling chest that makes my mouth water and my insides clench.
The only thought in my head iswant,and the only feeling I experience isneed, and as he pushes my skirt up around my hips and pulls my panties down my legs, the only word I can say is, “Yes.” Because right now—as Banks’s mouth connects with my apex—I don’t have a solitary regret.
