Away from Naya's apartment, the night sat heavy and warm over the city. Liam Hart leaned back in his chair at the rooftop lounge, the amber glow from the low lights turning the whiskey in his glass into molten gold. The place was full enough to hum with conversation but private enough for him to watch and listen without being watched himself.
His friends were deep into the second bottle, laughter cutting through the smoke from Ben's overpriced cigars. Liam let them talk, half-listening, cataloging what they said and what they didn't. People always gave something away if you kept your mouth shut long enough.
"Did you hear about Morales closing that deal in Milan?" Ben asked, tapping ash from his cigar. "Seven figures. Just like that."
"About time," Curtis said, reaching for the bottle. "Two years chasing the same client. I thought he was going to die trying."
Liam swirled his drink lazily. "Two years is nothing if the payoff's right."
The conversation drifted—real estate prices, a new club opening downtown, Curtis losing money on a bad bet at the track. It was noise to Liam, but he smiled when he was supposed to, laughed when it fit. Let them think he was part of it.
Then Ben's gaze sharpened, his smirk deliberate. "Speaking of bad bets…" He tilted his glass. "How's Naya?"
Curtis chuckled. "Man, don't start. I don't know how she puts up with you."
Liam took a slow sip. The whiskey burned, but pleasantly.
Mike, quiet until now, leaned forward. "If you don't actually like her, Liam, you should let her go."
The table stilled for half a breath. Liam lifted a brow. "Who said I don't like her?"
"You don't have to say it," Mike said. "It's all over your face. She's a good woman. And you know it. But you keep taking from her like she's your personal bank. That's not a great look."
Ben hid a smirk behind his glass. Curtis looked like he was enjoying the tension.
Liam leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable. "I'm not forcing her to do anything. She gives. I take. That's the arrangement. Works fine for me."
Mike didn't blink. "That's not how it's supposed to work."
Liam's smile was slow, almost lazy. "Spare me the sermon."
Mike studied him for another beat, then gave up and set his glass down. "Fine. Then maybe you'll care about this—Jess is back in the city."
The name was a spark to gasoline.
Ben looked between them. "Jess… as in Jess Rivera?"
"The one and only," Mike confirmed. "Got back last week. Staying at The Mirabel until she finds a place."
A flicker of heat slid through Liam's chest—not the warm, easy kind, but sharp and electric. He let the smile grow this time, not bothering to hide it. "Well… that's interesting."
The others moved on to another topic, but Liam wasn't listening. Jess.
The woman had been fire from the moment he met her. Quick, untouchable, every look calculated to keep him wanting more. She'd made him work for every word, every touch, every second of her time. And when she finally gave in, it felt like victory. Like conquering something rare.
When she left, it had been like losing a game he thought he'd already won. Naya had been a… distraction. Soft-spoken, giving, easy to manage. No battles, no stakes, no challenge. She was there when he wanted her and gone when he didn't. Convenient. Replaceable.
Jess was the opposite. Jess was the hunt. And now she was back, close enough to reach.
Liam drained the rest of his glass, the ice clinking in the silence between him and his thoughts. He didn't know when he'd see her yet, but he would. And when he did, he wouldn't waste time.
He wasn't looking for conversation.
He was looking to win.