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The bar area was a quieter escape from the lively ballroom, tucked away from the main dance floor where the orchestra was currently playing a slow, graceful waltz. Dark wood was shining softly under amber pendant lights, with bottles neatly arranged behind the bartender, their labels glowing in warm golden tones.
The leather stools had high backs that made you feel like you were sinking into a fancy couch, and the air carried the faint scent of aged scotch, citrus zest, and the lingering fragrances of the crowd that had drifted off to dance.
Logan sat on one of those stools like he wanted to fade into his drink, his tie loose, silver hair falling into his eyes as he waved his empty glass at the bartender, impatiently flicking his wrist as if he were accustomed to getting what he wanted right away.
"Another," he commanded, his voice slurring a bit, making the word drag out. "And make it quick this time; I'm not paying for slow service."
