The rooftop bar pulsed with life, a swirl of laughter, clinking glasses, and the deep bass of music that seemed to vibrate beneath Ava Sinclair's feet. Manhattan stretched out in glittering splendor around her, but instead of enjoying the view, she was nursing her second cocktail and wondering why she'd let her best friend, Lila, talk her into this.
"Come on, Ava, loosen up!" Lila called over her shoulder, her champagne flute already half-empty as she wove through the crowd in her shimmering gold dress.
Ava sighed, shifting awkwardly on her heels. She'd done her best to dress up for the occasion—a simple black dress that hugged her curves modestly and a pair of borrowed heels that pinched her toes. Yet in a sea of high-end designer fashion and glittering jewelry, she felt out of place.
Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass as she took a slow sip, scanning the room out of habit more than interest. And that's when she saw him.
He stood near the bar, tall and striking, his broad shoulders encased in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His dark hair was neatly styled, but there was just enough dishevelment to suggest he didn't try too hard. What caught her most, though, were his eyes—piercing gray, sharp and unrelenting, like they could see straight through her.
Ava quickly looked away, her heart hammering in her chest. Men like him didn't just look at women like her. He was the kind of man who exuded power and confidence without trying, the kind who moved through the world as if it owed him something.
She told herself to forget it, but she couldn't resist a second glance. This time, she froze. He was looking at her, his head tilted slightly, as though he was trying to decide whether to approach.
Her stomach flipped. No, he wasn't. He couldn't be.
But then he moved.
Her breath hitched as he wove through the crowd with an ease that spoke of someone used to being noticed. Within moments, he was standing in front of her, close enough that she could catch a faint trace of his cologne—something dark and woodsy, intoxicating in its subtlety.
"You don't seem like you're enjoying yourself," he said, his voice deep and smooth, with just a hint of amusement.
Ava blinked up at him, her mind scrambling to catch up. Up close, he was even more devastatingly handsome, with sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline that looked like it had been sculpted by the gods. "I, uh…" She cleared her throat, willing herself to focus. "It's not really my scene."
His lips curved into a faint smile. "And yet, here you are."
She felt her cheeks warm. "My friend thought it would be good for me."
"She's probably right." His gaze didn't waver. "But I'd bet you'd enjoy it more if you weren't stuck here on your own."
Ava raised an eyebrow, finding her footing in his presence at last. "And what makes you think I'm alone?"
He chuckled, a low, velvety sound that made her stomach flutter. "Because you've been standing here for the past twenty minutes looking like you'd rather be anywhere else. Trust me, I've been watching."
Her pulse quickened, but she kept her expression neutral. "Sounds a bit like stalking, Mr…?"
"Damian. Damian Blackwood."
The name hit her like a jolt. Damian Blackwood. Billionaire. Real estate mogul. The man whose face graced countless business magazines.
She hesitated, unsure whether to let the recognition show. Instead, she slipped her hand into his outstretched one, surprised by the warmth of his touch. "Ava Sinclair."
Ava." He repeated her name like he was tasting it, his smile deepening. "Tell me, Ava, what's a woman like you doing in a place like this?"
She tilted her head, unable to suppress a small smile. "You mean out of my depth?"
"Not at all," he said smoothly. "If anything, you stand out—in a good way."
She wasn't sure how to respond to that, so she took another sip of her drink, letting the alcohol dull her nerves. He was watching her intently, and it was hard not to feel exposed under his gaze.
"Let me get you another drink," he said after a moment, signaling to a passing waiter. "What's your poison?"
"I'll take another martini," she said, her voice steadier now.
As the waiter disappeared with her order, Damian leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make the moment feel intimate. "So, Ava, what would make this night more enjoyable for you?"
His question caught her off guard, but she refused to let it show. Instead, she met his gaze head-on, her lips curving into a sly smile. "That depends. Are you always this forward with strangers?"
"Only when they're as intriguing as you."
Her stomach flipped again, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. She wasn't the kind of woman who usually entertained flirtations with strangers—especially not billionaire strangers—but there was something about Damian Blackwood that made her want to throw caution to the wind.
"Maybe you'll find out," she said, her voice softer than she intended.
Damian's smile widened, and for the first time that night, Ava felt like she wasn't just surviving the evening—she was enjoying it.