Immortal Dreams (59 page)

A long, dreadful line wraps around the corner of a large building, and my breath rushes out in a frustrated groan when I realize this is our stop.

I wore the wrong heels to brave this line.

The door opens as our driver greets us with a smile.  "We're here Mrs. Whitman."

Clara smiles, giggling a little at her premature surname, and climbs out first.  The other girls squeal excitedly and then sigh when they see the ridiculous line there is just to get in.

Clara smirks smugly as she takes my hand and leads me to the front entrance, bypassing a bunch of pissed-off glares.

"We should be on the list.  Check for Whitman," she confidently spouts to the bouncer.

He stares at the list of names and then looks up and nods.  He ushers us in through the decadent doors, and we can hear the frustration pouring out of the people who have most likely been waiting for hours.

"Wow," I mumble very loudly.  "Henry really did pull out all the stops."

She smiles with a twinge of pride in her eyes.

"He's sweet like that."

I can hear the music beating as my body jitters involuntarily from the heavy vibrations.  The dark lighting offers a perfect backdrop for the colorful laser show splashing around.  The bar extends across the entirety of one wall, and waitresses walk around in dresses that look to have cost more than my usual wardrobe.

"I need a drink," I yell over the music.

"So do I," Clara screams back.

We walk arm in arm to the bar, and as soon as we reach it, a guy yells in my ear.

"I'll get you whatever you want, baby."

Oh gross
. 
Say it don't spray it,
I think while wiping my ear with the back of my hand.  I certainly don't want his spit in my ear.  I'd need to drink the whole bar before I let this ape buy me a drink.

"Sorry, I'm with her," I murmur very misleadingly while wrapping my arm around Clara's waist to add to the charade.

Clara laughs a little as she orders for us.  The guy frowns with a slighted attitude, but he quickly finds a new prey to stalk.

Sleaze
.

"Here," Clara yells while handing me my drink.

The other girls join us and order their own drinks while I begin guzzling mine.  I don't plan on getting laid, but I definitely plan on getting drunk.

"We're going to the VIP room.  It's supposed to be quieter," Clara yells.

I nod appreciatively, and we start climbing the spiraled stairs to the left of us.  After Clara drops her name on the clipboard-wielding bouncer that is guarding the door, we walk into a far less obnoxious room.

The lessened blare of the music helps to alleviate the pressure inside my head, and the congestion is no longer an issue.  People are gathered around several monitors overhead.  Some people observe the view from the large window that hangs over the dance floor.

It's like two different worlds in one place.  The downstairs area holds the wild, savage partiers, and the upstairs realm plays host to civility.  I'm not sure which one I should be classed in, but I prefer the quieter room to the loud rage going on below.

There are tables set up all around, and ours is marked with a card - "Whitman," it says proudly.

Clara orders me another dirty martini while I keep my gaze on the crazy scene below.  It does look kind of fun, but I need more to drink before I dare to join the partiers.

When I look up, I see a guy in his late-twenties propped against the wall and staring at one of the monitors broadcasting the news.

Really?  He's watching the news?
  And Clara thinks I don't know how to have fun.

His tall, strong body offers mystery beneath the perfectly tailored suit.  One hand holds his drink, while the other hides in his pocket.  Of course it is his left hand hiding, so I have no idea if he is married or not.  Perhaps he's hiding it intentionally because he's married but is keeping his options open.

Creep
.

As long as I think he's a creep, I won't feel the need to approach him.  Considering he's a breathtaking slab of perfection, I need that creep-persona to hold me back.

Damn, he's hot.

Another drink is set in front of me as soon as I guzzle down my previous one, but my eyes stay fixated on the dark-haired masterpiece still staring at the news.

"He's hot," Clara whispers, and my drink sloshes when my startled reaction requires me to jump.

I roll my eyes, and she giggles a little at my reflexively clumsy action.

"He's probably married," I mumble, letting my eyes point to the hidden left hand.

A waitress comes over and hands him a paper and pen.  His left hand emerges from its hiding spot to sign the paper for her, and Clara smiles deviously.

There's no wedding band.  So much for that barring me from doing something foolish.  I haven't had a problem denying all temptations for almost a year, but here I am crumbling for an absolute stranger.

"There's no way he's single.  He's way too hot, and it's pretty obvious he's got money," I rattle off nervously.

"There's only one to know for sure."

The waitress rests my fourth glass in front of me, and I almost inhale it in order to steady my trembling hands with liquid courage.  Clara laughs as she motions for another.

Moments later, I finally find the courage I've been drinking for.

Clara whispers in my ear, "It's now or never,
Alexius
."

I smile a little as I try to dive into the false persona she has instructed me to take on.  When I stand up, she grips her hands in front of her nervously, and I try to steady my sloshing nerves by taking a deep breath - even though it doesn't work at all.

What am I doing? 
Oh this sucks
.

I slowly make my way over to the beautiful stranger, and I strut like a confident predator.  My sexy stalk is in vain though, because he doesn't even take notice of my approach.  I clear my throat awkwardly in a rude attempt to draw his attention, and his eyes slowly cut to meet mine.

Seriously
?  He shouldn't be allowed to look this good because now I feel all the more intimidated.  It's as though I'm watching all my confidence run away while waving a white flag.

His perfect eyes are smoky blue, almost like the ocean on a cloudy day.  His face is so... wow - perfectly chiseled and strong.  His body is so... wow - hard, lean, and fascinatingly postured.

I am way out of my league here.  What the hell was I thinking?  Even with my six inch heels, he is still towering over me.  His dark hair is tousled to perfection, but his snobby gaze offers me little welcome.

"Yes?" he asks impatiently, snapping me out of my gawking idiocy.

Oh no!  I forgot my witty line I prepared for my opening.

"Hi," I mumble like a ridiculously nervous juvenile.

He shows how unimpressed he is when his condescending stare scolds my eyes.  He turns his body to face mine, and I'm suddenly trembling like an idiot.

Oh please get this over with.

"Hi," he says coldly to express his dispassionate attitude toward my presence.

"I was wondering if you maybe you wanted to dance?" I ask like a bumbling loser.

I was wondering if you maybe you wanted to dance?  Really?  What the hell is wrong with me?

"No thanks, sweetie.  I'm not interested," he says with a laugh.

Oh my damn.  How humiliating.

I quickly turn and take off back to my table.  He resumes staring at the news until a man walks up to him smiling.

"Devin.  Nice to see you.  Are you ready to run over the schematics?"

I listen and hear his voice warmly responding to the man.  It almost pisses me off to hear how smooth his tone can be shortly after he just stabbed me in the eyes with his ice cold stare.

"Yes I am, though it's quite the odd scene you've chosen for business."

The man laughs.  "I like the young air in here.  It reminds me how life isn't always about work.  I think a youthful surrounding is good for you, considering you've forgotten how young you are."

Devin.  His name is Devin.  It suits him since it's so close to devil. 
Cruel, hot devil
.  If I could crawl into a hole and hide for eternity I would.

"That was brutal," Melissa, Henry's sister whispers.

I swear I think that bitch enjoyed watching me get my knees chopped off.

"Yeah.  I know.  I was kind of there," I mumble, my humiliation seeping through every orifice of my body.

Clara sympathetically rests her hand on my shoulder while adding, "He has to be gay."

I let a laugh escape, and I see him almost smirk.  He couldn't have heard her though.  I have to stop looking at him.  It's so hard to do when he's right there, his ruthlessly sexy body right in my line of view.

"Let's go dance.  I'll drink on the way down," I murmur distractedly.

I pray I drink enough to forgot this ever happened.  I'll gladly expel my memories tonight.  No matter how ungraceful or how undignified hugging a toilet might seem, it'll leave me with more self-respect than his brutal rejection did.

Clara takes my hand as our group starts descending the intimidating staircase that feels to be wobbling beneath my inebriated body which is stilted by the absurd extra inches.  My hand grasps firmly to the railing in order to hold myself steady, given the fact I'm not used to wearing heels.

I'm happy when I feel the level floor beneath me, though it too feels as though it's moving.  As soon as my body starts swaying to the music, I feel alien hands resting on my hips.  I turn to meet a guy who is eye level with me, and he's smiling with a seductive grin that's not seducing me in the least.

I pull his hands off of me and dismiss him with a wave of my hand.  I roll my eyes and resume my dance with Clara.  She starts laughing against the deafening music when a new set of hands find their way around my waist, and I can feel someone's body pressed against mine from behind.

I remove myself from the clutches of the latest wolf and pull Clara with me.

She yells loudly, "See.  I told you that guy has to be gay.  These men can't stay away from the sexy Alexius Smith."

I laugh a little at her incorrigible efforts to rebuild my confidence.  I keep rebuffing the attempts of the numerous men trying to weasel their way into a dance with me.  They always want what they can't have.  That's where I went wrong with Mr. Business Suit.  No man wants a girl who wants them because they're fucking assholes like that.  I knew better, but Alexius didn't.  Poor girl had to learn the hard way.

"You're hot," a drunk guy yells in my ear.

The alcohol on his breath is strong enough to get a sober bystander drunk.  Holy crap.

Clara laughs louder, and then an old, familiar song starts playing.  I can see the excitement budding in her eyes, and I immediately start backing up.

"Hell no," I object to her silent question.

"Please.  It's been so long.  I need this," she pleads in a whiny, childlike tone.

"No.  I'm not doing our eighth grade, made-up dance in a New York club.  It was bad back then, and now it would just be pathetic.  I can't believe they're even playing this old song."

"I asked them to.  Please dance with me.  We're never going to see these people again," she whimpers while pouting her lips.

I start laughing a little as I point to my shoes.

"I can barely walk in these.  There's no way."

She pulls off her shoes and hands them to Melissa.  She motions for me to do the same, and I follow her lead with my begrudged, defeated motion.  It's her weekend.  It's not as though I haven't already suffered through one humiliation.  At least this one will make Clara happy.

She makes a clearing on the dance floor, and we wait for our beat.  Our feet start mimicking the old dance steps we taught ourselves so long ago, and I laugh with each turn and twist.  Everyone is clapping as we chuckle our way through our silly moves.

When the song ends, we take a bow to the crowd who are drunk enough to applaud our sad little number.  But a big, brawny man stalks toward us with a very disapproving gaze.

"You have to wear shoes.  It's dress code," he adamantly admonishes.

Clara and I both giggle like embarrassed children from our scolding as we pull our heels back on.

"Oops," she mutters.

I laugh a little more until a new guy drapes his arm across my shoulders.

"You're a good dancer," he yells.

Oh good grief.  "No thanks," I say loudly, my voice barely audible over the music.

"I didn't ask anything," he says with a puzzled gaze.

"No, but you're leading up to it.  I'm saving you some time."

Brazen or bitchy?  I'm not sure.

"You're a bitch," he says while glaring at me.

Apparently he thought it was more bitchy than brazen.  I can deal with that.  I've been called worse.

"Yes I am.  Yet another reason you should find someone else to bug."

He drops his arm and towers over me threateningly.  I'm not used to someone getting this pissed in such a crowded place.  I might have finally crossed a line.

Clara yells, "Get lost.  We don't want any trouble.  We're just trying to enjoy our night."

His eyes reveal a stone-cold glare, one he refuses to relinquish.  Alcohol and anger... not good.  I should have known better.

"So am I.  Your bitch friend thinks she's too damn good to even speak to me."

The music tapers off as the sound system starts playing a lower, slower song.

"That's because she is," a new voice interjects.

I swallow hard when I see Devin staring down at the guy who's accosting me.  He steps between the guy and me before speaking again.

"She's with me.  If you have a problem with that, then you need to deal with me, not her.  Got it?" Devin growls.

His voice is so much sexier when it's being protective rather than cold and dismissive.  Why is he doing this though?

The other guy throws his hands up in surrender.  "Sorry dude.  Didn't know."

He skulks off, and Clara abandons my side as Devin turns to meet my eyes.

"You okay?" he asks without having to yell over the softer music.