The Fall of Legend by Meghan March

Author:Meghan March
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781943796403
Publisher: Meghan March LLC

Twenty-Seven

Legend

The woman in the red dress and red-slicked lips is a fucking goddess meant to dare men into tempting fate. I can’t take my eyes off her as she sips the most expensive champagne the club has ever not sold and sways to the music.

She’s been here for an hour, and both the club and VIP area are more crowded than they’ve been since the night we opened. The till is rocking as people throw down more and more money for drinks. The door counter keeps climbing as people pay their cover—$100 tonight—and they spill inside.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Q says from behind me in the corridor. “You should be out there. Thanking her for making a goddamned miracle happen. Fucking kissing her ass and begging her to do it again and again.”

Q doesn’t know he shouldn’t have said it, but a new image barrels through my brain, obliterating every other thought. Me dropping to my knees to lift the skirt of that red dress so I can do a hell of a lot more than kiss her ass.

“So?” Q gives me a curious look, and I glance at him.

“So, what?”

“Are you even listening to me, man? Because you look like you’re a million fucking miles away right now.”

Not a million miles away. Just a dozen or so feet, but it might as well be the other side of the planet. Some people are untouchable, no matter how close you get to them, and Scarlett Priest is one of them.

Even though she wants to see me. I haven’t forgotten her message. I just didn’t know how the hell to answer it.

“Nope, clearly not fucking listening.”

I tear my gaze off Scarlett Priest’s face. “I’m just as surprised as you are.”

Q huffs. “You were the one who had the idea. When you saw her picture on that magazine cover, something in you knew that this girl could change everything for us. This shit isn’t random, Gabe. This is the universe handing you a fucking gift, and you need to treat it with the respect it deserves.”

He’s right. She is a fucking gift, but not for me. For the club. For the investors. For the friends and family who believed in me enough to plunk down their hard-earned cash to get behind my dream. Except, part of me, the part I’ve silenced for years, pipes up. But what if she is meant for you?

I stare through the two-way mirrored glass and watch her as she works the room like she was born to do it. She effortlessly talks and shifts her focus, making everyone around her feel completely at ease. They’re all enraptured by her, as they should be, but she doesn’t even notice. Her red dress is bold, but no bolder than the confidence she wears like a second skin. She’s captivating. She belongs.

I’ve never belonged anywhere. Not even in my own club, where I won’t show my face if I can help it, because I don’t want it plastered all over social media until I’m ready.

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