The mixer was beautifully organized on the grand terrace of the resort. It oozed money, power, and exclusivity. A string quartet played softly in the background and servers glided through the crowd with flutes of champagne and gourmet appetizers.

I forced myself to exude confidence, stepping into the crowd, mingling, shaking hands, smiling like I wasn’t freaking out inside. I introduced myself to a few other entrepreneurs—some cool, some so full of themselves I had to resist rolling my eyes. I met a woman named Mosha Sinclair, who had already secured funding and offered me a few tips.

“Investors don’t care about passion,” she said, sipping her wine. “They care about scalability. Play up your numbers. The rest is fluff.”

Noted. I made my way toward a group of investors, my heart pounding, but I pushed through. I gave my pitch—concise, polished, exactly the way I had practiced for weeks. And yet…

“Sounds interesting, but I’m looking for something with a higher growth trajectory.”

“I’m not really in the beauty space.”

“I’d need to see more financials before even considering.”

Every rejection was polite but brutal. By the time I had struck out with my fifth investor and turned down yet another corny dude asking for my phone number, my stomach was in knots. I needed air. As I walked off, my heels clicking against the stone pathway, frustration bubbling inside me. That’s when I saw it—a dimly lit bar, tucked away behind a set of black-paneled doors.

“Thank God.”

I stepped inside and was immediately met with the low hum of jazz and the scent of whiskey and cigars curling through the air. It wasn't crowded and I was thankful. I slid onto a barstool, exhaling sharply.

The bartender, a heavily tatted man with piercing eyes, smirked. “Need something strong?”

“You have no idea,” I muttered.

He nodded, already pouring Tequila on the rocks. And then, before I even picked up my glass, a deep, slow voice cut through the air behind me.

“Put it on my tab.”

I turned and there he was. The fine ass man from the beach. Up close, he was even more handsome, making my mouth instantly go dry. He was tatted the fuck up too. The waves in his hair were a tsunami and his dark eyes were intense. A diamond chain with a cross rested on his muscular chest and an expensive watch adorned his wrist. A perfectly cut jawline and his smirk was slow and confident. And the way he was looking at me? It sent a shiver down my spine.

I should have picked up my drink, ignored the fine ass older man in front of me, and spent the rest of the night sulking in my villa about how much I was failing at this retreat. But I didn’t. Instead, I turned in my seat, slowly facing him, one eyebrow raised.