Chapter 2

Clara’s POV

The moment she took the stage, I couldn’t look away.

She adjusted the sheet music with a careful touch, her fingers lightly grazing the keys as if testing the instrument’s warmth. There was something hesitant in the way she settled into the seat, the way she inhaled sharply like she was preparing for battle.

I took a slow sip of my whiskey, eyes never leaving her.

"Clara, seriously?" Katherine’s voice dripped with irritation as she slid her arm around my shoulders. "You’re checking her out? She looks like a child."

I peeled her fingers off me lazily, gaze still fixed on the girl at the keyboard. "She’s old enough to be in the bar."

Katherine huffed, crossing her arms. "Even if she is, she’s not your type."

"And what exactly is my type?" I mused, letting the question hang as I lifted my glass again. "Spare me the jealousy. You know I don’t do relationships."

"That doesn’t mean I want to watch you drool over some naïve girl," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

Before I could respond, George’s voice echoed through the speakers.

"Hey, everyone! We’ll be starting in five. Also, quick heads-up—our usual pianist bailed, so Ayleen here stepped in last-minute. Cut her some slack!"

I noted the way he hesitated, clearly bracing the audience for potential disaster.

Ayleen.

I let the name roll in my mind as I studied her again. She looked too soft for this kind of scene, too polished, too… sweet.

And yet—

The moment she touched the keys, something shifted.

Ayleen’s POV

The first few notes were shaky. My fingers needed a moment to adjust, to feel out the unfamiliar instrument, the unfamiliar band. But as the melody settled into the air, I found my rhythm.

The nerves melted, the hesitation faded, and soon, I wasn’t just playing—I was feeling it.

The crowd responded instantly. The clinking of glasses and idle chatter dimmed as people tuned in, some swaying, some tapping along to the beat. I could feel the energy shift, the tension in my chest transforming into something exhilarating.

By the third song, I was grinning, fingers gliding effortlessly over the keys.

As the final note settled into the air, Marcus rushed up to me, eyes wide with excitement. "I told you! You’re brilliant!"

"You saved the night," George added, clapping me on the shoulder.

The adrenaline still coursed through me, my hands trembling slightly from the rush. "Was it okay?"

"Totally!" They spoke at the same time, making me laugh.

Serena practically tackled me. "That was amazing!"

I grabbed a bottle of water, gulping it down, trying to steady my heartbeat. But then—

A shiver.

The distinct, undeniable feeling of being watched.

"Clara’s over there! Let’s go say hey," Marcus announced, already dragging George toward the back.

Curious, I followed their gaze—

And my heart skipped.

She sat in the corner like she owned the room, exuding effortless power.

Her skin—bronzed, kissed by the sun—complemented by warm brown hair that framed sharp cheekbones. But it was her eyes that held me still. Hazel, playful, unreadable.

She crossed her legs, the movement smooth and deliberate, drawing my attention to the fitted black skirt hugging her thighs. Her white silk button-up clung to her in a way that suggested it was tailored just for her. Sharp. Professional. Dangerous.

And she was looking at me.

Not casually. Not in passing.

It was the kind of look that sent a shiver down my spine. A gaze meant for prey.

I quickly turned back to Serena, my stomach twisting with something unfamiliar. But my friend was too busy with Edward, her hands all over his chest as she laughed into his ear. I groaned in disgust.

Marcus and George were already at the woman’s table. She greeted them with a more relaxed expression, the tension in her face easing as she leaned back into her seat. They knew her well.

That’s when I noticed the others at the table—four more people, all dressed in sharp, formal attire. Corporate. A striking contrast to the dimly lit, whiskey-soaked bar.

I frowned as another woman at the table ran her manicured fingers up Clara’s thigh in a clear, possessive gesture.

Was this a gay bar?

I glanced around, scanning the room. A few same-sex couples. Some straight ones. A mix.

New York was… different. It would take time to adjust.

"Break’s over, Ayleen," Marcus said, suddenly placing a hand on my shoulder.

"S-Sure," I stammered, still slightly overwhelmed.

As we walked back to the stage, I couldn’t help but ask, "So, Clara… is she a friend?"

Marcus let out a dry laugh. "Oh, god no. She’s my cousin. And my boss."

I blinked. "Your boss?"

"Yeah, she owns a private law firm. Filthy rich. And a total bitch.

I raised an eyebrow. "That’s not a nice way to talk about your cousin."

Marcus shrugged. "I love her, but trust me, she’s not good company."

"What do you mean?"

He hesitated. "Look, Ayleen. You’re sweet. Girls like Clara? They break people." His gaze flickered toward her. "Friendly warning."

I wanted to ask more, but George called us back to the stage for the second set.

My stomach twisted.

We started playing again, but I felt off.

I made the mistake of glancing back toward Clara’s table—

But she was gone.

A breath of relief left me. Then, just as I was about to look away—

I caught movement at the entrance.

She was there.

Leaning against the doorframe, watching me.

Waiting.

The moment our eyes met, she lifted her hand, fingers moving in a slow, deliberate wave.

Then—just as my face warmed—she winked.

I barely registered Marcus calling my name.

Once the show ended, all I wanted to do was go home and sleep off this hectic day. But instead, everyone returned to the table for drinks.

"Ayleen, thank you so much for your help. We didn’t discuss your fee?" George asked, scratching the back of his neck like he was afraid of my answer.

"I’m not sure… how do you usually do this?" I answered shyly, unsure of how these things worked.

"Well, we usually split the pay equally between us, but considering we needed you and it was short notice… we thought you’d ask for more," he admitted.

"Oh god, no! Of course not! I wouldn’t use your kindness like that. Splitting the pay sounds fair," I reassured him with a kind smile.

"Really?!" he yelped, surprised but also relieved.

"Would you look at that! Looks like an angel and acts like one," Marcus added, smirking.

"Now, another topic… would you like to join us permanently? I’m done with Steven." George’s voice held clear frustration at the missing pianist.

I froze.

"You… are you offering me a job?" I asked, completely stunned.

"Yeah. Are you interested?"

"OF COURSE SHE IS!" Serena shouted before I could even think.

That night, I walked home with a job.

And a pair of hazel eyes still burning in my mind.