A frisson of inexplicable disappointment went through Milo as he watched Lucien take the drink he’d made and hand it to the beautiful sub waiting for him. It wasn’t like he had a real chance with Lucien, who was worlds out of Milo’s league—too rich, charming, and handsome for someone like him. Maybe what he thought was flirting was just how the dom spoke to all the subs. But still, Milo had enjoyed it.

Milo tried to focus on work, but it wasn’t nearly busy enough, unlike the nightclub’s constant chaos, and his eyes kept wandering to where Lucien sat with the sub, deep in conversation. The room’s dim lighting cast Lucien’s face in shadows contoured from his angular features. He looked powerful and mysterious from across the room, especially since the easy smile that had been present on his full lips while he talked with Milo was no longer there.

A throat cleared from beside Milo, and he hurriedly resumed polishing the glass he’d been holding. “Sorry, Mr. Winters,” he said to his boss.

Gabriel looked to where Lucien was, and instead of reprimanding Milo as he deserved for being distracted, he let out a low laugh. “You’re doing well, Milo. I’m going to make my rounds, but I’ll be near. You can ask Sam if you have any questions, or you can send him to get me or Danny if you need anything.”

“Yes, sir,” Milo said. Sam was the barback, the person who helped keep things clean, stocked, and running smoothly. He went back and forth between the VIP lounge and the regular Red Obsidian bar.

Gabriel walked out from behind the bar and began mingling with members. Milo immersed himself in his tasks, trying to put Lucien out of his mind, as he couldn’t deal with distractions at the moment. He didn’t want to think about him leaving with that pretty sub. He didn’t want to think about grabbing a copy of The Book on his break, looking up Lucien, and learning all he could about him. He didn’t want to think about him at all—he really shouldn’t.

So when he looked up and Lucien was seating himself at the bar, Milo was startled frozen for a second. Unreasonable glee swelled in his chest, all because Lucien hadn’t left with the other sub. Then Milo remembered that it shouldn’t matter.

But as Milo moved closer to Lucien, he noticed the troubled look on his face, one that the discerning bartender would know meant he either wanted to silently bury his thoughts in alcohol or let them out to the nearest listening ear. Milo hoped it would be the latter, and that perhaps he could provide that ear.

“Would you like another drink, sir?” Milo asked, wearing a carefully neutral smile.

Lucien hadn’t finished his last drink, as he’d left it behind in the booth. Milo glanced over, and the sub Lucien had spoken with was standing up and sending the back of Lucien’s head the most irate glare Milo had ever seen—which was saying a lot if you knew his Aunt Gina. The sub left, alone. He’d slammed the lounge door behind him, but no one noticed over the regular din of music and socializing.

Milo turned his focus back to see hazel eyes, a warm mix of golden brown and sage green, looking up at him. Lucien seemed to regather some of his earlier lightness as a small smile sent a crinkle around those inviting eyes. “That’d be great. Thank you, Milo.”

He loved hearing his name from that smooth, deep, resonating voice.

From below the counter, Milo took a glass for scotch, a Glencairn, and then retrieved the bottle of Aberlour 16 that Gabriel had said Lucien preferred. It wasn’t the most expensive scotch the bar had on the shelf, but it wasn’t a liquor Milo was used to serving. He carefully poured the one and a half ounces into the glass and left it neat—no ice—as appreciators of quality scotch would not want it diluted. It was a thirty-eight-dollar drink, an amount Lucien didn’t seem at all concerned with. Milo could very nearly buy a week’s worth of groceries at the cost of Lucien’s two drinks. And this fact highlighted the starkly different lives they lived.

He set the glass in front of Lucien. “Here you are, sir.”

Before Milo pulled his hand away, Lucien was there, large and strong, holding Milo’s hand to the glass and keeping him there. The moment stretched, or perhaps it lasted only as long as a single thump of the heart, but either way, Milo found he liked the feeling of being held by Lucien, caught within the dom’s grasp. Then Lucien let go and took his drink with him.

“How long have you been bartending?” Lucien asked, as casually as anything—as if he hadn’t just arrested Milo’s heart with that too-fleeting touch.

It was an easy question with an easy answer, but Milo fumbled to respond, and he hoped he could keep his voice steady. He still felt Lucien’s warmth imprinted on his hand.

“About two years, and I’ve been with Obsidian for one,” he said, relieved he managed to sound like a normal person.

“And when did you cross into Red Obsidian?” Lucien’s voice had deepened, his eyes seeming to go darker. He was asking how long Milo had been a member of the club—how long he’d been there as a sub.

“Eight months, sir,” Milo said, feeling his face warming.

Lucien’s answering smile contained blatant interest, and Milo’s mouth went suddenly dry, and he swallowed reflexively. Before Lucien could reply something that would further reduce Milo into a useless puddle, he was saved by a group of four members coming up to the bar. Lucien nodded and canted his head toward them, as if releasing Milo and giving him permission to return to work.

While Milo crafted four complicated cocktails, Lucien slowly drank his scotch and watched him, not even trying to hide that he was. Milo attempted to keep calm and suave while he mixed, stirred or shook, and poured. He tried to show that he was skilled and capable, but being the subject of the dom’s full attention made Milo feel a whole new level of self-consciousness.

When he finally finished and served the last cocktail, Milo busied himself with wiping down the bar. He kept close-ish to Lucien, to make himself available but not intrusive in case Lucien wanted to talk or keep up the flirting. Gabriel sat next to him instead, so Milo moved further away to give them some privacy despite being a bit disappointed. Still, the bar wasn’t that large, and Milo couldn’t help overhearing pieces of their conversation.

“So, what did Jax have to say?” Gabriel asked.

“He wanted to get back together,” Lucien said, looking down into his glass. “He actually had the gall to suggest we come here to have sex with other people when we need it. You know I have nothing against open relationships or polyamory—it works well for you and Danny—but Jax knows that’s not what I want.”

Gabriel and Lucien seemed close, good friends perhaps. Gabriel extended an equal parts sympathetic and angry-on-his-behalf look, but before Milo could eavesdrop more, he was called away again to serve patrons.

Milo poured two glasses of dry red wine, made a martini, restocked the olive inventory with Sam, and put orders into the system for the members’ bar tabs—all while his mind whirled around Lucien’s words to Gabriel. The sub had been an ex of Lucien’s, and they were not getting back together. Milo kept having to remind himself that it wasn’t his business.

When things slowed again, he checked on the status of Lucien’s drink. Since it was technically his second—even if he hadn’t finished the first—Milo couldn’t pour him another, but he’d be there to offer him something non-alcoholic if he wanted. The glass was still mostly full as Lucien kept conversing with Gabriel.

“So are you ready to get back out there again?” Gabriel asked. “I don’t see you wearing the white wristband.”

Milo was entirely too interested in the answer, so he turned his attention to something else. He found the bottle of Lucien’s preferred scotch that he’d left down and went to place it back on the shelf.

At five foot six, Milo wasn’t the tallest person around, so he had to stretch to reach the top shelf where the seldomly ordered and higher-end spirits were kept.

“Well,” Lucien began to answer, his voice projected and louder than before, “I’m interested in the cute new bartender you have, a dark-haired boy with the most stunning eyes I’ve ever seen.”

Milo jolted, just as he had let go of the bottle. It remained secure on the shelf, but Milo’s hand bumped into the one right next to it—a twenty-five-year bottle of Glenlivet because, of course. Milo watched helplessly, in almost comical slow-motion, as the five-hundred-dollar scotch seemed to skip merrily off the shelf, down to its own demise.

It shattered on the floor in a burst of glass and amber liquid. Then there was absolute silence, and Milo wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole.