"What was that?"

Harry is watching me, head tilted, amused—but slightly wary.

I smirk. "What was what?"

"Absolut Style?" He narrows his eyes, though his lips twitch upward. "Are you making fun of me?"

Oh, this is precious. He actually thinks I'm mocking him.

I lean forward, resting my elbow on the bar, and grin. "No, I'd never do that."

His gaze narrows further.

I continue, all innocence. "I was just stating the obvious—Absolut vodka, by none other than Mr. Styles himself."

I tuck my hair behind my ear, watching as his smirk slowly returns.

"You're beautiful, you know that?"

The compliment comes out of nowhere, his voice dipping just enough to make it clear he means it.

I don't even hesitate. "You too."

He blinks, caught off guard. But come on. He knows he's beautiful. It's only fair to reciprocate.

Still, before he gets the wrong idea, I add, "But don't think for a minute that looks are everything."

He raises an eyebrow. "Oh? Looks are trouble, then?"

"Exactly."

"Meaning?"

I lift my drink, giving him a knowing look. "Meaning, people assume you're just a pretty face and nothing more."

His lips twitch, intrigued. "Care to elaborate?"

I gesture toward the music, too loud for a proper conversation. "Maybe some other time."

Harry nods, but his curiosity lingers in his eyes.

Letting him get back to work, I scan the crowd for Ed—and find him mid-hunt.

Oh dear Lord.

He's on the dance floor, hands awkwardly gripping a blonde's hips, his face buried in her hair like he's sniffing her.

Jesus, Ed, pull it together.

I shake my head, moving to the side bar, where I miraculously find an open stool. Just as I sit down, I feel a tap on my shoulder.

I turn—and come face-to-face with a woman who immediately rubs me the wrong way.

She's tall, mid-thirties, with impossibly sleek blonde hair and long red nails that perfectly match her tiny silver dress. Her expression is pure arrogance.

"Harry doesn't like girls."

I blink. What?

"...Harry?" I ask, thrown off. "Harry the bartender?"

She gives me a look. "Don't play dumb. You know exactly who I mean."

Ohhh, this is rich.

I tilt my head. "Wait... so, he's gay? Huh. Didn't seem gay to me." I pause, pretending to think. "Unless... maybe he's bi?"

Her expression darkens.

"He is definitely not into little girls," she spits, her gaze traveling over me with barely concealed disdain.

I exhale sharply. "Well, good to know he's not a paedophile then."

Her lips twitch—like she wants to slap me but is holding herself back.

"You're a smartass, aren't you?" She flips her hair, adjusting the neckline of her dress like she needs to reclaim her dominance.

I smile sweetly. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

But then it clicks. Her voice.

I know this woman's voice.

Ding, ding, ding—we have a winner.

My eyes widen in faux realization. "Wait a minute... oh my God, I almost didn't recognize you!"

She frowns. "You know me?"

I lean in, dropping my voice into a sultry moan.

"Harder, Harry. Harder, Harry."

Her face drains of color.

I grin. "Just needed to be sure."

The secondhand embarrassment burns through me as I recall the exact moment I heard her going at it with Harry in the club's bathroom.

She glares. "What?"

"Oh, sorry—the echo of the restroom made your voice sound deeper."

Her fingers tighten around her glass.

For a second, I think she's going to slap me.

But then—her hand jerks forward, aiming her drink at me.

Oh hell no.

I grab her wrist hard, stopping her just in time.

She gasps, eyes wide.

"You're messing with the wrong girl," I tell her, voice dangerously low. My nails dig into her skin, just enough to make her squirm. "I'm not after Harry. So don't get your knickers in a twist."

I finally let go, watching as she snatches her arm back.

"Besides," I add, tilting my head, "if you have to warn other women about your man... then he's not your man."

I watch the words hit her like a slap.

And then—I walk away, leaving her standing there, fuming.

My mood is shot.

This is why I hate territorial women. If my boyfriend ever cheated, I'd confront him, not the other girl. She doesn't owe me anything. He does.

Shaking it off, I head back toward the dance floor to tell Ed I'm leaving.

If I can find him, that is.

I scan the crowd. Nothing.

I wait by the bar. Still nothing.

Sylvia appears, sliding a drink toward me.

"I see one of Harry's women got to you," she says knowingly.

I take the glass. "On the house?"

She nods.

I take a sip. Not bad.

"Yeah, but she's barking up the wrong tree," I mutter, not wanting to give the encounter any more weight.

Sylvia smirks. "Are you sure about that?"

She gestures to the left.

I follow her gaze—and find Harry.

Watching me.

As soon as our eyes meet, he lifts his drink and mouths, cheers.

I hold his gaze for a brief second before lifting my own glass, but nothing more.

Loud and clear.

"Harry is just an acquaintance," I tell Sylvia. "A friend at best. She's definitely barking up the wrong tree."

I look for Ed one last time—but still, nothing.

Fine. I'll just text him and meet him at work tomorrow.

I move toward Harry, stopping a few steps away, waiting until he notices me.

He does.

I wave. "Thanks again for the interview! And the tea. You're a legend!"

He raises an eyebrow but grins.

Then, I turn to leave.

But just as I take a step—

I freeze.

Something ice cold runs down my back.

She. Fucking. Didn't.