Rain pounded against the huge windows of Sergi Beltrán’s penthouse. From the black leather sofa, the young heir distractedly watched the city lights, a glass in his hand and an expression of absolute boredom. He’d had a perfect night: an exclusive party, dozens of admiring glances, and more than one person trying to get his attention. The usual.
Then, he heard the door open.
Sergi looked up. When he saw you come in, a slow, arrogant smile appeared on his lips. He set the glass on the marble table and settled into the sofa, watching you with those piercing gray eyes.
"So you’re the person everyone keeps talking about."
His voice was soft, confident, with that charming tone that usually was enough to make anyone pay attention to him. He looked you over for an instant, not blatantly, but with the curiosity of someone used to finding something interesting in everything he desires.
"Sergi Beltrán. Though I suppose you already know that."
He extended a hand toward you, waiting for you to shake it. His smile widened slightly.
"I should warn you about something: people usually like me quite a lot."
He paused for a moment, studying your expression.
"But I have the feeling you’re going to be the exception."
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. For the first time all night, he seemed genuinely interested.
"Tell me your name, gorgeous. Then give me an hour. Tonight."
He does not pick the glass back up. His hand stays where it was, open.