He Called Me Needy, Then Lost

Bailey Glass POV:

"And you're going to remember what it's like to laugh, to flirt, to just be." Faith' s words were a prophecy I was ready to fulfill.

Faith owned "The Phoenix," a trendy bar in the heart of Portland. It was always bustling, full of laughter and good cheer. Tonight, she' d pulled out all the stops. We were in her private VIP lounge, a plush, dimly lit space tucked away from the main floor. The finest champagne flowed freely.

"Tonight is all about you, my love," she declared, pushing a chilled glass into my hand. "No budget. No worries. Just pure, unadulterated fun."

Then, she snapped her fingers, and a parade of handsome men entered the lounge. "These are for you," she said, a wicked glint in her eye. "My finest 'companions.' Their sole mission tonight is to make you smile. And flirt. Heavily."

I stared at the men, a mix of models, charming artists, and witty intellectuals. They were all gorgeous, attentive, and perfectly willing to engage in harmless flattery. They were everything August wasn't. And for the first time in a long time, I felt a genuine laugh bubble up.

August would never have tolerated this, I thought, a strange sense of liberation washing over me. He would have been jealous, possessive. He would have found fault with every single one of them. But tonight, I didn't care.

The men surrounded me, vying for my attention, making me feel beautiful and desired. It was shallow, perhaps, but after years of feeling invisible, it was a much-needed ego boost. I drank, I laughed, I danced. The haze of August, of Hollywood, of insecurity, began to lift.

Hours later, Faith grabbed my arm. "Bathroom break!" she yelled over the music.

We weaved through the crowded bar, finally reaching the quieter hallway leading to the restrooms. Faith disappeared inside, leaving me leaning against the cool wall, trying to catch my breath. The music was still a distant thrum, but here, it was almost peaceful.

I turned to check my reflection in a decorative mirror, touching up my lipstick. As I turned back, I collided with someone. Hard.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" I gasped, stumbling back.

A man stood before me. He was tall, impeccably dressed in a dark suit, with eyes that were the color of warm honey. His dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he'd just run a hand through it, giving him a charming, disheveled look. He had a strong jawline, a straight nose, and lips that looked like they were sculpted into a perpetual, gentle curve. He was, quite simply, breathtaking.

My breath hitched. Who is this man? My mind screamed. And why is Faith hiding him from me? He was a vision, a walking, talking masterpiece. Even in my slightly tipsy state, I knew he was perfect.

"No worries," he said, his voice a low, melodic rumble. "Are you alright?"

My heart did a strange flip-flop. His voice was like warm velvet. Even his voice is perfect, I thought, a little deliriously.

"I'm fine," I managed, a little too breathlessly. I couldn't tear my eyes away from him. "Actually," I said, a bold impulse seizing me, "I was just wondering… what's your story?" I winked, confident in my assessment that he was one of Faith's hired charmers.

He blinked, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "My story?"

"Yeah," I pressed, feeling emboldened. "Like, what's your specialty? Are you a struggling artist? A poet? Trust me, Faith pays well."

He chuckled, a deep, rich sound that made my stomach flutter. "I… I think there's been a misunderstanding. I'm actually an architect."

My eyes widened. "An architect? Wow. Faith really upped her game this time!" I leaned in conspiratorially. "So, you're like, a highly educated companion? Impressive. Very impressive."

He looked even more confused, but a small smile played on his lips. "I have a doctorate, yes."

A doctorate?! My jaw nearly dropped. He was practically a genius! Faith was really going all out. "Well, Dr. Architect," I said, my voice playful. "Will you join me for a drink? My treat."

He hesitated, glancing towards the main bar, then back at me. A slow smile spread across his face. "I suppose… one drink wouldn't hurt."

I beamed, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards our VIP lounge. "Come on! You're going to love my friends."

We walked back into the opulent lounge, the music momentarily forgotten. My companions, all professional charmers, immediately greeted him.

"Welcome, Jasper!" one of them announced, mistaking his hesitant entry for another hired hand. "The more the merrier!"

Jasper. So that was his name. He looked utterly bewildered, opening his mouth to speak, then closing it again. The music, thankfully or unthankfully, was just too loud. His attempts at explanation were swallowed by the bass.

I, meanwhile, was delighted. I clapped my hands. "Let's play a game! Truth or Dare!" I pulled him onto a vacant sofa, pouring him a drink. He sat stiffly at first, then, slowly, a reluctant smile touched his lips.

Just as I was about to dare him to sing a terrible karaoke song, the lounge door burst open. Faith stood there, her eyes wide, her mouth agape. She stared at me, then at Jasper, then back at me, her expression a mixture of shock and utter disbelief.

"Bailey Glass!" she shrieked, her voice cutting through the thumping music. "What in God's name are you doing?"