Nell wasn't even supposed to be here. Her carefully crafted evening had involved a blanket, a steaming cup of tea, and a book that would transport her to another world. But her friend had been relentless. One drink, Nell. Just one. You need to get out more.
So here she was, sitting in a trendy downtown cocktail lounge at the bar, nursing a drink that wasn't nearly as exciting as the novel she'd abandoned. At a nearby table, her friends gossiped about work, weekend plans, and the latest office drama, but Nell's mind kept wandering back to the soft, quiet comfort of her couch. She was already mentally drafting her escape plan when a voice—smooth, too confident, and unmistakably pompous—cut through the noise.
"Well, well, well…who do we have here."
Nell's body stiffened before she even turned around. That voice. There was no mistaking it. Sure enough, there he was. Callen—or, rather, Dexter Hughes as he was tonight apparently—lounging against the bar with a whiskey in hand. His posture screamed that he owned the room, his eyes gleaming with that obnoxious, too-knowing glint that always made her want to roll her eyes.
His suit was a work of art—sleek, expensive, and far flashier than anything Callen would ever wear. The man had a presence that was nothing short of an aura. He exuded arrogance, the kind that made her want to immediately walk in the other direction. And yet, here she was, trapped in the same space as him.
"Oh no," Nell muttered under her breath.
She tried to ignore him, staring harder at her drink like it held the key to her escape, but he was already making his way over, weaving towards her with all the grace of a predator closing in on its prey. She could feel his gaze before he even spoke.
"Come on," he drawled, sliding into the empty seat beside her. "I know you weren't planning on ignoring me."
Nell sighed dramatically and took a slow sip of her drink, forcing herself to turn and face him. When she did, she raised an eyebrow—cool, indifferent. "Dexter."
His smirk was infuriatingly wide. "Ah, so you do remember me."
"Unfortunately," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
He chuckled, shaking his head as if she were a riddle he was determined to solve. "Now, Claire, is that any way to greet an old friend?"
Nell's lips quirked. Oh, this was the game tonight. She could play along.
"Sorry, didn't recognize you right away," she said, studying him like he was some bizarre specimen. "You've gotten a little more... smug than I remember."
Callen—no, Dexter—grinned like a cat that had just caught a canary. "Smug? No, no, no. Confident. There's a very important difference."
"Uh-huh," Nell drawled, arms crossed, doing her best to look unimpressed. "So, tell me, Dexter. What business ventures are you planning to swindle people into tonight?"
Dexter let out a deep, throaty laugh, leaning back with the casual ease of someone who had everything in the world at their fingertips. "Oh I don't swindle. I create opportunities." He paused for dramatic effect, savoring the moment before adding, "For the right people, of course."
"Of course," Nell said dryly, rolling her eyes.
Before Dexter could continue his spiel, a man—sharp suit, sharp eyes—approached, casting a quick glance between them. He raised an eyebrow.
"Hughes," the man said, eyeing Nell with a strange curiosity. "Didn't realize you were in the habit of making new acquaintances."
Dexter didn't miss a beat. He flashed Nell a slow, devilish smile before turning back to the man with the ease of someone who was always in control.
"Well, you know me," he said, voice smooth as silk. "I have a talent for spotting potential."
Nell nearly choked on her drink. Oh, he is enjoying this way too much.
Her patience, already hanging by a thread, snapped. She slid off her stool with a deliberate grace, meeting Dexter's eyes one last time. "Well, Dexter, as fun as this has been, I really should be getting back to my friends."
The smirk didn't falter, but she caught the faintest flicker of something more in his eyes—something that almost resembled amusement.
Before she could turn to leave, he leaned in, just enough for her to hear, his voice low and teasing. "You're no fun, Claire."
She huffed out a laugh, but the sound was sharp, almost biting. "And you're far too good at being insufferable."
With that, she turned her back on him, walking away with the deliberate, confident stride of someone who knew they'd just won a battle—even if it wasn't the one she thought she was fighting.
As she joined her friends, she could feel Dexter's - no Callen's - gaze lingering on her like heat on her skin. She had a very strong feeling this wasn't the last time they'd cross paths.
And honestly? She couldn't decide if she dreaded it… or secretly looked forward to it.