Chapter 1: The Slap Heard Around the Club

If you ask what the boldest thing a guy can say in an American nightclub, it’s gotta be: “Let’s see some new faces!”

The second those words left my mouth, I spotted my ex-girlfriend striding in, flanked by a squad of women who looked straight off a fashion runway.

I flicked open my pack of Marlboros, the cellophane crackling between my fingers. The sharp scent of tobacco filled my nose as I lit up, exhaling a cloud that hung in the neon haze. With a swagger I barely felt, I pointed at her—my pulse kicked up a notch. Memories of our breakup hit me, but I shoved them down. “I’m into girls who aren’t just conventionally pretty—they’ve got that spark. I want her.”

The manager’s eyes went wide for a split second, the room holding its breath. Then she stormed over and slapped me, so hard my cheek stung: “That’s the client rep!”

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Our company was this close to landing a major account, so the boss invited a few of us core team members out to a downtown Chicago nightclub to let loose.

“This is the most exclusive spot on the riverfront. It’s packed every night. Without the right connections, you’re not getting in. I brought you here to expand your horizons.”

The city lights outside glittered on the river, neon ripples dancing through the window. The club had that old-money, Windy City vibe—velvet ropes, bouncers in tailored suits, and a line snaking around the block. Inside, the bass thumped beneath laughter, and the air was thick with a blend of expensive perfume and whiskey. Goose Island beer bottles clinked on tables beside Old Fashioned cocktails.

“Absolutely, Mr. Ellison. It’s always a privilege to follow your lead.” I took out a Marlboro and lit it for the boss, the flame briefly illuminating my anxious fingers.

He grinned, taking the cigarette with a flourish, like he’d just won an award. He was in his element—one of those guys who lived for the spotlight.

I’d bought that pack just for tonight, nerves buzzing in my chest as I tried to play it cool.

The club lived up to the hype—even the women were next-level.

Every type you could imagine was here.

Some wore slinky evening gowns, some rocked cocktail waitress getups, others were decked out in sharp business suits. They were all statuesque—5’9” and up, legs for days, waists so narrow they looked carved. As they entered our private room, they lined up and greeted us with playful smiles: “Hey there, gentlemen!”

Their voices were sweet as honey, with just a hint of teasing.

Mr. Ellison was practically drooling, and the rest of us were stunned into silence.

Seriously, what guy could resist this scene?

The room felt electric, like we’d crashed a GQ cover shoot. The music thumped low, lights flashing over the crowd, and the scent of cologne mixed with something sugary from the bar. Even Marcus, usually glued to his phone, couldn’t stop staring.

Mr. Ellison picked a woman with stylish glasses and a sleek black silk uniform—probably wishing his own secretary looked half as good.

Our tech nerd, Marcus Flynn, chose a round-faced girl who was soft, adorable, and had a laugh that made you want to hear it again.

Me? First time here, and I felt like a rookie at the NFL draft—awkward, palms sweaty, barely able to meet anyone’s eyes.

Everyone but me had made their picks.

The club’s marketing manager flashed a friendly grin: “No worries, I’ll call in a few more ladies. Take your time, guys.”

She murmured into her walkie-talkie, and soon the door swung open. In walked a woman in a crisp white suit—tailored pants, blazer, totally chic and commanding.

Looking closer—my stomach dropped. Was that Autumn Ramirez?

My ex.

Two years ago, she dumped me for some chubby, big-eared trust-fund kid.

Now, karma had swung around—she didn’t land the big money, and ended up working as a hostess at a nightclub.

Tonight, I was the big spender, and she was at my mercy. Or so I thought.

With that in mind, I straightened up, trying to look unbothered.

I waved her over: “Ma’am—no, manager—her, I want her.”

The marketing manager raised an eyebrow, glancing between Autumn and me.

She hesitated, then said, “Hm?”

Suddenly, my boss rushed over and slapped me, the sound echoing like a gunshot. The whole room froze. My face burned, every eye was on me, and my heart thudded in my chest. Swagger? Gone in a flash.