Justin sat back, letting the couch swallow him whole, fingers lazily drumming against his glass.
The room? Opulent as fuck. Not just "rich" but the kind of expensive that whispered, If you have to ask, you can't afford it. Plush seating, soft ambient lighting, a minibar stocked with bottles that probably had security clearance, and a bedroom behind sleek glass doors that just screamed bad decisions were made here.
And yeah, the drinks? The kind that could make your soul feel expensive.
But Justin wasn't here for the vibe.
He played along, letting Chloe give him the full tour like he was fresh off the boat. Even when she explained something he already knew—how certain whiskey brands were aged in barrels older than some countries, or how a particular cocktail had a fucking waiting list—he acted brand new.
Dropped his guard, soaked all information in, like he was an eager little sponge in a billionaire's bathtub.