CHAPTER 50

Heinrich’s footsteps echoed across the bar floor like the final countdown to judgment day. I sat frozen on the barstool, clutching the water glass with both hands, trying to appear like a woman who definitely wasn’t drunk out of her mind and propositioning the bartender five minutes ago.

“Sweetheart,” I started, attempting a disarming smile, “you’re early.”

Heinrich stopped just in front of me, and the intensity in his eyes made my stomach somersault—and not in the sexy, butterflies kind of way. No. This was the kind of flip you feel before you die of embarrassment.

“I’m not early,” he said calmly, his voice coated in ice. “You’re hours past your curfew.”

“I had a curfew?” I squeaked.

He didn’t answer. Just turned his gaze to the crumpled receipt I’d scribbled my number on, still sitting innocently on the bar top.

“Really?” he said, glancing back at me. “We’re doing this now?”