Ethan sighed and stared at the expensive bottle of champagne in his hand.

I should pop the cork and drink the whole damn thing.

A wry grin tugged at Ethan’s lips at that thought. The smile faded almost immediately.

Two weeks had passed since that awful night when he was attacked by his stalker at the back of Saron. Two weeks during which he and Joe had had to give depositions at the Criminal Investigation Bureau. Two weeks during which the cops had uncovered disturbing evidence in the stalker’s apartment, evidence that suggested he’d stalked and possibly attacked—or even worse, killed—other men in the past.

The guy had turned out to be a deliveryman for one of the beverage companies that supplied Saron and other clubs and bars across Tokyo. The detectives in charge of Ethan’s case told him they’d started looking into unexplained disappearances of staff and patrons at all the places the company had delivered to since his stalker joined their payroll eight years ago.

As to the night Ethan had gotten attacked, it was sheer luck the stalker had been counting on when he faked the call from the company. Had Akihito or the third bartender come to the back door, the man would have abandoned his plans and returned another day.

Ethan had finally had to admit to his aunt what had been going on, although he’d brushed over the worst details. She’d wanted to get a flight to Tokyo straightaway to come see him. The only way he’d managed to dissuade her from doing so was to tell her that Joe was looking after him.

Which he was. Kind of.

Ethan stifled another sigh, placed the bottle of champagne back on the shelf, and poured himself a Scotch instead. He stared in the mirror behind the bar and touched his neck gingerly.

The bruises had nearly faded, as had the hoarseness of his voice following his near strangulation.

“I’ve sacked staff for less,” someone said tartly.

Ethan spun around and stared at the stunning blonde eyeing him coolly from above the top of her sunglasses at the entrance to the club. She tucked the frames on her head and headed down the steps toward him, her red Manolo Blahnik heels striking the wooden floor leisurely while her white Chanel dress hugged her slender curves, a Prada purse tucked elegantly under one arm.

Recognition flashed through Ethan. He narrowed his eyes.

“We’re not open yet,” he said, his tone harsher than he’d intended.

The blonde ignored him and pulled herself smoothly onto a barstool.

“Pour me one, will you?” she drawled, indicating his glass of Scotch with a head tilt.

Ethan hesitated before making the drink, ever the seasoned bartender. He slammed it on the counter and pushed it toward her before taking a sip from his own glass, tension humming through him.

The woman picked up the tumbler and watched him with a carefully calculated expression as she slowly swirled the amber liquid, sending ice clinking against the glass.

“From the boorish way you just served me, I take it you know who I am?”

“Yes,” Ethan said between gritted teeth. “You’re Eveline Claude, the owner of Le Secret.”

Eveline narrowed her blue eyes.

“I don’t know which pisses me off more—the fact that you just made my name sound like a pit of snakes, or that you made Le Secret out to be a brothel in the worst slum in the world.”

Ethan tilted his glass at her in a mocking toast. “I aim to please.” He swallowed another mouthful of the fiery liquid and glared at Eveline. “Joe’s not here, so whatever business you’ve got with him will have to wait.”

“I’m not here for Joe.”

Ethan’s pulse jumped.

Eveline propped an elbow on the counter, lowered her chin into the palm of her hand, and studied him curiously.

“I’m here to take a look at the man Joe risked his life to save.”

Ethan inhaled sharply at her words, a fresh wave of agony washing over him. He would never forget the sight that had met his eyes when he’d come to in that alleyway and seen Joe.

The rage and remorse on Joe’s face, as if he’d somehow failed Ethan. Joe’s hand all swollen and bloodied where the skin had broken across his knuckles. The way Joe held Ethan against his broad chest while Ethan cried quietly, his body shaking in shock in the aftermath of the attack, his racing heart matching the wild beat he could hear under his cheek.

Joe hadn’t touched him since that day. Not even once.

Eveline’s eyes softened for the briefest moment before she narrowed them once more.

“You don’t deserve him.”

Her words were like a bucket of ice hitting Ethan head-on. He gasped, shock rendering him speechless. Anger surged through him in the next instant.

“Oh, yeah?” Ethan growled. “And what makes you think you’re any better, bitch?”

Eveline blinked.

“Are you fucking kidding me, kid?” she said with a scowl.

Ethan crossed the gap to the counter and brought his face inches from Eveline’s.

“So what?” he hissed. “You think just because Joe seems to be under the mistaken impression that he still owes you for the past, you can dictate who is and isn’t allowed in his life? That because you’re a former escort with millions to your name, you can twist him around your little finger and make him do your bidding whenever you feel like it?”

Eveline’s eyes flared, genuine surprise flashing across her face.

“He said that?” She glared at Ethan a second later. “And, hey, the rest of that was uncalled for! True, but uncalled for.”

They glowered at each other for several seconds.

“I’m running dry,” Eveline snapped, indicating her empty glass. “Pour me another one.”

“Do it yourself,” Ethan snarled.

Eveline grabbed him by the front of his shirt and tugged him toward her.

“Don’t make me come over there and spank you, you shitty kid!” she spat.

“Shut up, you hag!” Ethan barked. “And, as far as money is concerned, I can make more than you with my eyes closed!”

Shit.

Ethan’s face grew warm, angry with himself for letting a sliver of the truth slip.

“What?” Eveline barked.

She slipped her cell out of her purse, brought up a screen, and showed him some figures, her blue eyes shrinking to slits.

“You’re saying you make more than this on your bartending salary, you snot-faced little prick?”

Ethan hesitated as he stared at the numbers on the cell phone.

Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound. Besides, she’s pissing me off big time.

He took his own phone out, tapped a password in, and brought up a screen of figures.

“Read it and weep, bitch.” He shoved the phone in Eveline’s face.

Eveline’s eyes widened as she stared at the numbers, color draining from her beautiful face.

“Fuck. Me,” she whispered hoarsely.

“No, thanks,” Ethan said scathingly.

Eveline ignored him and squinted at his cell screen.

“Hey, you went for those shares? My guy told me they were a dud investment.”

Ethan studied Eveline’s phone closely. He sucked air between his teeth.

“Whoa, those are gonna crash in the next few weeks. You’d better shift them.”

“Oh, yeah? Any suggestions?” Eveline pulled a pen out of her purse and slid a napkin toward him.

Ethan was halfway through writing details of a stocks and shares portfolio when he paused and stared blindly at the pen in his hand.

“What the fuck am I doing?”

Eveline chuckled. She leaned across the counter and dropped a gentle kiss on Ethan’s cheek, startling him.

“You’re helping out your new best friend,” she said, a warm smile lighting up her face.

Ethan stared, stunned.

“What?”

Eveline sniffed.

“Don’t make me say it again, you little shit.”

Confusion washed through Ethan as he stared at the woman facing him. The animosity he had felt from Eveline had vanished and she sat gazing at him with an amiable if curious expression.

It was as if she’d been testing him.

“Why do you still call on him?” Ethan blurted out.

Eveline gave him a puzzled look.

“Joe,” Ethan mumbled. “Why do you still call on him to work for you?”

Eveline watched him silently for a moment, her face softening.

“Has Joe ever told you about the gig he does for me on those occasions?”

Ethan shook his head, heat flooding his cheeks.

“No, but I can guess.”

Eveline propped her chin in her hand again. “Well, you’d be guessing wrong, kiddo.”

Ethan blinked. “What?”

Eveline played with her glass, her face melancholic.

“The client is a wealthy English widow whose son once visited Le Secret. Apparently, Joe is the spitting image of his father. He told his mother about it and she insisted on meeting Joe.”

Ethan’s heart drummed against his ribs at Eveline’s words.

“You mean—”

Eveline smiled.

“It’s never been about sex. They go for dinner once a month and just talk. She truly enjoys Joe’s company and has never asked for more than that from him.” Eveline sighed. “She and her husband were childhood sweethearts. They were married for over three decades before he died of a heart attack.” Eveline paused, her eyes glinting. “Joe is such a softie, he would never refuse her.”

Remorse twisted Ethan’s stomach as he recalled the angry words he’d said to Joe that night at his apartment.

“Oh God, I’ve been such an idiot,” he whispered.

“Eveline?” someone called out from across the club.

They turned and looked to where Joe stood watching them on the steps, surprise painted across his face.

“What are you doing here?” Joe said. His expression turned guarded as he headed toward the bar, his gaze swinging from Ethan to Eveline and back again.

Eveline flashed a bright smile at Joe. “I came to say hello to Ethan.”

Joe slowed and arched an eyebrow, confusion darkening his eyes.

Eveline grinned.

“He and I are gonna be besties.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ethan scoffed. “Since when?”

“Shut up, you shitty brat. Now, pour me that scotch.”