King of Pride (Kings of Sin #2) by Ana Huang

Invented by Hemingway himself, Death in the Afternoon was a simple cocktail consisting of champagne and absinthe. Its iridescent green color was also as close to glow-in-the-dark as a regular drink could get.

I narrowed my eyes, unsure whether that was a coincidence or if he was fucking with me.

He stared back, his expression inscrutable.

Dark hair. Crisp lines. Thin black frames and a suit so perfectly tailored it had to have been custom made. Kai was the epitome of aristocratic sophistication, and he’d nailed the British stoicism that went with it.

I was usually pretty good at reading people, but I’d known him for a year and I had yet to crack his mask. It irritated me more than I cared to admit.

“One Death in the Afternoon, coming right up,” I finally said.

I busied myself with his drink while he took his customary seat at the end of the bar and retrieved a notebook from his coat pocket. My hands went through the motions, but my attention was split between the glass and the man quietly reading. Every once in a while, he would pause and write something down.

That in and of itself wasn’t unusual. Kai often showed up to read and drink by himself before the evening rush. What was unusual was the timing.

It was Monday afternoon, three days and two hours before his weekly, precision-timed arrival on Thursday evenings. He was breaking pattern.

Kai Young never broke pattern.

Curiosity and a strange breathlessness slowed my pace as I brought him his drink. Tessa was still in the supply room, and the silence weighed heavier with each step.

“Are you taking notes?” I placed the cocktail on a napkin and glanced at his notebook. It lay open next to Kai’s novel, its pages filled with neat, precise black writing.

“I’m translating the book into Latin.” He flipped the page and scribbled another sentence without looking up or touching his drink.

“Why?”

“It’s relaxing.”

I blinked, certain I’d heard him wrong. “You think translating a five-hundred-page novel into Latin by hand is relaxing?”

“Yes. If I wanted a mental challenge, I’d translate an economics textbook. Translating fiction is reserved for my downtime.”

He tossed out the explanation casually, like it was a habit as common and ingrained as throwing a coat over the back of his couch.

I gaped at him. “Wow. That’s…” I was at a loss for words.

I knew rich people indulged in strange hobbies, but at least they were usually fun eccentricities like throwing lavish weddings for their pets or bathing in champagne. Kai’s hobby was just boring.

The corners of his mouth twitched, and realization dawned alongside embarrassment. Seems to be the theme of the day. “You’re messing with me.”

“Not entirely. I do find it relaxing, though I’m not a huge fan of economics textbooks. I had enough of them at Oxford.” Kai finally glanced up.

My pulse leapt in my throat. Up close, he was so beautiful it almost hurt to face him straight on. Thick black hair brushed his forehead, framing features straight out of the classic Hollywood era. Chiseled cheekbones sloped down to a square jaw and sculpted lips, while deep brown eyes glinted behind glasses that only heightened his appeal.

Without them, his attractiveness would’ve been cold, almost intimidating in its perfection, but with them, he was approachable. Human.

At least when he wasn’t busy translating classics or running his family’s media company. Glasses or no glasses, there was nothing approachable about either of those things.

My spine tingled with awareness when he reached for his drink. My hand was still on the counter. He didn’t touch me, but his body heat brushed over me as surely as if he had.

The tingles spread, vibrating beneath my skin and slowing my breath.

“Isabella.”

“Hmm?” Now that I thought about it, why did Kai need glasses anyway? He was rich enough to afford laser eye surgery.

Not that I was complaining. He may be boring and a little uptight, but he really—

“The gentleman at the other end of the bar is trying to get your attention.”

I snapped back to reality with an unpleasant jolt. While I’d been busy staring at Kai, new patrons had trickled into the bar. Tessa was back behind the counter, tending to a well-dressed couple while another club member waited for service.

Shit.

I hurried over, leaving an amused-looking Kai behind.

After I finished with my customer, another one approached, and another. We’d hit Valhalla happy hour, and I didn’t have time to dwell on Kai or his strange relaxation methods again.

For the next four hours, Tessa and I fell into a familiar rhythm as we worked the crowd.

Valhalla capped its membership at a hundred, so even its busiest nights were nothing compared to the chaos I used to deal with at downtown dive bars. But while there were fewer of them, the club’s patrons required more coddling and ego stroking than the average frat boy or drunken bachelorette. By the time the clock ticked toward nine, I was ready to collapse and thankful as hell that I only had a half shift that night.

Still, I couldn’t resist the occasional peek at Kai. He usually left the bar after an hour or two, but here he was, still drinking and chatting with the other members like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Something’s off. Timing aside, his behavior today didn’t match his previous patterns at all, and the closer I looked, the more signs of trouble I spotted: the tension lining his shoulders, the tiny furrow between his brows, the tightness of his smiles.