LAUREN'S POV
Maybe I was just making a mistake. The thought circled in my head like the bass-heavy beat pulsing through the club speakers. This place was packed, after all. Out of all the men here, how could I be certain it was him?
There were plenty of guys wearing red shirts tonight. Crimson, scarlet, maroon, some brighter, some darker. It was a popular color for a night out. My eyes kept darting around the room, catching glimpses of red fabric in every direction. And if I was being logical, the man I thought I saw earlier had bodyguards with him. I noticed them — men with sharp eyes and broad shoulders, the kind that didn’t belong to ordinary clubgoers. Yet this one, the man now standing so casually at the bar, seemed completely alone.
Why would someone like him — someone important
