The dim amber lighting cast long shadows across the private booth where two men sat facing each other.

The man in black drummed his slender fingers against the lacquered table. His chiseled profile looked particularly severe under the mood lighting, radiating an icy aura that seemed to freeze the very air around him.

This was Ethan Roscente—Jenna Roland's husband in name only.

Beside him, Gavin Valentine twirled his wineglass with bored indifference.

Jenna recalled Grandma Blanche's words: "He's just reserved by nature, but has a good heart."

Which decent man frequents nightclubs every day? she thought wryly.

"Good evening, Mr. Roscente, Mr. Valentine." Jenna gave a slight bow, her professional smile flawless.

Gavin arched an eyebrow. "Surprised to see us, Manager Roland?"

"Your patronage honors our establishment." Her smile didn't waver. "What would you like to drink tonight?"

Ethan lifted his gaze, eyes like shards of glacial ice. "Your most expensive vintage."

Jenna's pulse hitched. "The 1974 Romanée-Conti at $260,000 per bottle."

"Two." His tone was as casual as ordering tap water.

Her pupils contracted. This far exceeded their usual spending.

"Problem?" His voice dropped dangerously.

"Right away, sir." Smoothing her expression, she turned—but not before stealing another glance at Ethan.

He'd just bought a new car last week. Where was this sudden extravagance coming from?

"You're paying." Ethan's abrupt statement made Gavin fumble his glass.

"Excuse me?"

Ethan's eyes narrowed lethally.

Gavin gritted his teeth. "...Fine. My treat."

Catching the exchange from the corner of her eye, Jenna barely suppressed a gasp. Now that's what you call friendship goals.