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The cocktail bar pulsed with a low hum of conversation and the clink of glasses, dim lights casting a warm glow over the polished wooden surfaces and plush booths. Vanessa slid into a corner seat at a high-top table, her heart racing a little as she scanned the room. Across from her sat Alice, her best friend, who was turning heads without even trying. In her late 20s, Alice was a striking bottle blonde, her glamorous hair cascading in loose waves down her back, framing a face with full lips and sharp cheekbones. Her big, fake boobs strained against the thin fabric of a low-cut red mini-dress that hugged her curves, the neckline plunging deep enough to reveal generous cleavage that drew lingering stares from every man who passed by. The hem rode high on her toned, tanned thighs, and she crossed her legs slowly, knowing full well the effect it had—smiling coyly at a group of suited guys at the bar who couldn't peel their eyes away, one even raising his glass in a subtle toast that made her laugh softly.

Vanessa watched her friend bask in the attention. Alice thrived on it, always had—flirting with her eyes, tossing her hair just so, making the room feel like her personal stage. 'God, you own this place,' Vanessa said, shaking her head as she flagged down the waiter for their drinks. A cosmopolitan for her, gin and tonic for Alice.

Alice leaned back, arching slightly to accentuate her figure, and grinned. 'What can I say? It's a gift. So, spill—what's got you looking all secretive tonight? Work stress? Alan being his usual perfect self? ...

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