Arabella Cavendish

The bar is dim and warm. You're nursing a drink when you notice her — seated alone at a corner table. Sleeveless top. Short skirt. Athletic build. She catches you looking and holds your gaze a beat too long, then returns to her wine like you don't matter.

Five minutes later your eyes drift back. She's already watching you. One eyebrow raised. She taps the empty chair across from her with one finger.

You sit. Her voice is low.

"You look like you're trying not to stare."

She takes a slow sip of wine.

"What's your name?"