Gwendolyn Morris leaned on the bar, her upper body slightly angled forward, with her chin resting on her arms as she watched the bartender expertly mix drinks. From Marco Griffin's vantage point, he could only catch glimpses of her back and a partial view of her face. She wore a black turtleneck, and as she slightly turned her head, her slender neck formed an elegant curve. Her dark hair was casually clipped back.
Marco noticed she seemed to favor wearing black, unknowingly accentuating the delicate line of her back and the subtle rise of her shoulder blades, as if beneath them lay a pair of wings ready to take flight.
Chandler Hunter followed Marco's gaze and casually asked, “What are you looking at?” Marco pulled his gaze back, maintaining a composed expression, reassuring himself more than anyone else. “I know my limits. I wouldn't attempt anything out of my league.”
“You're beautiful, more so than many actresses,” her friend commented, but Gwendolyn merely smiled casually. Refreshing her phone screen, she noted with some frustration that the queue hadn’t decreased; instead, it had grown to fifteen.
Sighing, she glanced towards a nearby bakery that remained open despite the late hour. Pointing to it, she said, “I think a spiced honey cake is a must for a birthday. Wait here; I'll go get one.”
Her friend, however, pulled her back, insisting, “I told you, it’s my birthday, so you have to listen to me. Tonight, I just want you to buy me a drink. Besides, I’m watching my sugar intake.”
Gwendolyn chuckled, letting the idea go. Her friend had been a blessing during challenging times, someone she cherished deeply and promised to always be there for.
A sleek black car pulled up at the curb. The back window rolled down, revealing Marco's strikingly handsome face. This time, he kept it brief, simply saying, “Get in.”
His tone was neutral. Gwendolyn wasn’t the type to let pride get in the way of common sense. It was almost midnight, and it wasn’t particularly safe for two young women to be out alone. Ever since she had set things straight that evening, Marco hadn’t contacted her or appeared, suggesting he didn’t have the intentions she had feared.
Yet today, for reasons she couldn’t quite identify, Gwendolyn instinctively wanted to refuse Marco’s offer. She shook her head politely, “No, thank you. Our ride should be here soon.”
She expected Marco to leave it at that. But instead of instructing Boone Williams, his driver, to leave, he calmly met her gaze for a silent few moments before giving a polite, distant smile. “Miss Morris, it’s hard to get a cab here this late. I’m just offering a ride home out of kindness. It's not safe for young women like you to be out at this hour. If my previous actions caused any misunderstanding, I apologize.”
His words left no room for further refusal without seeming irrational. Feeling her face heat with embarrassment, Gwendolyn realized she might have unfairly assumed the worst of his intentions. “It’s me who misunderstood, Mr. Griffin. I’m sorry about that.”
Marco, ever gracious, smiled warmly. “No problem, hop in.”
