Chapter 3: An Indecent Proposal

The elevator ride to the forty-second floor felt like ascending to judgment day. Chloe tugged at the hem of her only decent blouse—a black button-down she'd borrowed from her roommate—and tried not to think about how out of place she felt in the gleaming corporate tower that housed Metropolitan Hospitality Group's headquarters.

The receptionist had been polite but clearly puzzled by her presence, as if dive bar bartenders didn't typically have meetings with billionaire hotel moguls. Which, to be fair, they didn't.

"Ms. Martinez?" A woman in an impossibly sharp suit approached. "I'm Victoria Chen, Ms. Blackstone's assistant. She's ready for you now."

The executive suite was a study in minimalist power—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, abstract art that probably cost more than Chloe's annual salary, and furniture that looked like it belonged in a modern art museum. Everything was pristine white and steel, sterile in its perfection.

The woman behind the massive glass desk was probably in her fifties, with silver hair pulled into a severe chignon and the kind of bearing that suggested she could buy and sell small countries before lunch. Evelyn Blackstone, according to the brass nameplate, though Chloe recognized her from business magazines as the founder and CEO of one of the country's largest hospitality empires.

"Ms. Martinez, thank you for coming." Blackstone's voice was crisp, efficient. "Please, sit."

Chloe perched on the edge of a chair that probably cost more than her car, acutely aware that she was being evaluated like a racehorse at auction.

"I assume you've seen the article about your... performance... at the competition."

Heat flooded Chloe's cheeks. "If you're asking whether I talked to that blogger, I didn't. I don't know how they got—"

"I'm not concerned about the source." Blackstone waved a dismissive hand. "I'm interested in the response. The article has been shared over fifty thousand times in three days. Food Network has called asking about you and Mr. Blackwood. The phrase 'The Anarchist and The Alchemist' is trending on social media."

Chloe blinked. "I don't understand."

"Buzz, Ms. Martinez. In my business, buzz equals profit." Blackstone leaned back in her chair, studying Chloe with shrewd eyes. "Tell me, what do you know about the hospitality industry's current challenges?"

"Uh..." Chloe felt like she was taking a test she hadn't studied for. "People want authentic experiences but also Instagram-worthy ones?"

"Exactly. The market is saturated with concepts that are either aggressively down-to-earth or insufferably precious. What we need is something that bridges both worlds—authentic craft with elevated presentation. Approachable excellence."

The office door opened, and Chloe's stomach dropped as Julian walked in. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt, though he hid it better behind his usual mask of professional composure. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that made him look like he belonged in rooms like this, but Chloe could see the tension in his shoulders.

"Mr. Blackwood, excellent timing. Please, join us."

Julian took the chair beside Chloe without looking at her, though she caught the subtle tightening around his eyes that suggested he was as blindsided by this meeting as she was.

"I've been following both your careers," Blackstone continued as if having two people who'd recently fucked on a bar top sitting in her office was perfectly normal. "Ms. Martinez, your reputation in the local bar scene is impressive. Fast, efficient, beloved by your regulars. You represent something authentic that money can't buy."

Chloe felt a flush of pride despite herself.

"Mr. Blackwood, your technical skills are exceptional. Your understanding of flavor chemistry and presentation rivals any mixologist in the country. You represent the artistry our high-end clients expect."

Julian's jaw ticked almost imperceptibly.

"Separately, you're both talented but limited. Together..." Blackstone smiled, and it was the expression of a shark scenting blood in the water. "Together, you could be revolutionary."

The silence stretched until Chloe couldn't stand it anymore. "What exactly are you proposing?"

"I'm offering you a partnership. A joint venture with Metropolitan Hospitality Group to design, develop, and operate a flagship bar concept. Budget: ten million dollars for buildout, seven figures each in compensation, plus percentage of profits."

The numbers hit Chloe like a physical blow. She'd been worried about making rent; Blackstone was talking about life-changing money.

"The concept would merge your philosophies—approachable excellence, authentic craft. We're envisioning a space that feels like a neighborhood bar but serves cocktails that rival the world's best."

Julian found his voice first. "What's the catch?"

"No catch. Simply conditions." Blackstone's smile sharpened. "You work together. All decisions are joint decisions. The concept succeeds or fails based on your ability to collaborate."

"That's impossible," Julian said flatly. "We have completely different approaches—"

"Which is exactly why it will work." Blackstone pulled out a tablet and showed them architectural renderings that made Chloe's breath catch. Warm wood and exposed brick married to sleek steel and statement lighting. It looked like the perfect fusion of everything she loved about dive bars with everything impressive about high-end cocktail lounges.

"The space is already secured—ground floor of the new Metropolitan Tower downtown. Prime real estate, maximum visibility. Opening timeline is six months."

Chloe stared at the renderings, her mind racing. The money alone would solve every financial problem she'd ever had. She could pay off her student loans, help her parents with their mortgage, maybe even save enough to eventually open her own place. But working with Julian...

"We need time to think about it," Julian said.

"Of course. Though I should mention that Food Network has expressed interest in documenting the process. A behind-the-scenes series about two opposing philosophies creating something new." Blackstone's eyes gleamed. "The publicity value alone would be enormous for your careers."

Chloe's head was spinning. Three days ago, her biggest concern had been whether the beer cooler would make it through another summer. Now she was being offered a chance at the kind of success she'd only dreamed about.

"There is one more thing," Blackstone added casually. "The partnership requires both of you. It's not optional. Either you both sign, or the offer disappears."

The ultimatum hung in the air like a challenge. Chloe glanced at Julian and saw her own conflict reflected in his face—desire warring with doubt, ambition fighting with common sense.

"How long do we have to decide?" Chloe asked.

"Forty-eight hours. The window for securing the space closes Friday."

They left the building in tense silence, riding the elevator down without speaking. It wasn't until they reached the lobby that Julian finally broke.

"This is insane."

"The money or the partnership?" Chloe asked, though she knew the answer.

"Both. We can barely be in the same room without..." He gestured vaguely, and she knew he was thinking about the bar top, about the way they'd destroyed his station in their desperate need to touch each other.

"Without what? Having incredible sex?" The words slipped out before she could stop them, and Julian's face flushed.

"That's exactly my point. We have no professional relationship, no personal relationship, nothing but physical chemistry and mutual antagonism."

"Maybe that's enough."

Julian stared at her like she'd suggested they rob a bank together. "You're seriously considering this."

"Seven figures, Julian. Seven. Figures." Chloe stepped closer, lowering her voice. "When's the last time someone offered to pay you that much to do what you love?"

Something flickered in his eyes—hunger, hope, the same desperate ambition she recognized in herself.

"My family would finally have to take me seriously," he said quietly, almost to himself.

"And I could stop worrying about whether the health inspector is going to shut us down because the dishwasher is held together with duct tape and prayer."

They stood in the gleaming lobby, surrounded by the trappings of success neither of them had been born into, both calculating what they were willing to sacrifice for the chance to belong in spaces like this.

"We'd have to find a way to work together," Julian said finally.

"We managed it for three hours at the competition."

"We destroyed a bar."

"We also made some pretty great drinks." Chloe met his eyes, seeing her own reckless determination reflected there. "Look, I'm not saying it'll be easy. We'll probably want to kill each other daily. But that money... that opportunity..."

"Would change everything," Julian finished.

The automatic doors swooshed open as other people passed through, letting in the sound of city traffic and the scent of food trucks and possibility. Real life, messy and complicated and full of chances that might never come again.

"Forty-eight hours," Chloe said.

"Forty-eight hours," Julian agreed.

They parted ways on the sidewalk without shaking hands or making promises, both knowing they'd already made their decision. The question wasn't whether they'd take the deal—it was whether they'd survive it.

As Chloe walked toward the subway station, her phone buzzed with a text from Marcus: Did you see the Food Network thing? They want to interview you about the competition!

She looked back at the corporate tower, then at Julian's retreating figure as he hailed a cab. Whatever happened next, there was no going back to the simple anonymity of her dive bar life.

The Anarchist and the Alchemist were about to become very public partners, whether they were ready or not.