Zayn sighed as he leaned against the bar counter, his patience wearing thinner by the second.
He had spent the past hour watching Bran single-handedly fund half the brothel staff's early retirement plan, and it was starting to physically hurt him.
How could someone be this financially reckless? Did Bran secretly have a gold mine stashed away somewhere? Or was he just that determined to live like a king for a single night before returning to a life of regretting all his choices?
Either way, Zayn decided he needed a drink before his head exploded.
He turned to the bartender, a woman whose chest threatened to escape the confines of her already very minimal outfit.
He tried very hard to keep his eyes on her face, and not on — well, everywhere else.
Her smile was warm, though there was an unmistakable mischief in her eyes as she slid a drink toward him.
"On the house, handsome," she said with a wink.
