Free Club Alpha by Marata Eros

night of my graduation from the U Dubb into glaring full-color recall.
    “Greta?” he asks. Concern floods his eyes.
    I've let too much show. I control my expression. “Nothing's wrong. I just… I'm not a big fan of alcohol.”
    “Easily remedied.”
    “No, I don't want to impose.” I hold up a palm, see the nearly invisible wrist scar, and drop my hand into my lap.
    But Tor is already turning to a concealed compartment underneath the seat.
    He pulls out another bottle, very similar to the champagne.
    “Grape bubbly?” he asks with a smile.
    I nod.
    It beats my normal apple.
    He refills the empty spot in the small ice box with the champagne and pops the cork on the grape juice.
    He fill a tall glass with a fragile stem then pours one for himself.
    “A toast,” Tor says.
    My brows pull together. “To what?” I ask with a laugh.
    “The future. Your Roffe fabric is all a formality.” He waves toward my briefcase in dismissal.
    I lower the glass, and he shakes his head.
    I lift it again, and he clinks our crystal together. It's made of fine flint that rings from the touch. When the sound grows silent, he says, “I knew I would use Roffe when I first researched the company. They're a good fit for my needs. Small enough for quality control and customer service of the caliber I wish. And they can provide the most updated line.”
    He lifts his shoulders in a small shrug, underscoring his reasoning.
    I take a small sip.
    Our gazes lock over the rims of our glasses.
    “Then why…?” I begin, letting the base of the glass rest on my knee as the limo rolls smoothly to a stop.
    “You, Greta. I needed to meet you.”
    I'm confused. Tor is way too forward to be merely a client. Yet, there is something magnetic about him. When he speaks to me, I feel as though I am the first person he's ever spoken to. I feel as though I will be the last, as well. The Alpha and Omega.
    It is the strangest sensation, a kind of nameless charm. There is no antidote for it, no counter. As if he’s spun a spell, I am captured in the manic eye of his charisma.
    I maintain marginal rationale. “Why did you need to meet me?” I ask in a mild voice, fighting the drug of his presence.
    His fingers touch my knee lightly.
    I should be on guard.
    Tor Aros hits many of the triggers from the attack. He's tall, white, and good-looking.
    Somehow, being with him doesn't make the alarm bells ring. He’s confident and seemingly innocuous.
    Maybe he is a part of the fantasy of Club Alpha.
    I can get well.
    Even if nothing happens between him and me, maybe I can heal enough to be ready for anything else life throws at me.
    I'm zoning, and he answers the question I forgot I posed.
    “You called to me. From America. I knew we were kindred, meant to meet.”
    “How? No, I'm sorry. That's too weird,” I say, coming to my senses. I don't believe in insta-anything. Especially now. Life has been an apt teacher.
    He shakes his head, squeezing my hand, and brushes his fingers against my knuckles. “I knew your parents many years ago. Before… I am sorry. I know it is a delicate subject. I knew them before their deaths.”
    My heart sputters to a faltering stop. “You did?” I fight not to move away and gather myself deeply inside again. I stay at the top of my consciousness. I don't hide from this new revelation—a possible new hurt.
    “I promised your father I would look after you.”
    I study him more closely. I realize he's older than I first assumed.
    “And here you are, quite well. Though I must apologize.”
    I gulp. “For—” I clear my throat. “For what?”
    He looks down for a moment, spinning the stem of the empty glass. His face is serious as his gaze collides with mine. “Not being there to protect you two years ago.”
    My fingertips go numb as my stomach hollows out. It's too much.
    He knows.
    I don't know how, but he does.
    I snatch my hand away and cover my face with my hands.
    Tears escape from between my fingers. Wet shame ruins my