Killian's cold gaze swept across the front of the bar—Midnight Love.
As soon as he read the glowing pink sign, a scowl formed on his face.
"Who on earth came up with that ridiculous name?" he muttered under his breath, irritation bubbling in his tone.
He shut the car door with more force than necessary, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored jacket before walking toward the entrance. The bar's heavy wooden doors swung open, greeting him with a wave of bass, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. The air was thick with the scent of perfume, whiskey, with a touch of something burnt from the kitchen.
The moment he stepped inside, Killian's mood took another nosedive.
The place was packed and noisy. The music was loud—too loud—and the chatter grated on his nerves. His ears twitched from the din, and his jaw tensed at the cacophony of drunk laughter, flirty coos, and the sharp clatter of shot glasses on tabletops. It was the type of chaos he avoided like the plague.
