Taming My Sugar Mommy-Chapter 21: The Bar

##Author note ["Sorry for the short Chapter—just making sure everything flows right. I promise the next one will be longer! Your support means everything, so if you're enjoying the story, please consider voting with Power Stones. Your gifts are my motivation!"]

Glass clinked against polished wood as Isabella set down her empty tumbler. The hotel bar's dim lighting caught the amber remnants of expensive whiskey, creating tiny constellations in the crystal. Jazz floated through the air, just loud enough to mask conversations but soft enough to forget it was there.

"Another round," she said, not a question but not quite a command either. The bartender moved without hesitation, already reaching for the top-shelf bottle.

Liam watched the casual display of power, how even here—away from the conference rooms and business deals—she commanded the space like it belonged to her. The day's events had left him drained: three crisis meetings, two last-minute venue changes, and one very irate German businessman who couldn't understand why his private helicopter couldn't land on the hotel roof.

But Isabella had simply said "drink" after the last meeting, and here they were.

The bar wasn't what he'd expected. No flashy decorations or trying-too-hard modern art. Just dark wood, leather seats, and lighting that made everyone look like they had secrets worth keeping. The kind of place old money went to forget about their empires for a few hours.

"You're staring again," Isabella said, not looking at him as the bartender poured their drinks.

"Observing," he corrected, accepting his glass. "It's what you pay me for, remember?"

"I pay you to manage chaos, not analyze my drinking habits."

"The chaos is managed. Your three-billion-dollar deal is locked in, the Germans are satisfied with their new venue, and that eyesore of a modern art piece won't be ruining your event anymore."

Something flickered across her face—amusement, maybe, or annoyance. With Isabella, the line between the two was razor-thin.

"Come on," she said, standing with fluid grace. "That booth in the corner has better lighting."

He followed, noticing how heads turned as she passed—subtle glances from people who made their living noticing things. The booth she chose was tucked away from the main floor, offering a clear view of both exits and the bar itself. Old habits, he supposed.

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As they settled in, a group of men at a nearby table caught his attention. Their suits screamed money, but there was something off about them. New money, he guessed—the kind that flaunted wealth instead of wielding it.

One of them—young, with that particular brand of arrogance that came from inheriting rather than earning—was watching Isabella with poorly concealed interest.

"Your fan club is getting bold," Liam muttered, positioning himself so he could keep the group in his peripheral vision.

Isabella's lips curved slightly. "Worried about competition, Campbell?"

"For what? The title of 'Most Likely to Need Anger Management'? I think you've got that one locked down."

She actually laughed at that—a short, genuine sound that seemed to surprise them both. The young man at the other table frowned, clearly not appreciating being ignored.

"Well, well," he said, loud enough to carry. "If it isn't the infamous Isabella Ashworth. Slumming it with the help these days?"

Isabella's attention, however, had already shifted elsewhere. Her eyes were fixed on something behind Roberts—a pool table where two men in expensive suits were just finishing their game.

"You play?" she asked Liam, completely ignoring Roberts and his attempted provocation.

"Enough to get by," Liam answered carefully, recognizing that look in her eyes. It was the same one she got before closing a particularly challenging deal.

"Perfect." She stood with fluid grace, forcing Roberts to step back. "Care to make things interesting, Mr. Roberts? Since you seem so eager for my attention."

Roberts blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift. "I... what?"

"A game." She nodded toward the pool table. "Unless you're only brave enough for cheap insults?"

Liam watched the transformation on Roberts' face—confusion giving way to arrogant confidence. The man actually smiled, probably thinking he'd found an easy way to show up Isabella Ashworth.

"Ladies first," Roberts said, gesturing toward the table. "How much are we playing for?"

Isabella's smile was razor-sharp. "Oh, I never play for money. It's so... crude." She glanced at Liam. "What I want is an apology. To my colleague here. When you lose."

"And when I win?"

"Name your price."

Roberts looked her up and down in a way that made Liam's jaw clench. "Dinner. With me. No chaperone." He shot a smug look at Liam.

"Done."

Isabella moved toward the table with the kind of confidence that made Liam nervous. He'd seen that walk before—usually right before she destroyed someone in a boardroom. She picked up a cue stick, testing its weight with practiced ease that made him raise an eyebrow.

Liam leaned close, keeping his voice low. "Please tell me you actually know how to play."

The look she gave him could have melted steel. "Campbell, when have you ever known me to enter a game I couldn't win?"

Around them, the bar had grown quieter. Even the jazz seemed to fade into the background as Roberts racked the balls, the sharp click of each one settling into place echoing in the hushed atmosphere.

Isabella chalked her cue with deliberate precision, her eyes never leaving the table. In the dim light, with her perfectly tailored dress and that dangerous smile, she looked like something out of a film noir—the femme fatale about to spring her trap.

Roberts lined up for the break, all cocky grins and expensive cologne. "Last chance to back out, sweetheart."

Isabella's smile didn't waver. But Liam saw something flash in her eyes—that same look she'd had in Monaco when she'd outmaneuvered three CEO's in under an hour.

"Break," she said softly, "and find out."

As Isabella lined up her next shot, Liam took another slow sip of his drink, his eyes scanning the room under the guise of casual boredom. Something felt... off. A shift in the air, a presence that didn't quite belong.

Near the bar, two men sat with untouched drinks, their attention flicking between the game and their phones. Not regulars. Too stiff, too focused. They weren't here for the atmosphere.

Liam didn't react, didn't shift or alert Isabella. Not yet. He'd learned long ago that knowledge was power, but only when used at the right time. If they were watching, he'd let them.

For now.

The cue ball struck with a crack that seemed to echo through the entire bar. The game had begun.

And Liam had the distinct feeling he was about to witness something extraordinary.