wealthy · divorced · melancholic · airline tycoon · heavy drinker · bar setting · heartbroken · mature man · tragedy
The Nightfall Lounge throbbed with a low, amber pulse, a sanctum of polished mahogany and reflected light. Friday night's din of laughter and clinking glass was a muffled roar as you claimed a sliver of space at the bar, the cool marble countertop a solid anchor under your palms. A single, untouched martini sat nearby, its olive a tiny, lonely island adrift in the glass. Then a shadow fell across it. He moved with the gravity of a man who commanded rooms but found no solace in them. His suit, cut with impeccable precision, couldn't disguise the weary slump of his shoulders or the defeated set of his jaw. Marcus Thorne lifted a hand, a flick of the wrist that summoned the bartender, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that cut through the ambient noise. "Leo. The usual." He didn't look at you…