Chapter Text
It was her first time at the Bespin Luxor. The lounge was dimly lit by tiny, neon blue ribbons of LED lighting that lined every single edge of the place. Carved beveled frosted glass separated the few booths, with plush leather seating, all highlighted by a black lacquered bar which spanned the entire length of the far wall. It was a nice, eclectic mixture of old meets new. Bubbling with hotel guests and a myriad of local patrons, the energy in the room was electric.
Despite all the opulence, the cocktail lounge had the absolute worst music. Rey tolerated it while she ran her perfectly manicured nails along the bar, glancing ever so often in the bar’s large mirror, which allowed her a birds-eye view of the entrance. She also intermittently checked her phone for the time.
Although Rose said he’d be here at eight, it was already twelve after. She repeated her mantra. Calm down, Rey. You can do this … you can do this. She started lightly drumming her fingers atop the smooth surface of the backlit bar. Rey stopped abruptly, knowing she was risking body language that suggested half boredom, half nervousness.
Instead, she tapped the rim of her glass the moment she caught her bartender’s eye. He quickly refreshed her whisky neat and almost asked her if she’d been stood up. That is until Rey fixed him with her favorite duck-lipped, fuck off look. She crossed her legs and threw her shoulders back, aloof.
An old Nora Jones tune began to play. Noticing the slight improvement, she started to have a little hope for the posh spot as well as the remainder of her evening. The retro tune flowed through the speakers and seemed to lend a vibe that was truly affecting. Appreciative of the upgrade, Rey swayed with the groove, then smoothed the hem of her metallic mint green, pleated scuba cocktail dress to her knees.
She scanned the place once more looking for her mark. An assortment of couples were scattered around the bar and lounge. A large table to her left was filled with dolts, obviously there for some convention. Two middle aged women caught her eye who absolutely reeked of wealth. They sat together in a booth, enjoying a light, easy conversation while drinking orange bitter martinis.
Rey snorted, Typical.
With little fanfare, a very tall, dark-haired gentleman blew in from the lobby wearing a long, black duster-length cashmere coat. He rapidly snatched his cell away from his ear and plopped it into the deep patch pocket of his coat. As his sleeve rolled up from his cuff, the sparkle caught her attention. She spied what must’ve been a Patek Phillipe watch.
Woah - Classic and worth a fortune! But that cannot be possible, she thought. Suddenly flushed, Rey pressed her thighs together, feeling her heart pumping faster.
Well, now… things are starting to look up, she thought. Gazing back toward the mirror, Rey quickly pursed her lips and touched up her gloss.
She scoped out the newcomer casually… yet, very subtly. Her eyes carefully followed him in the smoky glass. What a fine specimen. His stride was easy yet determined as he crossed the room and approached the far end of the bar.
Rey retrieved her cell and couldn’t text Rose fast enough. She needed confirmation. This guy was too young and entirely too handsome. She was certain of it. Easily six foot three, impeccably dressed, dark long, luscious hair, pouty full lips, and despite the low mood lighting, his features were sculpted, sharp, precise and almost chiseled. He had a strong nose and jaw. Unforgettable.
Suddenly, calculating the odds that she had been stood up, the percentages started bouncing all through her brain. Then Rey felt his eyes sweep over her from down the other end of the bar, albeit brief and inconsequential. His voice, however, was warm, deep and melodic as he ordered a bourbon. It made her take another sip of her own whiskey. Even if he wasn’t her intended target, Rey thought she might just have some fun tonight after all. Her real challenge would be pinching that priceless, antique timepiece of his.
That deliciously smooth, deep baritone floated down the bar once more. “Good evening…” Was he just speaking to her? Yes.
Rey smiled brightly at him. “Evening.” Crossing her legs with intention and purpose.
She settled back into her bar stool, and began to guess what new developments might await her this night, when all at once, “Yoo-hoo! Hey, there, Mr. Ren!” It came from the orange martini’s booth.
The voice from the booth drew her attention the very same second Rose returned her text. Rey quickly glanced down at her phone.
<Rose> No way Rey - Naw, Ackbar’s short, very fat n balding!
<Rey> Spasibo, lyubimyy (Russian for thank you, my love)
Ugh, Rey swiped her cell and promptly plunked it back into her bag, while she sensed more movement from down the other end of the bar. Mister tall, dark and mysterious leaned back into his stool, craning his neck. A slight glimmer of recognition ran through his eyes.
“Hello, there – Mr. Ren.” The middle aged woman with the jazzy lavender bob excitedly waved him over to their booth. The other auburn-haired woman lifted her martini glass, the simple gesture all by itself was another invitation.
Rey’s level of interest now rose way beyond curiosity.
She retrieved her compact and feigned freshening up her make-up until she got a clear bead -- a much closer look at him and his unlikely drinking companions. Maneuvering the hand mirror with dexterity, she watched as he removed his coat with a flourish and sat down with them.
“Good evening, ladies. Amilyn.” With a grand gesture, he bowed low and kissed the taller one’s hand.
Amilyn gushed and bubbled. “Kylo Ren, this is my very, very dear friend, Mon Mothra.”
“Charmed. I’m so honored to finally meet you, Mon. I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about you.” The sparkle from the ‘million-dollar smile’ he offered them both rivaled the Patek Phillipe watch he was wearing.
Quite the talker… Smooth, real smooth, Rey thought. Well, I guess Ackbar’s a scrub. Might as well call it a night then. Just when Rey waved to the bartender to request her check, she noticed him approaching with another glass of whisky in hand.
Mindful not to appear to be eavesdropping, she smiled demurely and declined, pushing a slender finger to the rim of her old glass.
“Oh, no, no thank you. Pretty sure I’m done for the night.” Rey fished in her bag for credits.
“I beg your pardon, but the gentlemen who just left the bar covered your tab and ordered this for you, Miss.” He cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow. “Ahem... and he also wanted me to make certain to give you this.”
The bartender placed a shiny, black business card atop her fresh cocktail napkin. It had a high gloss finish with red embossed lettering. She carefully palmed it. It simply read, Ben Solo with his number and an email address. With a raised eyebrow, she considered, very, very old school - How quaint.
She cleared her throat. “Why thank you.” Well, well, well, Rey tucked her credits away and stared at his card, then tapped the hard edge of it to the bar.
Rey began to hum softly with the music.
Curiouser and curiouser. How odd - - Now, which one is it? Is it Mr. Kylo Ren or Mr. Ben Solo?
Mindlessly, Rey let the pads of her fingers play lightly along the raised letters of his acrylic business card.
Suddenly, she swiveled and spun around in her stool while pocketing his business card and turning up her whiskey. Rey offered him a subtle salut with an added nod in gratitude.
She observed their conversation and saw just how engrossed, enthralled the women were, each positively riveted by him… hanging onto his every word.
He was clearly half their age and entirely too charming. That man right there …He’s a Con.
*****