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“Have a pleasant evening.” I walked out, immediately heading for the main entrance of Blackout where Jagger was stationed for the evening.
“That was fast,” he said as he stepped away from the door.
“You know how I feel about pompous assholes, my friend.”
“Are they in one piece?”
“For now. Watch them. If they cause any trouble, throw them out.”
“Will do, boss.” He grinned. “You going to see the new snack?”
“Rude, Mr. Sanchez. Very rude. I’m headed out for the evening.”
“Wow. The chick really wiped you out.” He threw up his hands in surrender. The only other men who got away with taunting me were Grant and Lachlan. And that was only because they’d known me as the runt of the football team so many years ago that I didn’t want to remember.
It only reminded me I was getting old.
Laughing, I returned to my office to grab my keys. It was time to go home.
To an empty house and a hell of a lot of bad memories.
* * *
The slight chime on my watch forced me to glance at the time. I hadn’t realized I’d been sitting in the same place in the den for over an hour. The almost full drink was still in my hand, which wasn’t like me. I wasn’t the kind of man to succumb to depression, but the last few years had worn heavily on my mind.
Lachlan had said it was because I needed to get laid more often.
Grant had said something about taking more vacations. But the club was my life. In the beginning, the long, arduous hours had excited me. Seeing my artistic creation come to life had kept me on cloud nine for years.
I moved from the chair, heading to my office. The one rule I’d made for myself after the first club in DC had opened was that I’d never bring work home. I’d followed the rules with only a few exceptions. That didn’t mean I hadn’t handled business, but it had been on other projects.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been inside the room. Between adding the Blackout Club in Miami as well as dealing with Philip Dumas, the Frenchman who’d recently come into the Carnal Sins family in Paris, I’d had very little time to myself. Now, with construction of the first franchise well under way, my visits to Paris had been reduced to once a month for only a couple of days at a time.
Blackout was running smoothly. Hiring Ginger had turned out to be a godsend, her efficiency off the charts. In other words, I had all the free time in the world if that’s what I wanted. Jesus. Was I suddenly throwing a pity party for myself?
I flicked on the light, leaning against the doorjamb. The reason I’d never brought any club work home was that I’d continued designing buildings for the first few years after the DC club opened. The location had always been Lachlan’s baby. I’d lived in various small apartments, not setting down roots due to my traveling schedule.
The flexibility had allowed me to design several award-winning buildings, dotting the skies of Los Angeles, Seattle, and Baltimore. Then I’d stopped designing altogether. I’d told myself that I’d been too busy with the club, which had been true in the beginning, but with the employment of competent people, the lie hadn’t been as easy to swallow.
I walked inside, glancing at the framed designs. I’d been so proud of them, longing to share them with my Pops. He’d died before I had an opportunity to show him that I wasn’t just creating what he’d called a ‘goddamned sex club for freaks.’ As I ran my finger across one of my favorite pieces, I took a deep breath. I no longer had the drive to continue creating.
Even the laptop that remained in the center of the desk needed software updates. I’d all but shut down another side of my lucrative business. Half laughing, a bitter taste left in my mouth, I headed toward the door.
Going down memory lane certainly wasn’t going to change my foul mood.
And it certainly wasn’t going to make me forget the past.
CHAPTER8
Alexandra
“You’re okay with this?” Charlotte asked as she pulled her car in front of the club.
“The job? Absolutely.”
“No, me leaving you here. How are you going to get home?”
“I’ll catch an Uber if I need to,” I told her.
