Terrance ran his fingers over the reception desk and glanced at Sam, the Virtue’s receptionist. “What do you think?”
Rourke’s gaze shot to him, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer. Whatever he felt for Forrest shouldn’t have been visible because not even he knew what the emotions inside himself were. He couldn’t explain the longing that swelled every time he saw Forrest, but it came hand in hand with a jealousy that knotted up his gut when he walked up those new stairs with a client.
Sam tapped on the keyboard of his computer, his eyes barely lifting from the screen he’d fixated on in absolute boredom. He pursed his mouth, lips pressing down on the ring piercing hooked through the corner of his bottom lip. “I’m not getting involved in this.”
“Why not?” Terrance poked Sam’s arm and received a dirty look in return.
“Because you’re both my bosses, and I need this job.” He turned his attention back to the screen.
“You could always be a whore. There’d be some guys interested in the punk look,” Terrance teased.
Sam drew out a long sigh and shoved his black rimmed glasses farther up his face. He had bleached blond hair, white as snow, with dark roots. Clients eyed Sam up, too, when they entered, but Sam remained adamant that he didn’t want to make more money by spreading his legs.
Rourke shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what either of you say. I’m not interested in Forrest.”
Sam sent him a brief look of disbelief before he went back to work again, when another client, a woman in at least her early sixties, entered.
Terrance greeted the woman and then followed Rourke when he headed toward his office. They walked up the new set of stairs and down the long, wide hallway they had recently recarpeted. Most of the paintings on the walls from before the shootout were caput, so they bought new, more expensive ones that would catch the eye of an art lover. Rourke argued with O’Riley about looking the high-end part, and Sloan agreed with Rourke’s assessment.
Rourke opened the door to his office, farthest room on the right, and Terrance strode in behind him.
“All I’m saying is that Forrest is our top earner. It wouldn’t be good for you to be jealous of his clients.”
“You don’t let anything go, do you?” Rourke fell into the leather chair behind his rustic oak desk and crossed his arms. “Terrance, I’m not in love with Forrest. He’s gorgeous, but that’s why he’s our top earner. I don’t plan on fucking him, either, before you start with that.”
Terrance hovered near the bookshelves that ran along the right side of the wall. Rourke had transformed a bedroom into this office, since the whore it’d belonged to died of an overdose several months prior to his arrival. Even though changed to an office, it still held the remnants of the tasteful décor, from the grooved patterns in the high, white plastered ceiling to the luxurious plum carpet. He’d stripped the furniture, adding it to another room, and dressed it with simple but expensive designs.
The desk cost a minifortune, as had the floor to ceiling bookshelves he’d installed. In the left corner were a couple of black leather wingback chairs with a coffee table between them, and a bar, in the same vintage oak as Rourke’s desk, filled the other corner. Stocked with the finest alcohol a man could ask for, from whiskeys to vodka to beer, the bar was maybe Rourke’s favorite part of the room. He’d made this space into a little getaway.
Terrance rested in one of the wingback chairs in front of Rourke’s desk and crossed his leg over his knee. He fell back into cushion, but kept a straight back, just like Rourke had taught him, because to be a good provocateur, you needed to be professional and classy.
“You’re right, I won’t let a potential disaster go.”
Rourke pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do you want me to say? That I think Forrest has a nice ass? Yes. The answer is yes. Would I fuck it given a chance?Yes.But unlike you with Alice, I don’t cross those lines.”
“Hit me below the belt, why don’t you?” He shook his head. “Alice and I are only fucking. There’s nothing serious there.”
“Really? Then tell me why she gets special privileges. That nonsense needs to stop. We have rules in place for a reason, and stupid mistakes get our property killed.” Rourke leaned forward. “A dead whore is lost revenue, and I won’t accept that in this brothel. I made a strict no-drugs policy for a reason, and I won’t have you making exceptions for anyone.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “I haven’t allowed drugs in the Virtue.”
“Not yet. The favors start small and then they grow, and soon, your friendly neighborhood whore will ask you to bring her crank. I know how this works. It’s the same with clients, which is why I banned them from bringing drugs in too.” He pointed his finger at Terrance. “Whatever you have with Alice stops now. Keep your cock in your pants.”
“How did this go from me giving you advice, to you banning me from fucking Alice?” Terrance’s pout nearly made Rourke laugh, but he kept a straight face.
“You brought up the topic, not me.”
“What did the boss say anyway?” he asked.
Rourke shook his head. “The usual. He’s keeping a closer eye on his businesses since that detective started sniffing around. He thinks she’s planning something.”
“He’s not worried about the Italians anymore?” Terrance put his elbows on his knees, eyes narrowed. “Those bastards took my brother and tortured him. Shouldn’t he focus on them instead?”
“No. The Italian we were after is dead. It’s done. Now we focus on real threats.”
“But—”
Rourke held up a hand, effectively shutting Terrance up. “If you want to go to the boss’s mansion and ask him why he’s not worried about the Italians, be my guest, but don’t waste my time. We have work to do. You’re the provocateur of the Virtue, Terrance, so nut up and do your job. Conall’s here and he’s safe. If you want to see what he has to say about it, go ask him yourself. I put him in his old room. You’ll need to get through his protection team, though. The boss gave him more men than the president has.”
