Page 37 of Cocky Brutal Sinner

For the first time, I let myself admit it. I want Beau to put his arm around me when he introduces me to his mother. I want him to pull out my seat, which is next to his. I want more than the ghost of a relationship I’ve been living in, and I’m terrified Beau won’t give it to me.

12

FIVE YEARS AGO

BEAU

“Iwas bringing champagne over to their booth, and when I was putting the bottles in the bucket, the asshole in the polo shirt grabbed my ass!” Mandy’s hands shake with anger as she retells the story. Heavy bass from the sound system pounds through my office walls, but it’s one of the few places in my nightclub where you can have a conversation without yelling.

“Fuck,” I mutter. “I’m so sorry, Mandy. Do you want me to press charges? I can access the security cameras for footage if you need it.”

She shakes her head. “No. Kicking them out is good enough for me.”

“Still not sure that was a great idea,” Peter mutters next to me. He’s the manager at Velvet & Vice—for now, though. If he keeps complaining, he’s going to talk himself right out of a job.

I cross my arms and glare at him. “Nobody harasses our waitresses and gets away with it. Point blank. They crossed the line, so they’re out on their asses.”

“After their champagne bottles were already opened but before they pulled out their black cards to cover the cost,” Peter says. “We’re a new club. We can’t afford to scare away big spenders just because they’re misbehaving a little.”

I grit my teeth. Peter thinks he’s helping, explaining business to the twenty-three-year-old who just poured his food truck earnings into opening a nightclub. Most clubs would side with the VIPs, not the cocktail waitresses, but I don’t plan to run Velvet & Vice like it’s any other club. I was able to turn my food truck into a successful steakhouse without compromising my values, and I’m going to do the same thing with this nightclub.

Unfortunately, if I start snapping at him now, it’s going to make me look like a young hotshot, not a stable restaurateur with a good head on his shoulders.

“Why don’t you go check in on the other VIP booths, Pete?” I suggest, as calmly as I can. “Mandy and I have a bit more to talk about.”

Peter scowls. He loathes when people call him Pete, but he follows my orders. Once I’m sure he’s out of earshot, I turn back to Mandy.

“Sorry about him. He’s getting fired tonight, he just doesn’t know it yet.”

Mandy smiles. “Good. He’s a dick. I thought you might be, too, but you had my back with those jerks. Thanks.”

“Why don’t you head home? You’ll get paid for the rest of your shift, plus I’ll throw in an extra $500 to cover any lost tips.”

She ducks her head. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I do. I’m not going to let anyone who works for me feel unsafe, ever. Seriously, if anyone gives you so much as a bad vibe, tell me. I’ll take care of it.”

“I appreciate that. I’d rather keep working, though. I don’t want to leave the other servers in a lurch by leaving early. The club is super busy tonight.”

“Then consider the $500 a bonus.”

“Thanks, Mr. Bishop.”

I wince. “Beau, please. Being called Mr. Bishop gives me hives.”

“Okay. Beau.”

Mandy shoots me one last smile before she heads back to the bar. I make a mental note to consider her the next time I’m promoting a server to supervisor. Opening the security footage on my computer, I rewind to see the group of guys security escorted out. Most of them seem to have accepted being kicked out, but one is being dragged by the arm by a bouncer. He’s got pale blonde hair and he’s wearing what looks like a bulky Bulgari watch. I’m sure without a shadow of a doubt that he’s the one who grabbed Mandy.

The unfortunate side of owning a luxury club is dealing with rich assholes.

I lock up my office and head for the club’s main floor. I like to do a round of the club a few times a night when I’m here, and I stop by at least twice on the nights I work up at Terrace. It lets me keep an eye on the crowd, make sure the service level is high and the party is happening.

The pounding dance music vibrates through to my bones as I open the door. I grin as I take in the scene. It took months and way too many meetings with an interior decorator to get Velvet & Vice to look just the way I pictured it. The mirrored bar makes the dance floor look bigger, the colored light fixtures—set to blue and cyan tonight—add an upscale feel to the place. The dark booths around the edge of the room have a more intimate feel. Couples can cuddle up or friends can enjoy deep conversation.

Whatever kind of party you’re looking for, you can find it at Velvet & Vice.

I lean against the back wall to watch the crowd. Women in sparkling dresses crowd the dance floor, drawn to the siren call of Robyn’s “Dancing on My Own.” Stone-cold classic. Groups of friends down cocktails at the high-top tables near the bar, and Toronto’s hottest DJ, a former model who goes by the mononym Gwyn, spins at the head of the room like a priest leading a ritual.