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Becca jumped up and down and clapped, but I was veiled in horror. Spin was about to be a rude awakening to the brothers who likely floated above the rest of the populace with their wealth and luxurious lifestyles.
“Let’s get the driver,” Alexei agreed, snagging Becca by the arm. Max’s hand on my lower back — a little too low for propriety — propelled me forward.
“Max, this place is awful,” I warned him, clutching my lone rose like it would save me.
“We’re prepared for a cultural experience,” he said in a tone that drew me short of his path outside.
“Am I a cultural experience for you?” I asked suddenly. “This performance? Everything? Are you enjoying slumming it with me? With us?”
Max’s eyebrows rose, but he was reacting to me being upset — not the words I had spoken. I could tell.
“I enjoy every moment I have with you, Ruth Miracle,” he said. He didn’t so much as look at whoever was passing by us as he grabbed me, yanked me to his taut body, and kissed me, his lips deceptively soft against mine. He could turn at any moment, have it rough. I knew he could because I’d experienced it.
It was only that kiss that convinced me Maxim wasn’t being sarcastic.
“Then I hope you really enjoy this bar,” I said, trying to warn him again. “It’s probably like nothing you’ve ever seen.”
“Please,” he laughed haughtily. “I’ve seen things you can’t even imagine.”
It made it even funnier, then, to see Maxim and his brother halt a few steps into the bar at Spin and gape at the plywood and fluttering dollar bills gracelessly stapled to every surface. It really was a terrible hole in the wall. There was literally a hole in its wall, an affectionate homage to this place. Spin didn’t have an ounce of atmosphere. People only came here to forget where they came from.
“I’ll order some beer,” I shouted over the music, blasted by a disaffected DJ slumped in the corner of the place. “Any preferences?”
“Any chances of anything except beer?” Maxim yelled back, cursing as Becca and Alexei plunged forward into the dank dark of the dance floor.
“Name your poison,” I hollered, pointing at the shelves of liquor lining the shelves in front of the stained mirrors. I loved Spin. I really did. But did I love it enough to bring my billionaire boss into the fray and believe everyone would enjoy themselves? No. No, I did not.
My entire body was tensed and ready for disaster when the bartender spotted me and headed over.
“Two pitchers of beer,” I yelled over the music, then looked at Maxim.
“And a bottle of vodka,” he shouted.
So it was going to be like that.
Eleven
Maxim
I awoke with a dry mouth and a shitty headache that reminded me of my younger years. I hadn’t had a night like that for a long time. Nowadays, I had a better handle on my limits — and a surer understanding of what I could and couldn’t do.
Ruth Miracle was robbing me of my sense of moderation.
After a hearty breakfast with just the right amount of grease from my sympathetic chef — and perhaps two too many espressos — I felt marginally better. The edge of my hangover wasn’t nearly as sharp by the time I arrived at the office, and I already knew exactly what was going to get me all the way back to normal.
My cure walked through the door fifteen minutes early, and nearly recoiled from the grin I gave her.
“What’s wrong?” Ruth demanded. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because I haven’t forgotten the promise I made to you last night.”
Her brow furrowed for a moment before her eyes widened, pupils blown. “What, um, promise?”
What a little liar. “That I was going to take what was mine.” I uncrossed my legs so she could see exactly the effect she had on me. Even thinking about what was going to happen made me hard, my cock pressing painfully against my trousers.
“Right now?” she squeaked, actually stumbling back a few steps. “Here?”
“You didn’t mind last night, in an auditorium filled with hundreds of people,” I reminded her, standing slowly. “I don’t remember you complaining at all.”
