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He smirks but turns and leads us into the main room. It’s well-lit, more like it is when we clean after closing each night than the usual dim ambiance I’d expected.
But it lets me see the room and its inhabitants more clearly. Dominick is sitting alone at a table near the edge of the stage, right in front of the big pole that dominates the middle of the room, a glass filled with amber liquid on the polished wood beside him.
As Nick takes his place, I can see that there’s a guard in every corner. Dominick doesn’t bother standing, just gestures to the chairs opposite him, and we sit.
It’d almost feel like a double-date, Dominick and Allie on one side, and Shane and I on the other, if it weren’t for the pesky fact that things are about to go more than a bit sideways. Well, that and the guards in every corner.
Dominick picks up his glass and takes a sip before setting it down and studying us curiously. “So you asked for this meeting. What is so important?”
Shane looks at Allie, then back to Dominick. “I appreciate your agreeing to meet with us. And I apologize for asking that Allie be present. I know that would not be your preference, but I feel it affords us a certain amount of safety, considering the information I’m about to share.”
Dominick’s face tightens slightly, just at the corners of his eyes, belying his anger, but he keeps his cool. I can see it now, the aura of power, the comfort in his place in the hierarchy. I’d been fooled that it was just about him being the boss of such a hot club, but there’s so much more. Not to mention, I think he has ice in his veins considering the cool tone as he speaks. “There is always risk to sharing information. I hope that you have not set either of us up for any . . . safety issues.”
The pause in his speaking makes his threat crystal clear. I don’t need to look to know that each of the guards are on high alert, ready to handle us if there’s a problem. Or just at Dominick’s say-so.
Shane and Dominick stare each other down for a moment, the testosterone and dominance contest drawing out between the two of them for too long, so I break in, hoping to deter the two alpha males from locking horns until one of them’s dead. “Dominick, I would like to apologize for lying to you.”
My words aren’t totally unplanned. It was one of the many different scenarios that Shane and I went over, a way to keep Dominick off balance and willing to listen.
The shock of my admitting to lying does exactly what we hoped, and Dominick’s attention diverts solely to me, his eyes now boring into mine with his eyebrows raised in question. “Meghan, you lied to me? Explain.”
I start rambling, trying to get out the whole prepared speech at once. “My name is not Meghan. It’s Maggie Postland. In certain circles, Petals has a reputation. Apparently, it has several. But I was only aware of one . . . I didn’t know what Petals was, what you are. I just knew that celebrities of a certain caliber frequent the club for a bit of fun. I work as a tabloid reporter, writing stories strictly about celebrities. I began my job at Petals as a way of investigating these stories and wrote articles a few times.”
My eyes tick to Allie, who looks like I just slapped her across the face. I focus on her, the next words not important to Dom, but I insisted on them with Shane. “But while I worked here, I found friends and a place of belonging, a family that worked together, day-by-day and shift-by-shift, to look out for one another. I found a self-confidence and power I never knew I possessed. It hurt every day to lie to them, because I care about them very much.”
I look back to Dominick, who’s leaning forward a little, interested now. “I didn’t know exactly how deep the rabbit hole runs around here, and honestly, right now, I don’t care. My concern now is the trouble chasing me, trouble brought because I’m a part of the Petals family.”
Dominick’s eyes have gotten colder as I’ve spoken, and I can see the muscle in his jaw working as he clenches his teeth. His voice is a deadly whisper, but at least he’s not yelling as he looks around at the guards. “A fucking reporter? How the fuck did you get past the background check?”
I shrug, downplaying my awesomeness because it doesn’t seem the time to brag about how many times I’ve successfully gone undercover. “I’m good at my job. Please feel free to take a moment to Google me. I promise, you’ll see I’ve only written a couple of stories that relate to celebrities attending strip clubs, and I never mention Petals by name.”
