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The door opens, and a big brick house of a man steps in. His gaze meets mine, and for a moment, he pales, like he just had an ‘oh shit’ moment. But he locks eyes with Mia, who walks past me and stops at the man. “Take out the trash for me, and don’t let it back in.”
And then she leaves.
The guy shifts, clears his throat, and I wait. “Uh, Mr. Bandoni?”
“I wouldn’t.”
The guy looks like he’s about to melt in fear. Even though he outweighs me, it seems my reputation is known.
Good.
“I have to.”
“Well—”
“Andrew.”
“How about this, Andrew? You give me a tour of the outside of the property, all the ways in, and a run-down of the staff, and then I’ll take care of Mia.”
The guy sighs and nods. “I’m gonna get so fired. C’mon, this way.”
I follow him out, aware Mia is watching like she’s just won a prize.
She hasn’t at all, and she’s going to learn that.
But damn if the woman doesn’t win some points for her ballsy move.
I let Andrew take me outside. As we tour, I suddenly stop and look at him.
“Okay, tell me exactly what’s going on. Or else I put a hole the size of a bullet between your eyes. Your call.”
ChapterThree
MIA
I’m not going to lie.
It felt so good doing that to Christian. And I know throwing him out isn’t going to hold. He left, but I suspect it was because he decided to do so, not because of anything Andrew did.
Christian is not a man intimidated by anyone or anything.
Macho, overbearing men can all get out of my life.
And Andrew looked pale and a little green at the edges when he finally returned.
I’ve started on paperwork and other things I need done, but the music and my thoughts are both too loud to concentrate. So, now I’m sitting at the bar as the strippers go through their new routine.
The music has a hypnotic beat and is full of sex and female empowerment by whoever is the big name at the moment. It’s not bad, and the guys coming for the show won’t pay a lick of attention to the lyrics, not when the girls are planning on moves like what they’re doing now.
In the back of the room, the pole dancers are arguing over who goes where and when. I don’t need to hear them to know that’s what’s happening. They do it all the time. Certain slots mean making more money, and the later in the night, the more options there are for lap dances—if the girls want to do that.
The headliners are the draw, they get paid the most, and they put on a show.
They know their moves, and they know how to draw customers. I handpick each and every one, and I’m more than aware of the ideas and dreams in the back of my head that fold into why I picked them.
I’m at the front where the bar is, and I lean against it, perching on one of the stools. There’s a scent of beeswax mixing in with everything else, and the bar gleams slightly in the light.
There’s an urge just to pack it all in, but I’m not giving in to that. I love this place, and all I’ve done to elevate it. I’ve learned that the urge to run always passes.
