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“Who’s Matis?” I ask.
“The owner,” he replies without inflection.
“How do you know him?”
He glances toward me, a quirk in his brow. “Business.”
Now it’s my turn to look confused. “What kind of business do you have with a sex club owner? Don’t you work with like mega-billion-dollar corporations or something?”
He chuckles to himself. “I own a portion of this club, Daisy. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
My lips part as I stare at him in shock. Of course he ownspart ofa sex club. He probably has his money in everything. Is there anything he doesn’t own?
Without warning, he turns me toward him, lifting my chin again. “You will stay next to me the entire time, understand?”
I bite my lip to keep from smiling as I nod. “Yes, sir.”
His nostrils flare as he lets out a low noise that sounds like a growl. “I can’t even say sir?” I ask.
Ignoring my question, he continues.
“There aren’t as many boundaries here like you’re used to at Salacious.”
“What does that mean?”
His grip on my back tightens and he pulls me closer. “It means that just because you’re seen with me, it doesn’t mean people won’t try to proposition you.”
A playful smirk pulls at the corner of my lips. “And what should I say if they do?”
A sour, dark sort of expression transforms his features, as he lets go of my back and moves a hand to my face, cupping my jaw. My head tilts back more as I stare up into his eyes. “You tell them yourdaddysaid no.”
“Oh, so you can call yourself my daddy, but I can’t say it?” I ask in a teasing tone.
As the elevator chimes and the doors open, he turns away from me and adjusts the sleeve of his suit. “Yes, Daisy.”
I’m still smiling as he leads the way out of the elevator and onto the club floor. Nothing like the loud but chill aesthetic upstairs, this club is energetic and alive with music and dancing.
The partitioned dance floor is dark and crowded, bodies gyrating and groping one another to the rhythm of the music. Everything about this club has an old art deco sort of vibe, and it reminds me of something out ofThe Great GatsbyorMoulin Rouge.
On the wall, in a large neon cursive sign, is the wordL’Amour, which I assume is the name of the club. While I’m too busy staring at the sign, I nearly miss the shadows and silhouettes of the people moving on the dance floor, who are definitely getting it on, VIP style.
My cheeks heat with a blush as I look back at Ronan, who’s watching me with a mischievous smirk.
“Okay, so it’s notthatdifferent than Salacious,” he says in a low, ominous mutter.
I follow him around the large room until we reach some round tables along the back wall of the club. These are clearly meant for important clientele and owners. It’s when we reach the second table that a man takes one look at Ronan and lights up with excitement.
“Monsieur Kade!” he shouts with a thick French accent.
Ronan smiles at the man, who is completely surrounded by women that he can’t even stand from the booth he’s in. Instead, Ronan reaches out a hand and the man shakes it emphatically.
“Matis, good to see you again,” he replies before turning toward me. “This is my friend, Daisy,” he adds, and I’m so caught up on the wordfriendthat I’m staring at Ronan too long before reaching out a hand toward Matis.
“Lovely to meet you, Daisy,” the man says, holding my gaze as he presses his lips to my knuckles.
He’s very handsome and surprisingly a lot younger than Ronan—maybe in his thirties. He has shoulder-length black hair that is slicked back and curled behind his ears, with a chiseled jawline and sharp cheekbones.
When he doesn’t let go of my hand, I feel Ronan’s touch on my hip, pulling me back toward him, and I remember what he said about people in this club neglecting relationship boundaries.
