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“So, no deal, then?” he asks in a mocking tone.
I glance at the stage then back to my friend. Then I let my eyes trail over to Ronan, who’s already almost done with his bourbon, which he normally takes longer to drink.
At this point, it’s not even about wanting to go to that piano bar. It’s more a matter of pride. I’ve never lost a bet where Ronan Kade is concerned and I don’t plan on it now. With this past year being one bad decision after another, I need this win. If for nothing else than to prove to myself that I know a good call when I see one.
I won’t end up on that auction block. I’ll be singing “Piano Man” twenty-four hours from now.
“Fine,” I snap. “Deal.” I thrust out my hand and Geo grins wickedly as he shakes it.
Then, I turn on my heel and belt out, “Sing us a song, you’re the piano man,” as I carry another tray of drinks out to the floor. Geo laughs loudly behind me, and I catch Ronan’s curious gaze as I go. I square my shoulders and try to look more confident than I feel. Inside, I’m shaking, because I can’t help but wonder if I just made one dangerous deal.
RULE #2: AVOID BEING PREDICTABLE
Ronan
The little remaining bourbon in my glass swirls slowly as I turn it, the soft, yet smoky aroma hitting my nose as I watch the crowd bustle around me. It’s a lively night at the club, as auction nights often are. The ostentatious show of wealth, the promise of sex, the potential of what one winning bid might bring. It’s easily my favorite night at Salacious.
I almost didn’t come in tonight. It’s been a hell of a day. I couldn’t sleep last night, couldn’t focus on work today, and couldn’t muster the energy or the desire for sex if I tried.
Of course, death anniversaries will do that to you, though. They’re like evil little reminders dwelling on your calendar, not to be celebrated, but impossible to ignore. Even after twenty-eight years.
I toss back the remaining sip in my glass, just as the waitress passes by.
“Another, Mr. Kade?” she asks with an innocent-looking smile.
“Yes, please, Daisy.”
With a gentle nod of her head, she takes my empty glass and walks away. This girl showed up at the club after the holidays, and I find her strangely intriguing. She’s young, and far too angelic-looking to be a drink server at a sex club.
I have a keen enough eye to notice the way I intrigue her too. The way her gaze always seems to find its way to me, especially on Thursday nights. To her, I’m an enigma, someone to gawk at, to marvel, to internally question, but never to approach or speak to.
I get this reaction with a lot of people—mostly people who think I’m nothing more than a callous CEO or an arrogant Dom. And maybe that’s true, but I know how much I like to be surprised by the people I meet. I only wish the same opportunity was afforded to me.
Just as Daisy brings back my bourbon, this one heavily poured, I direct a curious brow in her direction.
“Happy bidding,” she croons with a sugary grin.
“Thanks,” I mutter before bringing the drink to my lips. No point in telling her Iwon’tbe doing any bidding tonight.
Just then, the auction starts with a few familiar faces, men and women who grace the stage nearly every week. I know from experience that many of them will make every penny paid for their time worth it. Not that sex is mandatory in this situation. They’re simply offering up an hour, whether it be for drinks at the bar or in a private—or less than private—room.
It’s the eager and audacious attitudes toward sex that I appreciate anyway, which means I haven’t won the time of any willing participants that I didn’t enjoy.
When the beautiful woman with shoulder-length blonde curls takes the stage, looking a little more nervous than the others, I wish I were in the mood to entertain company tonight. She looks like the kind of woman who could hold a good conversation—before we fuck like animals, naturally.
There are two men at the back of the room volleying their bids back and forth, and I’m pleased to see her date going for over ten grand. She looks quite pleased with herself too.
Just as the bidding gets heated, I feel Daisy saddle up to my side. I do a double take, at first, wondering if she’s already here to refill my glass, but then I notice she’s wearing an anxious expression.
“Aren’t you going to bid on her?”
My brows pinch together as I gaze up at her in confusion. What on earth is Daisy so worried about?
“Is there some reason I should?” I ask skeptically.
Daisy has her bottom lip pinched between her teeth and she’s rubbing her fingers anxiously over the silver charm of her necklace.
“No reason,” she stammers. “Just curious. She…seems like your type, is all.”
