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My sense of danger is heightened, although I’m not entirely worried that this man is about to hurt me. The expression on his face doesn’t match the gentleman who gave me his seat at breakfast, but I’m too stunned to properly voice just how confused I am.
“What the…” I stammer.
“Remember me?” he mutters, and I can tell immediately that he’s drunk.
Fuck Brett for never listening to me about the alcohol limit.Thisis exactly why there needs to be one.
“Yes, of course. What are you doing here?” I back farther into the room, feeling my way toward the desk, where I have more access to things that could be used as a weapon—stapler, scissors, the rolling office chair.
“You own a sex club,” he slurs.
Confusion tightens my features. “Yeah. So?”
“You bragged all morning about your little club. If I’d known then what kind of club it was—”
My face twists in disgust. Here I was, thinking this guy and I had a connection, and now he follows me to my club, only to ambush me and try to make me feel bad about it. I knew I shouldn’t have given him the card.
“Oh, you wouldn’t have bought my six-dollar breakfast? Get over yourself.”
I try to move past him toward the door. This entire day is a fucking waste, and the sooner I can get out of here and wash it all away with cheap beeralonein my apartment, the better.
Why are all men so fucking disappointing?
“If I had known you were a pretentious prude, I wouldn’t have given you that card in the first place,” I snap at him.
“I thought you were different,” he mutters, blocking my way.
My eyes narrow as I glare up at him. “Fuck. You.”
Just as I reach the door, ready to throw it open and leave him in the office, he says two words that stop me in my tracks.
“Truett Goode.”
My hand is on the knob, but I don’t turn it. Instead, I spin around and stare at him in confusion.
“Does that name mean anything to you?” he asks.
I know who Truett is, of course. Everyone in Austin knows that self-righteous, hypocritical smug bastard.
As I stare at Adam, waiting for an explanation, he starts to look even more drunk than he was a moment ago when he cornered me in here.
“That’s my father.”
My jaw drops.
Of fucking course it is.
Then, because it’s just all too ironic, I start laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Adam asks, looking offended.
“Oh, nothing,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest.
“My father is going to have your club shut down,” he adds, and I laugh again.
“Is that a warning…or a threat?” I ask with humor. Adam just grows more and more frustrated with my laughter. I find it hilarious to see how angry he is to learn that I own this club. Wait until he finds out his father is one of our most prestigious members.
“I’m serious,” he barks. “He has the property title in his office. He already owns this building.”
