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“Perfect.”
When we stepped inside, the first thing I saw was how dark the space was. There were numerous light fixtures attached to the walls, but they must have been set on the lowest setting possible. The booths had extremely high backs, which I assumed were for privacy, and they were scattered in no logical order. The bar resembled an old Western movie with rich, deep woods and bottles on the shelves that honestly looked a hundred years old.
“What is this place?” I whispered.
Aside from the Frank Sinatra music that played over speakers you couldn’t see, it was fairly quiet, and I didn’t want to draw attention.
“A limited-access speakeasy,” he answered, and I had no idea what that meant.
Once we sat down at one of the high-back booths, Joseph across from me, I realized that you really couldn’t hear any of the conversations happening around you. Which meant that no one would be able to hear ours either.
“What’s a limited-access speakeasy?” I asked.
A gorgeous woman appeared, almost out of thin air, to take our drink order. I had no idea what to get, so Joseph asked me what kind of hard alcohol I preferred.
“Vodka,” I said in response. “Always vodka.”
Once he ordered for me and she disappeared, Joseph leaned across the table separating us. “You know what a speakeasy is, I assume.”
I nodded.
“A limited-access one is basically like a private club. Only certain people can come in here.”
“Do you pay a fee?” I asked, genuinely curious. I’d never heard of such a thing before in my life.
“No. It’s not like a country club. But you have to be invited and accepted. The whole point is to keep private business private.”
“How do you get invited?”
“Word of mouth. Everyone who comes here is very powerful in their own way. But it isn’t just money that gets you in. Usually, that’s not enough. Your reputation counts. What you do for work. Who you do business with. All kinds of things,” he said, and I nodded like this was a totally common thing.
“Are there any women members?” I asked, and his mouth turned up into a lopsided grin.
“Yes. Probably half are women,” he answered just as Miss Gorgeous returned with our drinks.
Joseph held his glass of what I assumed was whiskey in the air between us, and I pressed mine against his before we both took a sip.
“Oh, this is delicious,” I said, admiring the giant globe of ice in the middle and the scent of oranges.
“I’m glad you like it.”
I leaned my back into the booth and took another drink. “Did you bring me here to fake dump me?” I blurted out.
Joseph’s eyes bulged. “What? No. Why would you think that?”
“Because your mom called us out tonight. She knows we’re faking.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Does she though?”
Wait, what?
“I mean, she said it. She knows.”
“Shethinksshe knows. And she tried to scare you off tonight. If we keep doing what we’re doing, then at some point, she’ll have to admit she was wrong,” he explained.
I wasn’t sure if it was the logic or the alcohol, but it all seemed to make perfect sense to me in that moment.
“So, we don’t stop?” I said, my relief permeating every word.
