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“Man says he just wants to talk to you. Do me a favor and have a drink with him?”
Charlie had never asked her to do anything before. He’d always ordered. “He’s an importantclientto you?”
“Very.”
Erin fluffed her hair in the back, poufing it up a bit. “I’ll talk with him, Charlie. But I’m notentertaininghim.”
“Whatever you’re comfortable with, Lola. He’s the one all the way in the back corner booth.”
“Fine.” Erin let out a low growl and slid past Charlie and the bouncers, snapping her heels against the concrete floor in a staccato beat in time with the music, her hips swaying provocatively. She dropped the serving tray off at the VIP bar and wended her way back to the corner booth and Charlie’sspecialclient.
The high-backed, black, circular booths provided insular bubbles of privacy lining the dimly lit chamber. Some tables were empty, some filled with customers enjoying a lap dance or more intimate form of company available to them here in Porter’s VIP lounge.
The corner booth held a single occupant who already nursed a longneck. He wore an expensive-looking red suit shirt encompassing his thick torso and had a thick five o’clock shadow dusting his prominent chin. It was in stark contrast to his bald head, which sported a tattoo of a gleaming silver spear she could just spy above his left ear.How did he get away with that at a corporate job?
“You already have a drink, I see. I don’t suppose you need another?”
He didn’t smile back.Odd.“I’m fine, thanks. Why don’t you get yourself something, and then we can talk for a while?”
“Sure thing, hon. I’ll be right back.”
Erin sauntered back to the bar, in no hurry to return to her VIP, but figuring she’d show off her long, toned legs. If the man wanted a show, she’d give him a show, because he wasn’t getting anything else.
“Hey Lola, what can I do you for?” Mick, the bartender, asked as she leaned on her elbows.
She licked her lips. Only one drink appealed to her. “Wine. What all you got?”
“House red or white,” his enthusiasm was as dry as the options.
“Be more specific.”
He frowned. “What, you’re a connoisseur now?”
She flicked her fingers at him. “Just tell me what types, Mick. I ain’t got all day.”
“Fine, whatever. The red’s a merlot and the white’s a chardonnay. I think the rose is a merlot or zinfandel. Crap if I care.”
Erin rubbed her temples. Merlot would never do; it would only make her melancholy. The chardonnay was a sunny and upbeat wine but would solidify her connection to herclient. Not something she was aiming for. The undefined rose was an automatic pass.
“Do you have a Nebbiolo back there?”
Mick rolled his eyes. “I’ve told you what we have, Lola.”
“Can you double check for me, please?”
“You know something I don’t know?”
She shrugged her shoulders. Nebbiolo’s ability to focus her mind and keep her crafty would be perfect. Erin didn’t know how she knew, but the clarity of the answer was rooted in her like a living thing.
“Fine.” He disappeared through a door into the storage room behind the bar and returned two minutes later carrying a bottle of Italian Nebbiolo and an astonished look on his face. “You could have just told me the VIP had it brought in.”
Except he hadn’t. Thoughts of the man with the amber eyes flashed through her mind. How could this be possible? Erin watched in wonder as he popped the cork, handed her two glasses, and then handed both the glasses and the bottle over to her.
She squelched a private smile as she picked up the bottle, held it to her nose, and breathed it in deeply. The aroma was divine.
“Thanks, Mick.”
“Next time, just tell me flat out and don’t mess with me.”
