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“I will make sure to personally thank Janice for her discretion as soon as we get home tonight. And I’ll keep a low profile for the next few days.” He could only hope that was enough to placate his mother.
Alice’s bottom lip quivered, and tears shone in her eyes. “I’m afraid it will be some time before you get an opportunity to talk to Janice in person, darling. The jet is heading back to New York today, but on the way home, we will be making a short stopover in Philadelphia.”
“What’s in Philadelphia? Are we picking someone up?” asked Jordan warily.
Alice took a hold of his hand and gave it a gentle motherly squeeze. “There is a world-class addiction treatment center in Philadelphia. You can’t go on like this Jordan. It’s time you got sober and clean.”
Rehab. They are sending me to rehab.
CHAPTERONE
Berlin, Germany
Four and a half years of tortured sobriety later
The throbbing techno beat of the tightly packed nightclub pulsed uncomfortably through his body. In his former life, as Jordan liked to call his pre-rehab days, he would have soaked up the ear-splitting, pulse-racing music. The party favors and alcohol coursing through his veins would have seen him in the middle of the dance floor, busting out all the slick moves. In his heyday he had been one hell of a dancer. He’d also been a world-class drug addict. Now, clubbing simply annoyed him. Three months of treatment, with the occasional top-up spot of therapy had stuck. He was clean and he was sober.
Jordan wouldn’t have normally come to a place like Berghain, the famous Berlin nightclub located in a former Soviet era heating plant, but his German cousin Leon had convinced him to set aside hisdull New York brainand take in some cutting-edge music. Jordan’s personal assistant, the red-headed Sheila, had been banging on all week about visiting Berghain, so that had also played a part in his decision to come tonight.
Being a local minor Berlin celebrity meant Leon could get through the front door without having to suffer under the withering gaze, and swift ‘nein’ of the club’s bouncers. The bouncers at Berghain were as famous as the club. Only a select few guests were given approval to step inside. Tourists were routinely turned away.
Holding Sheila by the hand, Leon made his way through the crowd, and toward a short set of steps which led up to the next level of the club. Jordan trailed behind them. He barely noticed the scantily clad men and women moving in time with the music. The scent of body sweat, perfume, and alcohol hung thick in the air. He might be a recovering addict, but Jordan’s nose could still pick out the notes of various alcoholic drinks. His eyes caught the sleight of hands, which signaled that other smallpop-in-the-mouthitems were being handed around.
This was a dangerous place for him. Temptation was everywhere. He did a quick mental check of his escape plan. If he found his resolve being pushed to the limit, he was to send a message to a private number. A House of Royal security team would be immediately dispatched to discreetly extract him from the club.
“Here we are, this is our table,” announced Leon. He ushered a smiling Sheila into the minimalist designed wooden booth and followed closely behind. Jordan stifled a grin as his two companions quickly got cozy with one another. They had first met a year or so ago and seemed to have hit it off. Now whenever Jordan happened to mention to his cousin that he might be coming to Germany, Sheila’s name inevitably found its way into the conversation, along with a less than subtle hint that she might also want to make the trip.
Sheila’s hopeful pleadings had finally overcome Jordan’s reluctance to visit the nightclub. Considering the amazing work she did in supporting him, having to endure a couple of hours of electro, ghettotech, and psy sounds mixed by a Colombian DJ was the least he could do. Table service meant expensive bottles of booze, with a minimum four-figure dollar spend to secure a table. Since Leon was paying, Jordan didn’t mind. Just as long as they offered a decent nonalcoholic range of drinks, he was content.
Sheila was beaming. As was Leon. Jordan couldn’t decide which of his two companions looked the most like a kid on Christmas morning, all bubbling with excitement.
Such a cute pair. I wonder if Leon is ever going to make a move. Sheila won’t wait forever. Better snap her up and soon, cuz.
And as much as he privately shippedLeshor was thatShon, Jordan was more than happy to admit that the romantic affairs of his relatives and company employees were actually none of his bloody business.
He wasn’t here in Berlin to play cupid—he was here to check out the city’s recently opened Royal Resorts hotel. To see how the furnishings looked, and possibly steal one or two ideas for the new Laguna Beach resort he was going to project manage in California later in the year. The European design team had a great eye for little touches, ones that would be sure to delight guests. And delighted guests were what every hotelier wanted.
His older brother Bryce ran the European arm of Royal Resorts, and from what Jordan had seen of his other completed projects, he had no doubt the Berlin hotel would be exceptional.
How do I compete with that? I don’t know if I can.
A server arrived at their table and conducted a quick conversation with Leon in German. He pointed at Jordan. When the woman repeated the words “bitter lemon”, Jordan held up four fingers. He’d been clued up on how things worked in the clubs. Nonalcoholic drinks didn’t come with the same markup or profit as bottles of booze, but if he ordered four glasses, the bar staff would charge a full bottle of champagne to Leon’s minimum spend tab and everyone would be happy.
As soon as his drinks arrived, Jordan was going to settle in for a hopefully not too long a night of soberly appreciating the decadent electronic music and alternative culture. While it was easy to see why all the other clubs envied Berghain, Jordan would have preferred to be somewhere quieter.
That odd thought sent a shudder through him.
I’m thirty two years old and I’m beginning to sound like my father.
* * *
Berghain, the giant concrete and steel nightclub was world-famous, but then again so was Chloe Fisher. The double takes and stares she got as she made her way through the cavernous venue spoke volumes as to how instantly recognizable, she was—everyone knew Chloe.
The loud cries of “Chloe?” “Is that?” “Wow, das ist sie!” followed her every step. So did several large well-trained security men who kept the crowd at bay. No one was getting anywhere near the pop princess, not without her say so. Anyone who tried would soon find themselves deposited outside in the cold Berlin night.
Her small select party of guests was ushered to a private area in one of the upper levels of the club. Their austere booth sat at a right angle to the rest of the room, which afforded Chloe a welcome degree of privacy as she dropped wearily onto a spot on the wooden bench out of clear sight of the dancefloor.
I am so tired. Why did I agree to come here?
