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It seemed every floor had a different theme, every room decorated in different vibrant shades of crimson and violet, sapphire and emerald. Pulsing music pounded through massive speaker systems, the lighting unlike anything I’d experienced in Los Angeles.
The club was entirely different than anything I remembered the Thibodeaux family owning. Even though my father had attempted to shield me from the man, never talking about the criminal activities, I’d been no fool even in my early teenage years. The danger and domination had been part of Francois’ allure, the predator in the man always present.
What I adored about the club was the attention to detail, the cutting-edge artwork on the walls and the waiters and bartenders in different uniforms depending on the theme. It seemed every piece of music had been created for them as well, the eclectic mix full of passion and freedom. Coming here had been good for my psyche, even if I could never do so again. It was too risky running into him, which would mean I’d need to explain myself to my father.
I’d yet to decide what to do, but I knew my agent wouldn’t allow me to stay hidden for long. There were too many upcoming shoots, designers refusing to be denied no matter how brutal the crime I’d endured. Still, I’d forgotten how grounding being in New Orleans could feel, the energy and pulse of the city an important part of my past and the woman I’d become. Maybe it was time to consider a move. And a new career. I’d soon be labeled as getting too old for the runway, and while I’d grabbed my share of magazine covers, only two of them had led to anything substantial.
I was no actress.
I had no degree, much to my father’s chagrin.
What the hell was I supposed to do? Feeling sorry for myself was ridiculous.
With the girls off dancing, I found myself venturing into a few of the rooms I hadn’t entered, feeling like a princess as I descended the massive set of wooden stairs, the steps carpeted in scarlet. Maybe this was what Scarlett O’Hara had felt like. I smiled as I moved to the first floor, studying the various mosaics positioned on the more than thirty-foot walls. There were also tapestries, every one of them provocative yet so classy.
Miley had told me the place had remained vacant for several years, gutted by a fire. That had been after a small hurricane had rolled through. I couldn’t imagine how much money Francois and his family had spent renovating the location, but I was impressed. Maybe some of my savvy father’s business acumen had rubbed off on the man.
I moved away from the crowd, taking a minute to refresh myself in the insanely gorgeous marble ladies’ room before heading upstairs, continuing to dance a portion of the night away. Only another hallway caught my eye. I glanced over my shoulder, chewing on my lower lip.
What are you doing, Delaney?
Could it possibly lead to the infamous vault? I glanced over my shoulder as if I was breaking a cardinal rule or worse, continuing down the path. The gilded sign on the door allowed me to realize that my instinct had been right.
“Employees and invited guests only.” Great. The sign was clear. I wasn’t allowed to enter. Those were the rules. A grin crossed my face and I glanced over my shoulder again, waiting until thesound of drunken laughter and squeals passed by the hallway, the group of girls more flamboyant than most I’d seen.
By all rights and if I was a good girl, I would head upstairs, tracking down Carrie and Miley. When had I ever been the kind of girl to play by the rules? I moved closer, excited by the prospects of what I’d find inside the tempting vault.
While I expected to find a locked door, I was pleasantly surprised when the handle turned. So I was being a bad girl but the way the private room had been described was far too much of a draw. “Wow.”
There was something extraordinary about the location, intimate lighting turning on the minute I walked inside. When the door automatically closed behind me with a soft click, I jumped, half expecting some men the size of the four outside the front door to enter. I envisioned them picking me up, pitching me over a set of their broad shoulders and tossing me onto the street.
I’d always had a vivid imagination.
Besides, this wasn’t technically trespassing. I was simply entering into private space. I took another sip of my almost empty drink, shocked that it really did look like the interior of a bank vault, at least those I’d seen on television, but the space was much larger. What had been kept inside the locked facility? I could only imagine.
The scenery in front of me was straight out of the nineteen twenties and I was required to walk through a set of thick iron bars through a massive circle transforming a steel wall into an opening. What appeared to be the original locks were in place and I wondered if they were still working.
If they could be used to lock someone inside.
Laughing, I was floored by the first room’s gorgeous, posh furniture, chairs and banquettes molded from rich-looking crushed velvet, the crimson color a throwback to a long-ago era. The crystal chandeliers were made of iridescent cut stones, every pristine diamond shape catching the light breeze coming from the HVAC system, flicking and chiming with a delicate sound.
The long bar was ornate in design, the exotic wood reddish in color. After passing through another smaller circular entrance, I shifted into a more private section, the single table massive I ran my fingers across the smooth wood, marveling in the sixteen high-back velvet chairs positioned perfectly around the rectangular shape. What a perfect setting for a fabulous and intimate dinner for a famous star or a head of state.
I was shocked just how peaceful and quiet it was, not a single sound from the other floors making it through the thick walls. No wonder it was considered private for reserved parties. There wasn’t anything like it that I’d ever been to. I placed my small purse on the table, turning in a full circle. The room was gorgeous.
I shifted to the oversized work of art positioned on the opposite wall, the vivid design and bold paint drawing my eye, the scene depicting a gorgeous city in a different time, the engaging pictorial of a stunning night under a full moon, lights emitted from the festively decorated businesses. However, it wasn’t New Orleans but another location equally as grandiose. As I walked closer, I realized there was a brothel on one side of the street, several bars depicting sin and shame readily available on the garishly decorated storefronts.
Drawn into the gorgeous setting, I laughed softly as I involuntarily reached up to trace one of the buildings, swaying my hips back and forth.
Seconds later, I heard footsteps and froze, a moment of utter terror skating down my spine. If I’d walked into a trap, no one would hear me scream, no one would come to help me. Nausea tore through my system, the fear almost crippling. I dared not turn around. The mysterious visitor was decidedly male. That was easy to tell by the weight of his shoes hitting the floor. He exuded power, his aura dancing around him like a live wire, his fragrance filtering into my system, tickling my core. His scent was decidedly masculine, woodsy without being overpowering, a light hint of citrus mixed with something terribly exotic.
He remained silent, as if daring me to speak first. I refused.
“That’s my favorite depiction of Key West, New Orleans’ sister city.” His voice was rich and dark, the deep baritone drifting through me at an alarming rate. I was stunned he’d found me. Or maybe he’d hunted me down. Now I was more electrified than before, my breath caught in my throat. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I wasn’t certain what to say.
Would he recognize me after all these years? I doubted it given I was all grown up now, taller and lankier, the baby fat that had once plagued me completely in my past. “I’ve never been to Key West, but I hear it’s incredible.” And I hadn’t been. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to Florida. But my father had been, many times, promising to take me when I was old enough to handle the debauchery. My mother had taken me out of the state before he’d had an opportunity, the bitter divorce forever ingrained in my mind.
“It’s a magical place as well, somewhere I like to go to unwind from the day-to-day drudgery of life. That’s why I had one of its famous artists paint this particular canvas for me. I thought it was a perfect location for something so incredibly beautiful. It serves as a reminder that there’s more to life than just work.”
