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So, seven years, give or take.
My friends at the time wanted to go to Superior because the bars stayed open longer than in Duluth. Funny how that sort of thing matters when you’re twenty-one. Now, if I’m up past ten, it’s a miracle, and the idea of partying until two in the morning is absurd.
My inhalation is shaky as I try to breathe deeply through my nose. I don’t know why this is so nerve-wracking. It’s not like this is my first gig. I’ve literally planned hundreds of events over the years, but it still feels monumental. One thing’s for sure, I need to get a grip. I can’t go in there acting like I’m nervous as hell.
At least I was able to make the journey on my own this time. That has to be saying something, right?
I grab my briefcase, exit my vehicle, and make my way to the massive concrete structure. If you didn’t know Nocté was a nightclub, from the outside it looks like another warehouse on the side streets of Superior.
Simple lines, dark gray exterior paint. Hardly any windows—probably to suppress the light show that goes on inside. The only thing that stands out is the bright neon sign on the side of the building in the form of Nocté’s logo. But without context, even that could go unnoticed.
It definitely makes me curious about the owner—Noah, I think London said his name was.
Why did he start the club?
What’s with the Upper Tier? Why was that created?
Was he cheated on once and this is his way to overcome it? Or was he the cheater who’s trying to find forgiveness?
Does he have a vision for the club’s expansion? He must since he wants the Upper Tier more engaged.
It would make it a lot easier to design this supper event if I knew the endgame, or what made him tick. As it is, I’m going off of what London knows and that isn’t much.
I reach out, pressing the intercom button beside the back door. Waving into the camera, I fully expect to have to wait for Myles to come let me in. However, the door buzzes and the lock clicks back.
Smiling to myself, I give one more wave to the camera and walk in.
I find Myles behind the bar—her usual station, it seems—and make my way over to her. There’s something about the confidence she exudes that makes it easy to approach her. It’s a good quality to have in a bartender, that’s for sure.
“Hey, you,” Myles says as I walk up and place my briefcase on the bar. She eyes it, then raises a well-shaped brow. “Very official today.”
I grin back at her. “Yeah, well … I’m here on official business.”
She nods, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips.
I grin back, then take the opportunity to look for London. He’s nowhere in sight, but one of the larger booths on the edge of the dance floor has paperwork spread across it.
“He’ll be out in a minute. He said something about needing a damn pen that works before he stomped off,” Myles offers. When I turn around, she’s rolling her eyes. “Want anything to drink while you wait?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m good. But thank you.”
She shrugs off my response and turns to a box on the counter behind her. Then proceeds to stock the various bottles of alcohol along the mirrored wall.
London walks out from the back offices and my breath catches. His hair is disheveled and his eyebrows crowd together. He’s clearly worrying about something.
However, his outfit is extremely put together—a nice dark blue button-up top that I bet brings out the blue in his eyes if I get close enough—and a pair of faded denim with rips in all the right places. His sleeves are rolled up, showcasing his tattoos and I have to divert my gaze when I realize I’m staring.
My heart kicks up a few notches and it’s suddenly way too warm in here.
“Hey, you’re here,” London says, walking up to the bar. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Kinda hard when you’re running back and forth fifty times,” Myles mumbles under her breath.
“What was that?” London asks, glancing in her direction.
“Not a thing,” she says, plastering a fake smile on her face.
London takes a deep breath, shaking off her words, and turns to me. “Are you ready to do some planning?”
