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“That’s very commendable.” My voice comes out rough and I look to the carpet, but my attention is caught on the movement of Harvey clutching a fist to his chest.
“Was that a compliment,rainha?”
I tut, rolling my eyes and dip a finger into my mostly cooled coffee to flick it at his face, which only makes him laugh. My own smile sneaks up on me, but Harvey’s carefree humour and ease with which he talks makes it hard not to feel relaxed.
“Will you tell me about your mother?” he asks and my smile fades.
I sigh. I don’t talk about my mother; no one ever really asks about her. But Harvey shared his story, and something makes me want to share mine with him. “My mother was a model.”
His brow raises and he gives me a slow perusal. “That tracks.”
This time, I train my smile, keeping my glare hard. “I don’t know about the nature of her relationship with my father, only that she knew when she was pregnant that it was by him, and she moved back to Sweden when she could no longer work due to her pregnancy. I, too, had a grandmother, and a grandfather. We lived next door to them, and I stayed with them when my mother was away with work. It was a pleasant life.” A strange prickle at my eyes and a pressure around my sinuses catches me off guard. I swallow the lump in my throat and pick at a non-existence thread on my sleep shorts.
“So how did you end up here?”
I clear my throat. “Stanley, my father, was diagnosed with testicular cancer. He survived but it left him infertile. Men like him want to leave a legacy and he’d lost his chance. So he tracked my mother down and took me away. I remember her crying but she did nothing when I begged her not to let him take me.” The image of my mother sat on a black leather sofa, her head in her hands, her blonde hair falling around her face, and her refusal to look at me as she sobbed is seared into my memory. “He brought me back here and kept me locked away in this place until he had use for me.”
“Training you to take the helm?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, I have a vagina.” My face remains completely neutral but Harvey jerks back in surprise, his eyes widening comically before he barks out a shocked laugh. It makes me let out a reluctant laugh, too, that’s more a silent exhale compared to his all-out chuckle.
“So, what was the point in taking you?” he asks, sobering.
“To marry me off to a man he deemed worthy so I could be bred and pop out a tiny tyrant to take over the family business.” I sigh.
He gives me that all-seeing look, and something that makes me uncomfortable is held in his eyes. Pity. I shuffle on my butt, reminding me that I’ve been sat on the floor all night and I ache. “I’m sorry you went through that. It’s shit.”
Not many people know about that part of my history and those who do were brought up in a certain life. Although they understand it was shitty, it’s more normal to them. For someone to acknowledge that I’ve had a rough deal feels like a welling in my chest. The look of sincerity on Harvey’s face has me blinking over the stinging in my eyes. “I’m sorry about your mother,” I offer in return.
He nods. “Me too.”
This feels weird, we went from Harvey joking about our heart to hearts — or lack of — to having one. I don’t talk about myself. It’s uncomfortable and unnecessary, but for some reason, Harvey made me feel like I wanted to share. I also find that I like learning about him. Of course, I knew a lot of what he told me already because Stuart had a full background on him before he even stepped foot in my office, but I enjoy hearing it from him.
“What made you start the Her Foundation?” he asks.
I contemplate for a moment, staring into his dark amber eyes. “A few years ago, a young woman came to The Diamond Dozen to audition as a dancer. I don’t normally oversee recruitmentat the club, I have a general manger for that, but I happened to see her audition. It was awful.” I stare at my knees as I remember the day, tracing circles on my bare skin with the tips of my fingers. I can sense Harvey watching the movement. “Her dancing was average at best, but it was evident that she was completely uncomfortable being on display. Stripping would have been a nonstarter. When she was told then and there that she wouldn’t be hired, she broke down. She begged for a job, any job.” I sigh, the memory of those heartbreaking sobs punching me in the gut. “I took her to my office and spoke with her. It turned out she’d managed to escape a man she thought she’d been in love with who had been grooming her over months until he started hiring her out to his friends.”
“Jesus Christ,” Harvey mutters, disgust creasing his face and his fists balling on his thighs.
“She’d been looking for work but wanted somewhere with high security and as the club has men on the door as well as a high security presence inside, she thought she’d be safe. She also informed me of several other women she knew in a similar situation, and it pissed me off. So, I set up the foundation to help those affected.”
He looks at me, nodding with an impressed expression. “What happened to the woman who auditioned?”
I put my half-drunk cup of coffee on the carpet — it tastes like instant, and I didn’t even know I had instant in my house — and bury my hands between my knees, not looking at him. “I wouldn’t give her a job at the club. Contrary to popular belief, stripping isnota last resort for the desperate and desolate. It’s an art form, an expression, and all of my girls are there because theywantto be.” I glance up at him to see that he’s nodding in agreement, not scoffing at my words as so many men do when I tell them the same. “I found her a job elsewhere in my organisation where she is well protected and secure.”
He's staring at me with that stern seriousness again. “You didn’t have to do that.”
I shrug. “I couldn’t exactly just turn her away. Who would do that?”
“An ice queen,” he answers.
I don’t know what to say to that but luckily the need to say anything is wiped out when a door opens along the corridor. Guinevere steps out wearing her usual leggings and oversized flannel shirt with that hideous brown cardigan that I want to burn. She stops when she sees us, looking surprised.
“You really stayed out here all night?”
“Yes,” I sigh, trying to hold in my yawn.
“Oh goodness, you must be exhausted, both of you.” She looks between Harvey and I and I don’t miss her slight blush at the sight of Harvey’s muscles in the tank and shorts. She clears her throat looking quickly back to me. “Shall I make some coffee?”
