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“Don’t worry. I’m not leaving this side of the city.” I run a hand through my hair. “It’s not necessary, Jonas—”
“With all due respect, Mr. Campano, this is the job you hired me to do. What happened to you was negligence on our part.”
“No, it was negligence on mine.” I let out a sharp, frustrated breath. “But if it makes you feel better, fine. Send a couple of extra guys along.”
As much as I’d put an army of security on Emma to keep her safe if I didn’t think she’d hate me forever—and would anyway, if I truly thought she was in danger—I understand how she feels about it. The more security I have around me, the more hemmed in I feel. It feltgoodlast night, going out without a team of men shadowing me, watching my back.
At least, until I ended up on the concrete of a parking garage, bleeding out of my face.
That, in the end, is the reason I give in. That, and because I feel bad that Jonas is blaming himself for my mistake. He’s always done an impeccable job.
“Go to the Neon Rose,” I tell the driver when I slip into the backseat of the SUV. I see a second one following us—the one with my security team for the night—and I exhale sharply. I also dislike being driven around. I have a garage full of cars for a reason, and it’s not to look at them. I’d rather be the one behind the wheel any night of the week.
But after what happened last night, I know it’s wise to take precautions.
With traffic, it takes us nearly an hour to get to the club. The Neon Rose is a highly upscale gentleman’s club, the kind that requires an exclusive membership to get in and annual dues to continue to hold that membership. It’s outrageously expensive, but holding a black card to the Rose is as much a status symbol as it is a place to indulge in baser pleasures.
The interior of the club is dark and cool, the entrance a shadowed hallway with dark wooden walls and a black velvet runner leading to the heavy door that opens up into the club. The hostess at the desk smiles at me as I walk in—a supermodel-gorgeous blonde dressed in a tight, bustier-style short black dress, her hair styled in perfect waves around her shoulders. I can feel her eyes on me as I walk to the door, and she presses the button to open it and let me in.
Beyond that door, the space that it opens into is sleek and luxurious. A black lacquered bar curves around one side of the large main room, stocked with the highest quality liquor, wines, and champagne. One main stage dominates the room, and the rest of the space is all low, black velvet couches scattered around to allow the guests various views of the stage. It’s early yet, so the show hasn’t started, and the lights above the stage are dim. Behind velvet curtains draped along the walls, other doors open up into rooms where guests can enjoy the pleasures the club has to offer. Private dances, and exclusive services from the girls who offer that. There are no VIPs at the Neon Rose—anyone who can afford a membership and be approved for one is already one of very few who are allowed inside.
What I need to handle here is far from interesting. It’s a matter of going to the back offices and asking to see the membership roster and the profit and loss statements—both for the legal income of our memberships and the profit from alcohol sales and private dances, as well as the less legal business of the escort services that some of the girls offer. That’s done on a freelance basis, and those records are stored even more securely than the first.
Danielle Volo, the woman who is the house manager for the club, is in the office when I walk in. She’s in her late-thirties but looks a decade younger, her black hair atop her head and her makeup done in a perfect cat-eye and red lip. She worked at a club like this when she was younger, and she runs the Neon Rose with a ruthless efficiency that makes her invaluable. She sees me and immediately stands, giving me a welcoming smile.
“I’ll just nip out and check on the girls before the night starts,” she says, sliding past me. I don’t miss the way she looks at me—it’s the same look the hostess gave me, except slightly more discreet. A look that plainly says that if it wouldn’t complicate our professional relationship, she’d sit on the edge of that desk and invite me to put my face between her thighs—and might consider it anyway, if I showed interest.
Before Emma, I would have said I would never get involved with someone who worked for me in any capacity. Now, it feels slightly hypocritical to say that I let Danielle keep going on account of the fact that she runs one of my clubs.
The truth is that the only woman I would want sitting on that desk right now is Emma.
“I’m just going to take a quick look over the records. Nothing too intense. And pick up the cash drop.” I sink down into the leather chair in front of the desk, and Danielle hands me the key to the filing cabinet.
“I’ll give you some privacy for a bit, then. The cash is in the safe.” She raises one meticulously groomed eyebrow in my direction. “Selena is here tonight, by the way.”
I let out a sharp breath as Danielle leaves.Maybe that is what I need.Selena is one of the dancers—as well as one of the girls who offers an additional ‘menu’—and I’ve enjoyed her talents a few times before when visiting the club. I haven’t seen her in over six months—she was on vacation for a considerable time, visiting family in Russia and then enjoying some well-deserved time off with her earnings—and ordinarily, I’d be eager to make her reacquaintance.
I don’t need to think too hard about it to know why I’m hesitating.
And what is Emma doing?I think savagely as I pull out the ledger that I need to go over, my jaw tightening.You’re not together. She’s made it clear that she thinks every minute you spend together that isn’t business is a bad idea. A temptation you both keep falling for.
She’s not mine. I have no claim on her, and she made it clear this morning that I won’t. For all I know, she’s out at some beach party tonight, getting drunk and making out with a surfer. I’m an idiot if I think she’s being faithful to me, when there’s not even anything real between us.
It felt real.The thought is inane, but it sticks in my head, rattling around as it takes me twice the time that it usually does to go over the ledger. Everything with Emma felt different. And this morning—
This morning was the first time I’ve ever woken up with a woman. I always send them home after, even the ones that I’m ‘dating.’ I like my space, my wide-open bed, and the ability to enjoy my mornings as I see fit without anyone else there to disrupt my routine. I’m not a cuddler, not the kind of person who has ever wanted to wake up with someone in my arms.
But I woke up to Emma this morning, and it felt like the sun had come out when I saw her there. The fact that she was in pajamas, with bedhead and sleepy eyes, hadn’t made me want her less. If anything, the relaxed intimacy of it had somehow driven my desire even higher. Made me all butbegfor her to touch me. She made me feel half-insane with lust.
I slam the ledger shut, turning to the wall and punching in the keycode for the safe. The cash drop inside goes into another locked briefcase, and I set it on the desk, texting Jonas. He’ll come to the back door and retrieve it.
Or I could leave now, and take it myself.
That’s not how things are usually done, though—at least not when I come to the Neon Rose. I always leave the drop with Jonas and then stick around to see how the club is faring—sometimes sitting with a drink and watching the evening’s show, sometimes spending time with one of the girls. It’s been a while since I’ve come here. I’ve been busy with the Vegas project, and Lorenzo has been handling the club.
I hear Jonas’ heavy knock on the back door, and I pick up the briefcase. For a moment, I consider telling him I’m leaving, too. But something stops me.
I need to get Emma out of my head. Out from under my skin, before this goes too far. If fucking her won’t do it, then maybe someone else will.
