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Worth it, as far as Nine was concerned.
He stepped out of his black Aston Martin and shot the cuffs on his dress shirt as he headed toward an unmarked front door.
His St. Laurent patent leather Derbies echoed on the pavement. The street was quiet, as he knew the foyer would be.
The lounge would have music, but not too loud for conversations.
Then the dance floor would be thumping, and the playroom would be anything he wanted it to be.
Nine reached the door and pressed his palm against a flat touch pad.
A soft click and then Nine was face to face with Asimov, nearly seven feet of Russian muscle.
Asimov held the door and stepped back.
“Good evening, Mr. Montague,” he said, traces of the motherland still evident in his speech.
Nine nodded and stepped into the foyer. “Evening, Zee.”
Zee accompanied Nine to the entrance of the lounge.
“You’re early tonight,” Zee said.
“Think I’m gonna sit for a while,” Nine offered, surveying the space.
A gesture from Zee, and a waitress in sweet, pink lace padded over on bare feet.
Nine noticed that her pedicure matched.
“Your regular table, sir?” she asked quietly, eyes never quite reaching his face.
“Perfect,” Nine replied, voice pitched low.
He followed her to a corner booth and slid in so that he faced the room.
“Thank you, May,” he said.
She still didn’t look at him, but he caught her grin, and he felt himself smile.
Finally.
She was pretty and sweet, and Nine found her shy nature beyond appealing. If she’d been more experienced in what he wanted, Nine would have approached her, but he knew that she was just starting to explore what the world had to offer, so he’d left her alone.
“Would you like a drink?” May asked, still speaking mostly to his chest.
“Sir,” Nine corrected.
Her eyes flew up to his, wide and surprised. “Of course, sir, I’m sorry,” she said, glancing at the table.
“I’d like a scotch, neat, please,” Nine said, his voice soft, taking the sting out of the correction.
May swallowed once and turned for the bar.
Nine leaned back in the booth while he waited, wondering what his brothers would think if they saw him dressed in an Armani tux and sipping scotch from Waterford crystal.
Of all the brothers at the club, only Gate knew about Nine’s membership at Monaco.
At the time, Gate hadn’t known much about the lifestyle, and he’d never even heard of Club Monaco.
