She smiled then, the tears nearly gone. “Thanks.”
I walked past the two women and out to the main floor of the nightclub, the purple-tinted pearl walls surrounding me, music thudding in my chest. If nothing else, I had done one good thing that night. But now, there were other matters to attend to.
Roland Price, the new owner of the Dahlia District, was finally in the area. The Dahlia District was an entertainment club for the wealthy elite, but there were rumors that Price wanted to make the Dahlia District into something new, probably something like Vanish, his nightclub line. As a long-time server of the Dahlia District, it was my job to convince him to leave our club exactly as it was. We might have been going through a rough patch, but all businesses had slow periods. With a little investment, the new owner could force the club into another golden age. Why change it if it was already successful?
I stared up at one of the nightclub’s many bars erected on a raised platform, glowing blue lights twinkling from behind the top shelves. Everything was in shades of blues, purples, and greens. The VIP section was marked off to the side, a red rope separating it from the rest of the club. A group of three blonds giggled at the security guard standing beside it. He unhooked the rope, letting them through, then locked it again.
I pulled off my sweater, tucking it under my arm. More skin to show. More tattoos to intimidate, the only piece of my usual getup that I couldn’t leave at the Dahlia District. People were less likely to start a conflict if they thought you were scary. And at work, I always attracted the right kind of clients. But that wasn’t my goal tonight. I had to be what Roland Price wanted. The image of mainstream perfection, like those women in the bathroom. I would never be that, but at least I could tone down the goth vibes and go undercover.
As I walked up the steps to that sectioned off area, the bouncer stood in front of the rope and crossed his arms.
“VIP only,” he barked.
“I’m here to see Roland Price,” I said. He didn’t move. “I’m here to make a business proposition.”
“Prostitution is illegal in—”
“Not that,” I said as sweetly as I could muster. “I’m a big fan of his. I was wondering if I could—” Be like Teagen, I thought, channeling my best friend. Sweet. Innocent. Like I had no ulterior motives. Like I would never hurt a fruit fly. I forced a grin. “I want to pick his brain on a few things. It’s for my internship.” I winked, but felt stupid. Channeling Teagen was not me at all.
But being in this club wasn’t me either.
He held his thumb to his earpiece, listening to it with his eyes up towards the ceiling.
“Up the stairs,” he said to me, motioning with his hand. He unhooked the rope barrier.
“Thanks,” I said, trying to hold back the sarcasm. With each step, I nodded my head, keeping to the beat, trying to self-soothe my nerves. The new owner was a man, and I didn’t trust men, not since my foster-dad, but I could be reasonable and pretend to trust men when it counted. And right now, I needed to be strong for all of the women who worked at the Dahlia District, women who depended on the club for their livelihood. Women like me.
I took the last step onto the spacious balcony. A clear guard rail lined the edges, with several sofas, covered with scantily-clad women and suited men. A few tables. A mini-bar with the trio of blonds surrounding it. I focused on a man standing in front of one of the long, white tufted sofas, pouring vodka into several shot glasses.
Dark hair you could wrap your fingers in. Secretive brown eyes. Trimmed facial hair lining his jaw. Plump, biteable lips. A physique like a movie star. He might have been a man, and someone I instantly knew I didn’t like, but that didn’t mean I could ignore his appearance. I knew a good-looking man when I saw one. Roland Price was hot.
But that didn’t mean anything.
He glanced up, a half-smirk crossing his lips as he made eye contact with me. As if he knew me. He put the bottle back in the chiller and lifted one of the shot glasses, offering it in my direction. He was taller than I expected. I’m tall for a woman, even without my platform boots, so it throws me off when I have to look up to someone. I put on my best flirtatious smirk and took the shot. We clinked our drinks, then tossed them back. The vodka burned in my throat. I held back a cringe, pretending like I drank straight liquor all of the time, then faced him. He held out a hand.
“I’m Roland Price.”
His voice was deep and velvety, coursing over the music and sinking into my ear, dragging me down with it. I took his hand, surprised by how big it was. He took a seat, then patted the space next to him. I held back a sneer; I wasn’t a dog.
But I had to pretend.
I sat down and grinned. “I know who you are,” I said. “You’re quite the name. Some might even call you—”
“A celebrity,” he said. I grit my teeth. Yes, you cocky bastard. A celebrity.
“Exactly,” I said.
“So what brings you to Vanish?” He leaned back on the seat. “You don’t seem like our usual type.”
Our usual type. Rage instantly flushed through me. I hated when people, especially men, talked about their ‘types.’
“Because I’m not a barbie doll?” I tilted my chin, trying to sound playful and not irritated.
“Because you’re not drunk,” he said. “Or high. You came here with a goal in mind, didn’t you?”
I raised a brow as he sipped from a glass of water. “But you’re trading liquor for water.”
“Hydration is key.”
I glanced around, looking at all of the people. Everyone was so enamored with partying that none of them noticed us, or noticed me. Price had a habit of making people evaporate, as if they had never existed. News articles discussed theories about disagreements between his team members, and suddenly, those people would disappear from all records. While looking him up, I had seen it happen with my own eyes. An article with names here one second, and gone the next. I could disappear tonight, and no one would be the wiser.
But I wasn’t going to let that happen. I straightened my shoulders. “Why are you in the VIP section of your own club?” I asked.
“Because I can be.”
“Are you here every night?”
“I own nightclubs all over the world.”
“Here, I mean,” the aggravation slipped through my words. I adjusted. Be nice, I thought, Be like Teagen. But I couldn’t help the urge to ask questions. “When you’re here, do you party here every night?”
“That depends.” He angled his body toward me. “Do you want me to be here every night?”
Was he trying to come on to me? He cocked a smile, then put his arm on the back of the sofa, his fingers brushing my shoulders. Surprised, I shivered at the touch.