“And she always looked at me like a hawk,” Wil said.
“Because she beat your ass, man.”
“All right, let it go. That birthday happened years ago anyway.” Wil shook his head. “I’m saying that she always seemed like she knew more than she should. Watching everyone, especially us, with viciousness in her eyes.”
I could appreciate a wary attitude. “Think I can use her as my own personal weapon?” I asked.
They both shook their heads. “She doesn’t trust men.”
And I didn’t trust anyone. I was friendly with the Adlers, but I knew better than to assume that they wouldn’t turn on me if it were a profitable outcome. That’s the way business worked. But I could eliminate them too.
As much as I liked the idea of having a kick-ass woman as a sidekick, something told me that Iris was a sidekick to no one. And me? I worked alone. It was more of a question out of boredom than an actual consideration. One woman to ponder, then onto the next.
“I want to keep all of the servers and staff on the payroll if they’re willing, but it’ll be a different setup. Dahlia said the other servers wouldn’t give me much trouble, but warned me about Iris,” I said. “I haven’t done anything yet, and she’s already disgusted by the changes.”
“She’s already disgusted?” Wil asked. “The hell?”
“Iris was, to quote Dahlia, ‘personally offended’ when Dahlia told her she had sold the business to me.”
Derek and Wil exchanged a look, then Derek nodded.
“Do you want us to set up a watch on her?” Wil asked. “We can get rid of her, or keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid. Like I said, we never trusted her.”
“Dahlia had us put tracking devices on the servers’ cars. If I’m remembering correctly, Iris uses her friend’s car,” Wil said.
“I can confirm that,” Derek said.
It seemed extreme. Iris would be a challenge, but she hadn’t proved that she was a problem yet. But that kind of surveillance could be convenient in the future. At some point, I would need to remove all of those tracking devices in their cars. I was a cautious man, but if the Dahlia District was no longer a sex trafficking ring with a need to keep human assets, then there was no need for tracking devices.
But that was for a later time.
“I’ll consider it,” I said. “And let me know what you need with your business here, and at any of my clubs. Sage City, Cresting Heights, beyond that.”
“Great,” Wil said. We all stood and shook hands again.
“We’ll be in touch,” Derek said.
After the two of them left, I scanned the balcony, looking for a thrill. But none of the women caught my attention, my mind still reeling, itching for a combative woman who would give as much as she would take. I popped a Ritalin, throwing it back with another shot of vodka, and went down the stairs. The room was buzzing, but the night was young and I had tasks to do. If there weren’t any distractions worth my time, then off to the office it was.
“Hey sexy,” one of the cocktail waitresses said as I made my way towards the stairs. “You want to take me out after closing?”
She was gorgeous—blond hair, a nice rack, thick red lips—but I wasn’t stupid enough to fuck my staff. Women like her wanted me for one of two things: my dick or my money, sometimes both. But usually, they wanted to see how much partying they could get out of me without paying a cent on their own. I was a generous host. Why earn this money if you didn’t spend it?
But my mind was on other things. Other attributes.
“Maybe next time,” I winked, patting her on the back.
In every Vanish venue, I had a soundproof office in the back with a dual monitor computer and enough space to pace while I worked. Using the concentration to my advantage, I went over the books for the northwest region, double-checking the last month’s records. I had bookkeepers who were paid to do this, but, like I said, I had a hard time trusting anyone, especially after what happened in California.
After getting through those, I checked the time—still an hour before close. I changed pace, switching to the next task. I searched for different forgotten nightclubs in major cities. Though I hadn’t officially started working on the Dahlia District, I was always searching for my next project. It was better to be on the move; you never got bored that way.
There were a few in New York that I was eyeing. The city was an untapped market for something like Departure, my new nightclub chain. I was ecstatic to work on the new project and eager to see what the Dahlia District had to offer.
And then curiosity led me to Iris’s profile again.
A studio shot of her: black hair in soft ringlets to the middle of her neck. Her wide, round eyes circled with dark makeup. Fishnets on her tattooed arms and legs. A band of black straps around her core, covering her nipples, her navel, her cunt. One boot on the ground, the other on the chair in front of her. Platform boots with large metal buckles, making her a foot taller, using height as intimidation. A mischievousness to her scowl. Deep purple lips.
She was different, to say the least. Not your typical club-addicted bombshell. But it was more than her physical appearance that intrigued me—her attitude, the way she eyed me, that molten intensity deep in her eyes as she straddled me, knowing exactly what she was doing. There was nothing innocent about her. The small gasp she gave when I grabbed her throat, the gulp that traveled down her neck, that subtle lick of her lips.
On the club’s website, I clicked on the livestream of the Greenhouse, which was the building containing the dorm rooms and dressing rooms of the Dahlia District. That was an interesting idea, one I had to give Dahlia credit for. I clicked through the feeds until I caught a lanky dark-haired woman in a kitchen, talking to a busty brunette. Another thicker blond was at the sink, washing a dish.
“He complained because I said he had to shower first,” the brunette said.
“It was that bad?” Iris asked.
“Dude. I’m telling you,” the brunette said. She leaned forward and whispered something.
“Okay. Yes. That totally requires a shower,” Iris said.
“Do you think I should back out of it?”
“Absolutely not. But upcharge him.” She winked. “Make him pay. And if he gives you a hard time for it, let me know. I’ll talk to him for you.”
“Let her deal with it herself, for fuck’s sake,” the blond woman said. Iris visibly rolled her eyes. “We’re all big girls. We can handle ourselves.”
“She asked me for advice, Kendall,” Iris said.
“Yeah, Kendall. What do you think I should do?” the brunette asked.