The waitress smiled and nodded before leaving to fulfill his order.
“So, how’re you doing? How’s the leg?” Mitch asked, leaning back against the brown leather cushion, getting comfortable again.
Cordell let out a sigh. “I’m doing okay. The leg, not so much. I’m sure Tiffany told Tori I put my disability retirement papers in. Should be getting the independent medical exam results in a day or two.” The IME decision was the final thing he needed before his early retirement could be approved. Everything else was in order, and with the history of his injury and recovery, he was almost certain the IME ruling would be in his favor.
Nodding, Mitch took another puff of his cigar and savored the taste before exhaling. “We were sorry to hear that. Have you decided what you’re going to do once you’re a free agent?”
His eyes narrowed as he studied the man. There was something on Sawyer’s mind, and Cordell had no clue what it might be.
Margo returned and placed his drink on the table in front of Cordell, then left just as quickly and quietly as she’d come. Not answering the question right away, he picked up the glass, needing to hold it in the palm of his hand for a few moments to warm up the liquor and release its natural flavors. He then placed it back on the table to let it reach room temperature over the next few minutes. It was a ritual most cognac drinkers knew well. It wasn’t a drink you just slammed down your throat.
Cordell’s gaze flashed from Mitch to Ty and back again. They’d been patiently awaiting his response. “No, I haven’t. But why do I get the feeling you were hoping I’d say that?”
Ty chuckled. “Because you’re a trained observer.” He reached under the table and brought up a black leather attaché. Opening it, he pulled out a manila folder and handed it to Cordell.
“What’s this?” he asked, taking the file and placing it on the table in front of him. He’d look at it later. Right now, he wanted to hear what the two men had to say about it.
“This is a proposition,” Mitch responded. “Ty and I have decided to open another club. We’re the main investors, with Ian and Devon as silent partners. We’ve purchased a small Key in Florida, near Key West, that was privately owned with a small hotel on it, and we’re turning it into an exclusive lifestyle club and resort. The resort part will only have fifteen hotel rooms and six luxury suites. Two additional suites will be ours and the club’s manager. There’s room to expand in the future if we want. The Key is in a good location, so many of the members will be local. We’ll start with a maximum of three hundred members and adjust that after we see how many attend on most nights. We expect many members to be seasonal, while others will live in the area full time.”
As Cordell absorbed the information, he picked up the glass of cognac again, bringing it to his nose this time. He inhaled the aroma of sweet fruit, flowers, and subtle spice. When the amber liquid hit his taste buds, he almost moaned in ecstasy. It wasn’t the first time he’d enjoyed a glass of Louis XIII, but it didn’t happen often due to the hefty price tag. After savoring the lingering taste on his palate for a few moments, he said, “Sounds great, but what’s this got to do with me?”
Mitch leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, staring at Cordell. “We’d like you to sign on as the manager and resident Dom.”
He froze. Was the guy kidding him? A job offer was the last thing he’d expected from this meeting. He squelched a twinge of excitement. For weeks, he’d been rolling ideas through his mind of what he would do once his retirement was finalized. Between his disability pension, some good investments, and his savings, he really didn’t need to work. He could continue to live comfortably. However, he’d never been one to just sit around and do nothing. That was a sure way to drive an active man like him crazy. Just being in the hospital after he’d been shot, and then a rehab facility for a few weeks after that, had sent him to the brink of insanity from sheer boredom. But now was not the time to show how interested he was in Sawyer’s offer. That would come after the negotiations started.
A male steward arrived and handed him a premier cigar. Cordell lifted it to his nose and, after a moment, nodded and gave it back to the man who used a snipper to cut off one end. He offered it to Cordell again, who stuck it in his mouth and puffed on it as the man lit it for him.
After the end of the cigar glowed hot, Cordell drew in a mouthful, letting the flavors mix with the taste of cognac still lingering on his tongue. Tilting his chin up, he released the stream of smoke into the air. “Excellent, thank you,” he said, dismissing the steward before turning his attention back to his companions. “Explain.”
Sawyer smiled, clearly happy Cordell was interested in hearing more. “You know I had you fully vetted before contacting you about Tiffany. You’re very experienced and a highly respected Dom in Vegas. So, if you’re willing to relocate, we’re willing to offer you a nice package—competitive pay, insurance, and other benefits—to run the club. We’ll work together to get the right staff behind you, including a security team.” He pointed at the thick folder. “Our terms and offer are all spelled out in there, along with the prospectus and architectural designs, for you to look over later.”
Wow. This wasn’t just a “we’re thinking of opening a club, wanna work for us?” kind of thing. The men had done a lot of homework before coming to talk to him.
He took another puff of the cigar. “Why me?”
“Why not you?” Ty asked. “Look, this isn’t a pity offering because you got shot and we like you because you’re taking care of Tiffany. Like Mitch said, if he hadn’t thought highly enough of you to pair you up with her, we wouldn’t have come to you with this offer. Good resident Doms are hard to find—ones we can trust. Same goes for a club manager. I doubt you’re the type of guy who wants to just sit on his ass watching soap operas all day during your retirement. Hell, you’re not even forty yet. With your experience as a Dom and as a cop, you’re just the man we can trust with running our resort.”
Mulling over the man’s words, Cordell enjoyed another sip of the cognac. “All right. Fair enough. I do have two questions right off the bat, though.” He would probably have more after reading the file. “If—and it’s still an if until I go over everything in that file and give you a final answer—if I decide to relocate and take the job, when would you need me?”
“As soon as possible,” was the answer he received from Sawyer. “Between Ty’s and Tori’s jobs, we can’t stay there during the construction and set up, so we need someone on site to deal with the contractors and everything else. I’ll go down as often as I can until it’s up and running. There are currently three small, two-bedroom, guest cottages on the property that the former owners and their families used. You can stay in one of them until the main part of the resort is approved for occupancy. We’ll use another when we come down to check on things. The main hotel that’s there now doesn’t fit our needs and design, so it’s being demolished in a few weeks. A friend of ours from the club is in construction, and he hooked us up with a contact down in the Keys. Milo’s company is handling the demolition and construction of the new place. He’s also in the lifestyle, so he understands the concept we’re going for. We’re still going over ideas for the décor for everything, but we have time to finalize that. Our goal is to be open for business in eight months, barring any major delays. Now, what’s the second thing you wanted to know?”