novelxo Prince Of Greed: Chapter 10
9:15 p.m.
Was it too early to round the corner and wait outside the club?
I was parked a block away, expecting the distance to be worse than it was. I’d been ready for hours and had forced myself out the door and into my car before I chickened out.
Running into Stolas at the coffee shop was a sign that I needed to stop manifesting awkward encounters. That was the only way I could explain the coincidence. That or he was stalking me.
Right, because that beautiful man would be stalking me after one quick conversation.
It wasn’t so far-fetched. People did crazy things, especially here in L.A., and my father was high profile.
I shook the thought from my head.
Stolas had no way of knowing that I had been dreaming and thinking about him so intensely. The fact of the matter was the run-in was a coincidence, and the heavy weight in my chest was from the anticipation of having dinner with him on Monday.
Though he hadn’t clearly labeled it a date, I was going to assume it was one until he started grilling me for information on my father’s campaign or business holdings. The longer I thought about the invitation, the more my stomach knotted and my fingers itched to text him and cancel.
Out of habit, I reached for my locket. I’d cried for an hour in my car when I realized it was gone, and retracing my steps had led me nowhere but back to my empty office to finish paperwork and emails.
I peered down at my phone screen and opened up one of the three social media apps I scrolled through to dull my senses and pass the next forty-five minutes. New posts from friends in the UK appeared first. Three of them were together on a walkabout in London. Mads’ handle was tagged in one of the corners as the photographer, but several thumb pushes later, I saw his own version of events on the outing. He was sitting on a park bench, holding the largest sausage roll I’d ever seen in his lap that he was gesturing to crudely.
Penis jokes.
Did I really miss penis jokes?
When I clicked on his page, there were several new posts that I hadn’t allowed myself to see from the past weekend. In one of them, he was shirtless at the gym; he was fitter than when I’d left. Probably because any time he mentioned going, I would suggest a walk together instead. Those walks always led us to a restaurant or pub. I cringed inwardly. It wasn’t that I didn’t like exercise or feeling accomplished after a good workout. I just found a pint and chips more satisfying.
I closed the app, stopping myself from the spiral that would surely come if I let myself dive too deep. I’d wasted just enough time; it was a few minutes to ten o’clock.
I sent a text to Rhomi and got out of my car to wait.
ME:
I’m walking up now.
Her reply came through almost immediately.
RHOMI:
Be there in 2.
I rounded the corner and saw a tall bouncer leading a group of four people into a door that I hadn’t noticed before. Two cars pulled up to the curb and another group piled out with squeals of excitement. They were escorted into the building, and the two cars drove off as I crossed the street.
I was alone again in a part of town that felt as if it shouldn’t have been empty. It was rare to find any street in Los Angeles without a car or person lingering, but here I was, standing in front of some super-exclusive club in the dark.
This was how my episode of a true-crime podcast would start. I could already hear the voices of two middle-aged women telling my story and joking about the purple cat sweatpants and matching sweatshirt I had stashed in my car. They would probably call it a tragedy for my father, just like the rest of my family. I wondered if he’d be president by the time they released their take on my life.
Before the exit music started in my head, a car pulled up and Rhomi stepped out first with two other people close behind her.
“Evie!” Rhomi’s shoes stampeded over, and she wrapped her arms around me. “You look so hot.”
She loosened her grip around my neck and turned to her company. The taller of the two who’d emerged from the car tipped their driver then gave out a loud hoot of excitement.
“Is this her?” she said, looking from me to Rhomi. “She’s gorgeous. I thought you said I would be the only hot and single one here tonight.”
She crossed her arms and pushed out her bottom lip in a mocking pout. There was nothing she had to worry about. Aside from the fact I was obsessing over a man I’d only met twice, she was flawless. She fit every beauty standard on social media. With long legs, a cinched waist, busty chest, and undeniably beautiful face, she would have men on their knees, begging for her to step on their balls, no matter who she was with.
“Oh, stop. Self-deprecation is your only bad quality.” Rhomi rolled her eyes but grabbed her arm to pull her closer to us.
“This is Tiffany. She’s going to be the next Oscar-winning actress.” Rhomi reached a hand out to the second friend she brought and pulled them to her other side.
“And this is Jordan, my NB darling who works three jobs and never sleeps. They’re also the hookup for all the hottest clubs in Los Angeles, including The Deacon.”
Jordan smiled, wrapped their arm around Rhomi, and landed a kiss on her cheek. “Quit bragging about us and let’s go in before we get rejected for loitering.”
I felt out of place among Rhomi and her friends. Tiffany’s dress looked more expensive than my car, and Jordan effortlessly pulled off the casual goth-hippie look in all black with a leather jacket and boots. Out of all of us, Jordan would be the only one comfortable after an hour of dancing.
The dress I’d found after returning my discarded Rebecca-chosen ones was nice. It was black and strapless. The essence of the “little black dress” was in its simplistic nature. I hadn’t bothered with a jacket since it was close to seventy degrees at dusk. The most troubling element of my outfit was the choice of heels. My red-bottom stilettos would have me crying in the morning for sure. I wore heels to work often, but not nearly this high and thin.
Rhomi was dressed more casually than I expected but still looked glamorous. Her short skirt was layered over a pair of black stockings, and her tank top bodysuit hugged her curves and pushed her chest up and out on display.
“All right, all right, but we have to go over ground rules first.” Rhomi untangled herself and fluffed her hair. “Tiffany and Jordan already know, but they need a reminder because they break them all the time.”
She scolded her friends with a scrunch of her nose. “Rule number one, keep your drink number to three or less. We don’t get sloppy. Rule number two, don’t leave your drinks with anyone but us. Rule number three is the most important: we come together; we leave together.”
“No Black Dahlias on our watch,” Jordan chimed in, and a chill ran up my spine at the imagery.
Surprisingly, I felt safe with the three of them. I hadn’t been sure about what to expect going out with Rhomi. She was the poster girl for the L.A. party scene but had obviously seen or even been a victim of the drawback of being a young, fem-presenting person in a city that was known for chewing us up and spitting us out when we hit thirty.
Out of the darkness, the tall bouncer I’d seen escorting other patrons cleared his throat.
Jordan flashed a smile and something small and black from their back pocket, and the bouncer nodded.
“You all ready?” the bouncer gruffed, obviously tired of the monotony of his job.
“We are!” Tiffany called out and took hold of my hand without any hesitation.
“Here is your stub. I will take your cell phones and IDs. You won’t be needing either while inside. The bar is cash only, so take what you need from your purses and wallets now before depositing them in the locker.”
I shot a look to Rhomi, who was digging through her purse to take out a few hundred-dollar bills and stuffing them in her bra.
“We have to lock up our purses?” I asked low, so only she heard me.
“It’s against the rules to take photos in The Deacon. Don’t worry if you didn’t bring cash. My treat.”
I swallowed the knot in my throat. Being in a strange new place without my phone to keep me company or for any type of emergency had me grinding my teeth.
“Miss?” the bouncer said, holding out a clear plastic box for me to deposit my possessions in.
Rhomi put her things in first, and I followed. If she felt safe doing this, then maybe I was being overly sensitive. Jordan and Tiffany did the same without hesitation, and the bouncer handed each of us a small slip of paper with a locker number and a barcode.
“If you lose your stub, you’ll have to wait until last call to retrieve your things. Understood?” he barked.
We agreed in unison then watched him turn and begin walking, not worried that we wouldn’t be on his heels. With Jordan and Rhomi in the lead, we followed the bouncer into the door that had been hidden in the shadows. He paused only a moment to lock our belongings in a wall of black lockers with a scanner under each handle. I took a deep breath and buried my anxiety.
Moving deeper into the club, the bass from the DJ booth assaulted my eardrums before my eyes adjusted to the dark hallway we were being ushered through. Rhomi’s grip on my right wrist and Tiffany’s hold on my left made me part of the lifeline as the tunnel opened up onto the massive dance floor.
The Deacon was like no other club I’d seen. Black drapes hung from the ceiling, sectioning off parts of the room and creating pockets of inner corners where dancing could be one of the many activities that were going on. The most light came from the DJ booth, where flashing strobe lights pounded along with the beat of the music. Rhomi’s hookup—I assumed—bobbed up and down and side to side. Her hands were in constant motion to orchestrate the show and electrified the air with her musical masterpieces.
Though it was too dark to be sure, the sounds of pleasure rang out between song tracks. I squinted through the red and white laser lights, but with the blur of bodies and constant movement around me, it was hard enough to keep myself on my feet while being dragged toward the bar.
Once we made it to the front of the line, Rhomi shouted out an order for a round of shots and slapped money on the bar. The tall, dark-haired bartender held up four fingers to confirm, and one by one, they were passed down our row.
In a quick huddle, Jordan held their glass up. “Geonbae!”
“To friends. New, old, and reconnected,” Tiffany added then led us in swallowing down the cinnamon-flavored liquor.
The burn settled in my chest, and the warmth spread to my limbs. It didn’t take long to become comfortable with the absence of a bag or phone. The situational crutch of technology wasn’t needed here. We were living in the moment and letting the outside world trek on without us for a small amount of time.
We were absorbed into the mass of revelry and swept into the undertow. The music filled the air and commanded the sway of my hips. Where uncertainty had been only moments ago was freedom, a taste of what I had been wanting for longer than I cared to admit. I knew no one but the three people who were dancing next to me with full smiles on their faces and mouthing the words to the lyrics without any worry of embarrassment or judgment.
Happiness.
We were liberated from the world outside because it had melted away and been replaced by the pounding bass, strobe lights, and strangers who were only there to let loose.
A hand gripped my waist from behind, followed by a gentle squeeze to gain my attention. The owner of said hand was tall, blond, and gorgeous. He smiled down and said, or maybe mouthed, a request to dance. I looked back to Rhomi, who eagerly nodded her approval. Tiffany’s attention had already been stolen by an equally beautiful man with light curls.
I turned to face my new dance partner, and his hands confidently wrapped around my back to bring me closer. His taut body pressed hard against mine. With every move he made, my skin prickled at the pull of the muscles in his arms and torso. I closed my eyes and got lost in him. Lost in the heady moments of his breath in my ear between songs and the twitch of his lips at my temple when my hands traveled up and down his chest and stomach.
He was intoxicating. Everything inside of me was begging to be touched, and as if he could hear my internal anguish, he fanned his fingers up my neck and brought my face up. The club melted away, and we stilled. My eyes bolted open to find impossibly blue ones staring down into me. Deaf to the music, he feathered his lips over mine, not in a kiss but another question.
Drink?
He pulled away once the vibration from his lips ceased for my answer. I nodded and groaned silently when his arms relaxed and his hand slipped down to hold mine. He tapped Jordan on the shoulder to mime to them that we were going to grab a drink, then he pointed to Rhomi and Tiffany, who were too enamored with their dance partners to acknowledge him. Jordan nodded and held up one finger, indicating that they would accept the round of drinks from my mystery man for our group.
Jordan’s brows raised as I passed them, my jaw slack from their exchange.
Nice, Jordan mouthed their approval and turned back to the ass that had been grinding against them.
I followed the gentle pull on my hand up to the bar, not willing to let go for more than the sake of not getting lost in the sea of people. If he let go, I would surely crumble in a puddle of sweat and the butterflies in my stomach. That was all I was made of after that dance.
When we reached the front of the line, the bartender’s eyes shot to my companion and down to me. Their lips twitched before giving us a subtle nod. They poured an entire tray of shots then slid it down. To my shock, the blond man picked up the tray and held it above his head.
We made our way back to what seemed to be the center of the dance floor, and Rhomi hooted and hooked her arm with mine. The music was still too loud, so she gave me a wink and took one of the offerings. We took our shots together and set the glasses on the tray upside down. Tiffany held up two fingers after taking one of the shots herself and handed another to the man she had been entangled with.
Two. We had two of our three drinks for the night—a reminder that we were here to have fun and not lose the natural high of being young and unhindered. I eyed the remaining shots on the tray then the man holding it. He offered it to me again and I shook my head, wanting to wait and enjoy a mixed drink after dancing until my feet wanted to fall off.
He tilted his head, an obvious look of confusion knitting his brow. I shrugged and declined again. He took one more then passed it to the man with an arm snaked around Tiffany.
Rhomi pulled at my arm to bring my ear down to her mouth just as a song ended. “Let’s go to the bathroom.”
I nodded as the music started up again. Rhomi motioned to our dance partners that we would be back in a moment. Thankfully, the ache I’d held in my gut subsided the moment she and I practically fell into the bathroom. The door swung closed behind us and my eyes had to adjust to the bright-white lights.
“Oh my God, he is so hot, Evie!” Rhomi threw over her shoulder as she closed a heavy stall door.
I stepped up to the black porcelain sink and took a paper towel from the dispenser. I wet it to pat across my neck and over my chest where my heart was still pounding wildly.
Away from the crowd and constant hammering against my senses, I was starting to feel the ache of my feet from my shoes. The black and white tile would have been cool on the soles, but I knew the moment I took my heels off, that would be it. I wouldn’t put them back on, even for the gorgeous man who was so much taller than me.
“They’re all way too sexy. What is this place? A modeling agency rec room?” I didn’t need a real answer.
An exclusive club in L.A. would, of course, be flooded with the most attractive and powerful people. Rhomi opened up the stall and came to stand next to me at the sink. She washed her hands and touched up her makeup, not one bit mussed from the heat or sweat.
“I told you this place was a whole experience. Are you having fun?” She looked at me through the mirror.
“Yeah.” I smiled, my cheeks on fire. “I’ve been to plenty of dance clubs, but there is something different about this one.”
“Something? Or someone?” she teased, knocking my arm with her elbow.
“He is something.”
I was still holding on to that melted-away feeling. The stress of my day was long gone.
“Well, remember the rule. We came together; we leave together,” she said, drying her hands with a new towel.
“Then I better make the best of the next few hours.” I laughed and opened the door to the bathroom for her.
I followed her out but was stopped in my tracks by a face that sent ice plunging into my stomach.