“Working.”
“You have a second job?”
“On weekends, I help out here.”
“I see.”
Jenn waved. “Hi, Ference.” She wiggled her fingers, flashing him an almost innocent smile before pulling me aside.
“Ask him if he’ll let us in.”
“I’m not asking him that.”
“Please, Daisy. We’ll never get another chance.”
I hesitated, then turned back.
“Ference, would you let us into the club?”
He paused. “I don’t know if Mr. Miller would be okay with that.”
I frowned. “What does Mr. Miller have to do with it? I can do whatever I want. He’s just my boss.”
“He’s not just your boss. He’s mine too.”
“So what? Why shouldn’t I be allowed in?”
“Because it’s Mr. Miller’s club.”
“What?” Jenn stared at me. “That can’t be. The NYX belongs to Braolo Offenbach.”
I shrugged. “Mr. Miller took it over from his long-time friend Offenbach four months ago.”
“I see. Is Mr. Miller here tonight?”
“No. Haven’t seen him.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Another bodyguard stepped forward, sharp eyes cutting across us.
“Everything alright, Ference?”
“Everything’s fine. These two are with Mr. Miller.” Ference motioned calmly for us to enter.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
“Yeah, thanks,” Jenn added.
Ference stepped aside. We passed through a corridor lined with velvet carpets. Crystal chandeliers glowed against dark wood panels and gold trim. Paintings filled the walls—each one a quiet display of wealth and power.
“Just through that door,” he said, pointing to a heavy wooden door at the back. “Miss Elfhorn.”
I turned.
“Be careful. In there, the rules are different. I don’t want trouble because of you.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll tell them Jenn knew someone who got us in.”
