“What are you doing here?” She asks, barely audible over the music.
“The fuck areyoudoing here, Sugar?” My eyes trail over her body, taking in her outfit; a navy blue bodysuit that seems to signal when one of the bottle girls is working in theupstairsVIP section of Nash’s clubs. “You work here? How long?”
How long have you been right under my nose?
She looks down, like she’s embarrassed, like she thinks I’m judging her for her job, but I’m not. I don’t give a shit what someone chooses to do with their own body or how they choose to make their money. I’m judging Nash. She obviously hates it here; and she’s not the only one who seems to.
Thatpisses me off.
“Eric—”
“Which table are you working?”
“I don’t—” she hesitates. “Three. Up the stairs and toward the back.”
“Don’t fucking move,” I order her. “For the love of god, don’t move.”
I stalk toward the stairs and a bouncer dressed in a black t-shirt with the word ‘security’ printed on the front tries to stop me at the stanchion intended to keep non-VIPs out of the upper level. I shove past him, hopping over the stanchion, and I make my way up the stairs. I’m fully aware of his presence behind me as I stroll through the upper level.
“Gentlemen!” I shout, clapping my hands together as I approach the area that hosts table three. “Y’all are all out of time for the evening. Time to grab your shit, tip your waitresses, and get the fuck out.”
“Who the fuck are you?” One of the little frat-looking dudes asks, and I ignore him until I catch him shooting a look that I don’t appreciate at the poor girl frozen in the corner, also dressed in deep blue lingerie.
“Uh-uh,” I snap my fingers at him and point to my own face. “Eyes here, friend.”
The bouncer following me slams a hand down on my shoulder. “You can’t be up here,” he tells me, and I pat his hand, turning to face him.
“Got a pen?” I ask, flashing him a big, plastered-on grin. “’Cause I’ve got five grand for you if you let me do what I gotta do here without violence.”
I watch the wheels turn in his head while he weighs his options, like any sane person would do. He glances between me and one of the cameras tucked into a corner around the table, to the men sitting slackjawed on the couch in front of us, and finally back to me before reaching into his pocket for a pen.
“Good man,” I tell him with a wink as I take the pen, pulling a check from my wallet to scribble out his payment. Turning to the other men seated on the couch while I hand him his check, I say, “Now, are y’all gonna pay these nice ladiesfor their time and be on your way? Or do I need to go get the forty-five from my truck and help you out?”
Three of the four scramble, digging into their pockets and wallets for whatever cash they’re carrying, and toss it onto the table in front of them.
“Now, now,” I chide, slipping my hands into my pockets, “we all know why you were here, and that ain’t gonna be enough to cover the inconvenience of having to spend time with you. Cards, too.” I flash them a winning smile. “I’m a very good shot.”
The one still sitting – blond guy, cheap blazer over a t-shirt and a pair of slacks to make him look like he’s got more money than he actually has – holds his hand out to his friends. “Hold on, guys, stop.” He turns his attention to me. “Who the hell areyouto interrupt us like this?”
A sharp tingle pulls at the back of my jaw, like eating a piece of candy that’s just a little too sweet, or a touch too sour. I take a few steps closer to him, crouching in front of him until I’m at his eye level, and a grin tugs at the corner of my mouth.
“I’m Eric fuckin’ Davis,” I tell him, jerking my chin toward him. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Ethan Asher,” he responds, leaning forward like he’s trying to intimidate me or some shit, and I almost laugh in his face. It would take me all of two heartbeats to break this kid’s nose and pop his shoulder out of its socket; but I settle for a shrug, instead.
“Never heard of ya.”
“Well my girlfriend has,” he says, “and you’re screwing up our night.”
This time, I do laugh. “Holy shit, you even gotta pay for it with yourgirlfriend? Oh man, now that’s just sad.”
“Eric?”
I push myself to a standing position, turning to face Noelle, who stands with her now-filled tray near the entrance of the booth.
“I thought I told you to stay where you were, Sugar.”
“Sugar?” The dude – Ethan – furrows his brow. “Babe, you know this guy?”
