“What the fuck was that about?” he muttered, tugging down the sleeves of his stark white dress shirt. Ortiz pulled out his phone and spoke into it, gesturing in the air with angry jabs of his fingers and walking away from the spot where Tyler had left him standing.
“Looks like you’re gonna find out,” said Darius, placing his now-empty glass of water on the bar. “I’m heading back to the front. Holler if you need me.” He walked into the morass of dancing people and was swallowed up from sight.
Left somewhat unsettled, Marcus stood uncertain of his next move. As Sparks’s owner, he had a responsibility to protect his staff, and he didn’t take that lightly. Those who didn’t know him well misread his party ways and took him for a fool. They were always surprised by his sharp business acumen. He could never understand a person who thought with his dick and not his head when it came to making money. If there was one thing he learned as a child from watching his father, it was business first. Nothing else mattered.
Tyler was a grown man and could take care of himself. If he wanted to arrange a hook-up with a rich patron, who was Marcus to stop it? Hell, if it weren’t for the stupid bet, he’d have Tyler in his bed tonight. And, Tyler should expect to be hit on when he danced barely dressed in front of half-drunk clubbers.
None of his reasoning explained why, after making his rounds of the club, greeting his regulars and sharing several drinks with them, Marcus ended up in the back of Sparks where dressing rooms had been set up for the dancers to change. He didn’t bother to stand on formalities and knock before entering—it was his club, and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen naked men before.
The back of a very wet and naked Tyler greeted Marcus when he pushed open the door. He’d obviously taken a shower and seemed to be done for the night, which surprised Marcus, as it was only twelve thirty and the dancers didn’t get off-shift until three a.m.
“Hi sweetie, I know it’s late and you’re asleep but I just got your message.” Tyler had his phone to his ear and seemed oblivious to Marcus’s presence as he left a voicemail. “I can’t wait to spend the day together tomorrow either. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Marcus held his breath and listened, having no compunction about spying on Tyler’s personal phone call. After all, he reasoned, Tyler should be out on the floor working, not talking to his girlfriend.
“I love you. Bye.”
Tyler placed the phone on the mirror top of the table and dropped his head in his hands.
“What a fucking mess. I knew this was a mistake.”
Marcus closed the door behind him. “But I don’t. Tell me why?”
Tyler stilled, then jerked his head up to meet Marcus’s gaze. Something strange rose in Marcus’s chest that suspiciously felt like sympathy, and once again he fell prey to the desolation in Tyler’s eyes.
In his world, business always came before pleasure, and Marcus had no second thoughts about firing people who didn’t want to work. Someone skipping out on his shift without a good reason would qualify for immediate firing.
“What are you doing here?” This was a different Tyler than the sexy, confident dancer writhing on the club floor. Marcus had a vague recollection of meeting Tyler a week or so ago and instantly being attracted to him, but had chalked that up to his perpetual hard-on from lack of sex. Plus, it didn’t hurt that the man was beautiful to look at and had seemed happy enough to be hired for the dancer position, giving Marcus a wide smile when he was told he had the job.
Tonight though, no welcoming look or smile on Tyler’s face beamed back at him. Instead, Marcus sensed an iron gate clanging shut, locking Tyler away well behind unbreachable bars. Marcus knew all about those iron gates. He lived in a fucking compound. But being the nosy bastard he was and, though he’d deny it to the death, he truly gave a shit about everyone who worked for him, he pressed onward, determined to find out what troubled Tyler so much.
“I watched you on the dance floor with Ortiz.” Marcus eased into a chair next to where Tyler stood, in front of a mirrored wall. “I know he can be a bit of a pig sometimes. I hope you weren’t overwhelmed. Did he say something offensive? Let me know, and I can have him tossed.”
An incredulous expression darkened Tyler’s silvery blue eyes. “So you’re saying you were concerned about me? Is that it?”
“Is that so hard to believe?” Annoyance filtered through Marcus’s best intentions. Jesus, the guy was touchy.
Tyler’s skeptical expression and raised brow spoke volumes. “Yeah. You don’t seem like the type of guy who cares about other people’s feelings.”
Son of a bitch. Stung, Marcus struck back. “What the fuck do you know about me? You’ve been here barely a week.”
“Two hours is enough time for people to fill me in. I know you’ve screwed basically every guy who works here, and I’m not planning to be the next flavor of the week.”
Marcus couldn’t help but admire the man’s beautiful, muscled physique, including his dick. He met Tyler’s eyes in the mirror.
“Exactly. You can’t stop staring at me. All you care about is a guy’s dick and getting some.”
Marcus folded his arms and sneered back. “If you’re going to wave it in my face, I’m going to look. It’s only natural.”
Tyler reached for a pair of dance shorts and slipped them on, then faced him with his hands fisted on his hips. At least he planned to go back to work, so, Marcus thought, Tyler couldn’t be too upset about Ortiz touching him. Personally, Marcus didn’t like the thought of Ortiz touching Tyler, but attributed it up to his overall dislike of the man. He wouldn’t like Ortiz touching any of his dancers.
“The decent thing would be to look away or even knock first before coming into a dressing room. But you know we’re naked here, so you like the free show.” Tyler yanked a brush through his damp hair and pulled on his boots.
Incredulous at this unprovoked attack, Marcus tried to reason with Tyler. “What the hell is wrong with you? I came here because you’re my employee and I was concerned about your treatment. I’m not interested in your dick or your ass, which seems to have a stick up it at the moment. Don’t worry—you’re not my type.”
“I thought breathing and with a heartbeat was your type.” Tyler turned his back and headed toward the door.
Fucking hell. “Don’t think you’re going to talk bullshit to me and walk away like some fucking drama queen.” Marcus strode over to him and grabbed him by the shoulder.
