“It belongs to you,” I repeat.“No matter what you decide about us in the future I won’t take this from you.In fact, my cousin, Eland, made sure I can’t.”
“What if I ruin it?”
“Not possible.”I slide the folio into her hands.“You love this place down to its bones.Things you love like that are never ordinary.Besides, you already bent the air in here.She'll behave for you.This only goes one way.Exceptional.”
I slide one key off the ring, for the manager’s suite, and press it into her palm.
“House rules are yours,” I tell her.“Adrian and his head of security, Mavik, will run your cameras.You’ll have live and logs.He’ll set it up so you can override his view whenever you want.Mavik will put an app on your phone.”
She blinks, lets out a small, disbelieving laugh.“Okay.Rules… No touching the dancers without their permission.”Her eyes cut to the room.“And no cameras in the dressing rooms or bathrooms unless cleared with them first.”
“Anything else?”I ask.“You don’t have to have them all right now.”
“And can we—” she wets her lip, thinking fast.“Security walks the girls to their cars?”
“Currently, they offer to walk them.”
“I want that to be mandatory.”
“Mandatory,” I echo.“The lighting will always be maintained.Cameras will follow to the curb.Adrian, well Ashenheart Defense Agency, can log every plate in and out of this place if that’s what you want.We’ll takeMirageon as a client.”
She exhales, smiling because she can’t help it.
“Whatever breathes in this building answers to you.”
“Does that include you?”
“I don’t answer to anyone.”I slide my palm to the nape of her neck.“Except you.I’ll fight the world and bow at your feet.”
I slide out of my chair and go down on one knee beside our table.I take her hand and kiss her knuckles, head bowed.A snare whispers; the standup bass answers with a slow, dirty walk.The gold curtain shivers, then glides.Light crawls up from the floor.The dancers are set in a V, their silhouettes clean against the velvet.Feather fans pop once and fold.Sequins flare like stars.A trumpet snakes in low and mean and the room lets go of its breath.
Melinda’s fingers hook the table’s edge and hold.A laugh slips out and turns into a grin she can’t swallow.She tips toward the downbeat, eyes bright, lips parted.
I don’t watch the stage; it’s her face I came for.She’s lit from the inside, every nerve saying yes.The curtain keeps opening—more light, more color—and she doesn’t look away.Right now she belongs to this room as much as it belongs to her.
“Say it,” I murmur against her skin.
Her fingers tighten around mine.A flush climbs her throat, equal parts shock and thrill.
“Rise, Cassius.”
I do.Because she said so.
I keep her hand and help her up.“Come see your office,” I tell her.Up the stairs sits a fairly large manager suite with windows as a wall on one side, showing a phenomenal view of the city.I kept the inside simple.Dark-walnut desk.A leather couch.Built-in bookshelves along the interior wall, already holding a few things that matter:These Is My Wordsnext toShogun, spine to spine, dead center.An espresso setup complete with grinder, machine, and cups.
“I don’t know how much time you’ll spend up here,” I say, watching her take it in, “but I wanted you to like it.”
She goes to the books first, like I knew she would, touching the spines.
“Next door is the general manager’s office.The corner room is for the stage manager.Opposite that is security.You’ll find your camera screens, radios, and incident logs there.Bartenders and dancers have their own breakrooms down the service hall near the back exit.There’s a big fridge, lockers, and showers in each.”
I motion for her to set the folio on the desk and turn the signature page so it faces her.“There’s no clock on this,” I tell her.“We can walk back downstairs and watch the show and do this tomorrow.Or next week.”I don’t say never, because signed or notMiragebelongs to her.
She stands very still.Fingers skim the window, the couch, the two books on the shelf, touchstones in her life that need order for her to breathe.The bass from the floor hums up through the joists.She presses her thumb to the wedding band on her hand, then to theThese Is My Wordsspine, like she’s checking which vow came first.
This is the second contract she’s signed with me.The first made us married.This one makes her owner.Control, but on her terms this time.
I ease closer, keep my hands at my sides.“Tell me what’s going on up there.”I lightly kiss her temple then step back.
