At least I know I don’t have to worry about her.
Unable to see over Rory’s shoulder, I poke my head out to the side once we’re off the dance floor to see where we’re going. My face scrunches when I see that we’re headed toward a set of stairs with a bouncer and a velvet rope like the one at the entrance.
The bouncer sees us coming and unclips the rope without even speaking to Rory, granting us entry.
We climb up a twisting metal staircase, and at the top is a more luxurious seating area overlooking the club below. There’s a bar just like others downstairs, with bartenders doing fancy tricks. But up here, there are fewer people. Couples and trios sit spaced out from each other, laughing and drinking yummy-looking cocktails.
This must be the VIP section.
Just when I think we’re about to stop, Rory keeps going. He guides me to a door that’s almost hidden. It blends in perfectly with the wall. If there wasn’t yet another bouncer in front of it, I would think that Rory is leading me to the corner.
The bouncer, yet again, opens the door for us without Rory having to prove who he is or that he belongs here.
Through the door is a dimly lit hallway. When we’re closed off from the VIP area, the volume of the music lowers significantly.
“Where are we going?” I’m finally able to ask him.
“You’ll see,” is all he tells me, and we stop at another door.
What is with this maze?
I hear some beeps like he’s typing on a keypad, and then the unmistakable sound of a door opening. I poke my head around him again and watch as Rory removes his hand from a screen that I assume just scanned his palm to let us in.
He pulls me into the room and finally releases my hand, going straight for an elegant cart filled with decanters. As he gets himself a drink, I hear the sound of rattling glass.
The room has nice hardwood floors that shine even with the low lighting. There’s a seating area with a couch and a couple of armchairs that match the aesthetic of the rest of the club. The wall opposite the door is made of tinted glass, giving a view of the first floor.
“Whose office is this?” I ask, still standing by the door.
“Mine,” Rory answers without looking at me.
I gawk in disbelief. “Yours?”
“I own the place,” he explains simply, like it’s no big deal.
Scanning the room further, I find a wood-carved desk off to the right. It’s huge with multiple monitors and the computer behind it. The servers behind the desk are tall and occupy a considerable amount of space.
My hand covers my mouth as I move closer to get a better look. “Do you have dual EPYC in there?” I hold my hand up to touch the cold metal, but I hold back, afraid it’ll somehow crumble. Something like this costs millions of dollars. “NVMe RAID? How many lanes? Do you have immersion cooling or a custom loop?”
Turning to face Rory and find him leaning against the opposite wall next to the cart with two drinks in his hand, grinning ear to ear. As he pushes himself forward, he crosses the room to me. “You really do know your stuff.”
“You’re the one who hired me,” I sass.
“Actually, that was Hunter,” he shoots back.
I shrug, pushing his comment aside. “My father was a computer whiz, and he taught me some things here and there.”
“I think he taught you quite a bit,” he pushes.
“Maybe,” I return, unable to look him in the eye.
“I’d say definitely.” Rory hands me one of the glasses, and I promptly take a sip.
“Potato, po-tah-to.” I shrug my shoulders and take another sip. “So…”
“So?”
Peering up at him, a million questions dance on the end of my tongue, but I don’t want to come off as desperate and clingy.
