And you probably couldn’t afford anything from a place this fancy-looking, anyway.
You know there’s probably nothing for you in a place like this, no reason to go inside, but just as you felt with the bookshop, there’s something drawing you in—a curiosity you can’t resist, and your feet move almost on their own.
As you step through the open door, the quiet tune of classical violin music greets you from speakers hidden somewhere in the dark ceiling above.
The door swings softly shut behind you, yet for some reason, you don’tfeellike you’ve just walked into a trap.
If anything, the atmosphere inside is so quiet and peaceful, it’s like you’ve walked into a zen garden.
What a strange establishment.
It’s so classy, everything modern and clean and yet sodark. Red light glows softly from above, yet it’s somehow not spooky. It’s like you’ve stepped into a club for the elite or ultra-rich.
And maybe you have.
A very quiet, peaceful, classically-inspired club?
The red lighting should contrast the strange zen you feel, but it doesn’t. You just feel relaxed. Like walking into a planetarium, perhaps the red light is here so as not to ruin your night vision?
Wait, that doesn’t make sense for a club to care about.
Does it?
You’re so hungry and tired now, you really are delirious.
There’s no one else inside this strange establishment, with tall, semi-private booths lined up along the walls, almost like cubicles in an office—but far more plush. Behind that is a door with the wordVIPprinted on it in the same crisp lettering that matches the exterior sign.
A few small seating areas are scattered around like a cafe, complete with little side tables and upholstered chaise lounges.
Toward the front is a table that you can only imagine is for the greeter who works late at night.
You must just have arrived too early.
You should leave, you realize, turning back for the door, when you hear fabric rustle behind you.
Turning, you spot a handsome, suit-clad, late-thirty-something man watching you with subdued interest from where he sits in an upholstered chair just to the side of the front desk.
You blink.
You could have sworn there was no one there a second ago.
“Welcome,” he says, flashing you a glinting smile. “Leaving so soon?”
49
A Plan to Make the Hot Guy Jealous
You
You should be afraid.
Probably.
There’s something thatshouldfeel sinister about the way this man smiles, the way he’s asking that, yet—yet you feel oddly relaxed.
Almost entranced.
Hang on. You’re notactuallyentranced, are you?
