The basement level of the club is nothing like how I’ve seen it before. The dance floor is practically vibrating, bodies intermingled and moving like one unified mass of people. There are rich men and women in suits and gowns sitting in chairs and watching.
There’s a party of people in one of the large round booths, clinging to each other, so I can’t quite tell who is touching who.
“You guys want to grab a drink?” Archer asks as he tears off his tie and unbuttons his shirt. Julian pulls his tuxedo jacket off and slings it over one of the VIP reserved tables.
“A drink sounds perfect,” I say.
“I’ll get them,” Archer says, going to the bar.
Julian leads me toward the small table surrounded by two fuchsia velvet chairs. He sits first and tugs me toward him so I’m perched on his lap.
“Does it make you uncomfortable?” he asks, probably noticing how tense I am and how my attention focuses on anything but the crowd on the dance floor.
“A little,” I mumble under my breath.
“Do you want to stay?”
I turn toward him, staring into his bright indigo eyes that seem to glow in these fluorescent lights. “Yes, of course.”
Lifting a hand, he brushes my hair from my face and gently kisses my cheek. “You belong here as much as anyone else, Freya. You know that, right?”
No, I do not know that. I am an outsider here. I’m not powerful and sexy like these women, but I have a feeling if I told him that, he’d argue with me.
He’d tell me I’m the same woman who let him eat me out in my kitchen, never once acting self-conscious or shy. He’d tell me I’m the same woman who climbed on Archer’s dick after the fight that night, unafraid to be on top my first time. He’d tell me I’m a lot more confident than I feel on the inside.
He’d have a point.
Instead, I whisper, “I know.”
Archer returns with three drinks balanced in his large hands. Passing me my whiskey sour and Julian his expensive whiskey, he takes the seat next to us, holding up his drink with a smile.
“To our first night in the club,” he says, grinning with dimples in his perfect tan cheeks.
“To our first night,” Julian and I reply.
I sip my drink quickly, hoping it will liquefy my nerves and help me to relax a little. It doesn’t, not really. By the time I reach the ice, I’m just buzzed and nervous.
The guys carry on casual conversation, mostly about the club, while I tune them out, my vision skating around the room. I stare at the women in tight dresses and high heels, displaying the kind of confidence I only wish I had. If this was a kitchen, there’d be no issue. I can dominate a kitchen without effort.
But here? I feel stunted for some reason.
I’m clinging to Julian as if he’s a safety blanket. I’m here withhimso it’s okay.
Although I know that’s not really helping. Straightening my spine, I try to mantra myself into believing that I’m here becauseIbelong here.
“You okay, Chef?” Archer asks, leaning forward to touch my leg. “You’re being awfully quiet.”
I force a smile that feels fake. “I’m fine. Excited, that’s all.”
He doesn’t seem to buy it. Archer worries his lip for a moment, glancing around the room as if he’s scheming ideas, which makes me nervous. There’s something dangerous about Archer and his ideas.
Suddenly, he bursts from his chair and puts a hand out for me. I glance up at his face with confusion.
“What?”
“Dance with me, Chef.”
My jaw falls. “Archer, that’s not a regular dance floor.”
