That is why I am passing the club down to all six of you. You can do what you want with it. Change the name. Make it yours. The only catch is that you have to run it together for at least a year. If one of you pulls out, the ownership reverts to Matis, and he’ll sell the property.
Fabulous. So my inheritance rides on these freeloaders doing their job.Au revoir, L’Amour.
This isn’t a punishment. It’s an experiment. I watched your parents’ club save lives, and I’m hoping this one will save yours.
One year. That’s all I ask. After the year is up, you can do what you want.
I’m begging you to give it a shot.
Find your family, and make this your home.
Sincerely,
Ronan Kade
When Jack finishes reading, he appears to be as flabbergasted as the rest of us. I watch him reread it over and over, and it dawns on me that he too probably thought he was about to inherit the deed alone.
He was the more suitable candidate anyway. He’s worked at the club for the last seven years, whereas I keep an office there without ever being actually tasked with anything, which loosely translates into…riding the train without having to buy a ticket.
Now, I get to own one-sixth of a club, one I’m sure Jack will head alone with us under him like employees.
“Well, that settles it,” Elizabeth says in a biting tone as she stands. “Looks like none of us are getting the club after all.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Amelia pleads. “Are we not going to consider it at least?”
Hearing the hope in her voice goes straight to my heart. My pure-soul sister only wants the best for everyone and everything. She refuses to believe anything negative or accept even a hint of pessimism.
Me on the other hand…
“Consider what?” I ask, glancing at her. “The six of us are more likely to sprout wings and fly to Neverland than work together and create something that could actually succeed.”
“Not with that attitude,” Weston jokes, which is par for the course with him. He doesn’t take anything seriously. Mom always says he has the looks of one of his dads and the personality of the other.
Amelia’s soft hand touches my arm. “Maybe Dad is right. Maybe we could own it together. It could work.”
Itcould. It could also be a humiliating attempt to be half as good as Salacious. That place was all my dad could ever talk about. How special it was. How it wasso much more than a sex club. As if that’s even possible. A sex club is a sex club. A placewhere people who are too fucked up to find real partners go to get laid. So excuse me if I don’t want to hear how he met my mother there and how all our parents practically lived there.
The only reason I even agreed to help my dad run his club is because I know he is literallyneverthere, and it saves me the trouble of having to find sex elsewhere.
If the rest of them want to take a crack at running it, they can be my guests. I’ll keep my office and frequent the VIP section just like I always do, and nothing has to change.
Standing from the table, I pocket my phone and take a step toward the door, mumbling, “What a waste of time,” as I brush past Jack.
“One year,” he announces as my hand rests on the door. For some reason, it’s as if he’s speaking directly to me. I stop, mostly out of shock that he’s actually agreeing to this. Curiosity has me sticking around to hear what he has to say.
As he continues rallying the rest of the group like we’re heading into battle instead of agreeing to own a kink club, I try to remember a time when I used to look up to Jack. He’s seven years older than me, and I only met him briefly as a kid, since my parents moved us out to Paris before Amelia was born.
But I remember when he moved to Paris at twenty-five to work for my dad. I was only eighteen at the time, and I thought I was getting a brother. Instead, I got a rival.
Unlike me, Jack excels at everything.
Jack isn’t locked inside his own head all the time.
Everyone loves Jack.
I don’t think anyone even likes me.
My eyes narrow as he inspires the others with plans for how they can contribute to L’Amour with their own skills. Elizabeth is a talented dancer. My sister is an artistic genius. Weston could manage the bar, obviously.
