But the itch for something else crawls up my skin.
Drumming my fingers on the desk, I try to ignore the urge. It grows too strong anyway. Clicking off my computer, I walk down the hall of offices, noticing they’re all empty now. Jack goes home to his family at six every night now. Phoenix mostly works from home as it is. Elizabeth might be backstage with the dancers. That leaves me and Weston as the only two owners left, and he’s behind the bar.
Descending the stairs alone, I take stock of the small crowdtonight. It’s Wednesday and still early, so the few patrons is expected.
The main floor of the club is innocent. It has a bar, some chairs for mingling. Even a modest dance floor if they want to use it. The vibe in here is so much fresher than it was before, since my sister put her youthful spin to the design. The room is bathed in sweet fuchsia light. The furniture is delicate with shades of pink, gold, and black, making it a mix of femininity and opulence, far less intimidating to guests.
It’s the lower, basement level where the debauchery takes place.
A tall man is stationed by the stairs and elevator, checking membership cards before anyone is allowed to enter. Technically, they have to show them at the front door too. We’re not exclusive by class or wealth, but we are exclusive by character and candor. There is a small interview process for those looking to gain membership, and it’s created an environment of people who actually want to be here for the right reasons. They respect the lifestyle and are here to learn and connect.
I dragged my feet on a lot of these changes, mostly because back then, I couldn’t bear to watch Jack succeed at yet another venture. He makes it all look so effortless, so I shoved my foot in the door, making this club just a little harder on him than I should have.
Which is funny really since the whole reason I agreed to that one-year deal my father proposed was to impress him and show him how much I could do. Instead, I tried to drag down his godson.
In the end, we actually ended up seeing eye to eye. My biggest rival turned into…a friend. It turns out when two hotheaded, stubborn assholes actually put their heads together instead of constantly fighting, they can do amazing things.
If only this unrelenting need to impress everyone and prove my worth would just ease up a little. No one has made any movesto kick me off the team, but I can’t seem to relax. I will not rest until this club is perfect and I have proven myself indispensable.
After a quick elevator ride downstairs, I step foot in the sex club itself. The design is much like upstairs with an edge. Bright pink graffiti on dark painted walls. Can lights behind a petite burlesque stage. A dark obsidian surface bar with a black crystal chandelier.
There’s a woman dancing onstage, one I don’t recognize. She’s grinding to the music on a chair in nothing but a dark lace thong and a pair of red high-heeled boots. My attention is caught on the perfect shape and bounce of her tits. I don’t feel ashamed for the way watching her dance goes straight to my cock, creating a warm electric buzz behind my zipper. That’s what she’s dancing for. Everyone is watching her.
The idea is that when they come down here, they are in a perpetual state of arousal. Either from the low bass beat of the music or the dancers onstage or the small crowd of people fucking on the dance floor.
It’s not about getting off. It’s about feeling alive. It’s about desire and yearning, like animals awakened by the craving for sex.
Mesmerized by the dancer, I don’t notice the woman approaching me from my right. When she whispers my name, I finally tear my eyes from the girl onstage.
“Julian,” she says again.
Turning toward her, unease builds in my gut. “Élodie,” I reply tersely. There’s panic in her eyes, and I get a sense of paranoia with how close she’s standing to me. She’s still in her burlesque costume, her dancing shoes clicking against the hard floor as she shuffles nervously. Taking her arm in my hand, I gently guide her toward a discreet corner where we can talk.
“I’m sorry to do this at work,” she whispers.
“What’s wrong?” I snap with a hint of impatience. If anyone saw us talking here alone, it would look incredibly inappropriate. People would assume I’m fucking one of the dancers. Or worse…that we’re friends.
“Étienne is sick.” Tears fill her eyes, and it makes my jaw clench. “And I don’t know what to do.”
“So take him to the doctor. What are you telling me for?”
“I did, but I couldn’t miss work, so I had to hire someone to watch him. It’s been three days now, and it’s costing me so much. I hate to ask, Julian. I’m sorry.”
The way she pleads strikes a chord in my chest. She’s not asking me as her boss. She’s asking me as her friend. I could tell her to handle it or to ask someone else. This isn’t my problem.
Except it is.
Letting out a sigh, I give her a comforting nod. Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out my wallet. Slipping out some euros, I pass them to her and look around to be sure no one is watching us.
She cries when her hand closes around the money. “Thank you so much, Julian.”
“Please don’t thank me,” I mumble, glancing behind me again. “Are you giving him medicine?”
“Yes. He’s on day three of his antibiotiques, but his fever won’t stop coming back, and his ears still hurt.”
My nostrils flare, thinking about the poor kid suffering. “Fuck.” I pull my phone from my pocket and search up my family doctor’s information. “Listen to me, Élodie. Call this doctor, and take Étienne to him. Donottell him that you know me. Just say that you work with Amelia, understand?”
She nods eagerly as I text her the phone number.
