Chapter 17 #2
Logan follows my gaze, his eyes scanning the crowd. “What are you looking for?”
“Oh, you know, just scanning for one of my family members.”
His lips twitch. “You’re acting like we’re committing a felony.”
I huff. “If Ryan finds out, we might as well be.”
He slides a hand down my bare back, his palm resting just above my ass, warm and possessive. I shiver as he briefly dips his pinky beneath the fabric of my dress. “Relax, Pip. Your brother has a date on the other side of town. I’m pretty sure he’ll be tied up all night.”
My brows lift. “The same date he tried to rope you into? I thought that girl wouldn’t go out with him unless she could double with her friend who’s in town.”
He clears his throat. “Yeah…well…evidently, Ryan convinced both of them to be his date tonight.”
It takes me a second to do the math.
“Oh.” I scrunch my face. “God, he’s such a fuckboy.”
Logan shakes his head. “Ryan isn’t afraid to settle down, Rosie.”
“Yeah, right,” I snort.
“I’m serious,” he insists. “Your parents set a pretty great example. You’ve never talked about this stuff with him before?”
Now it’s my turn to shake my head. “Not really. We kind of have an unspoken agreement not to discuss our love lives with each other. I honestly don’t think he’d care if I screwed half of LA, as long as he didn’t have to hear about it.
” I bump my hip into him. “Except when it comes to you. Then he feels compelled to preemptively cockblock. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” he echoes with a sigh.
“Are you sure he’s not trying to keep you for himself?” I joke, trying to bring some levity back into the conversation. “Maybe he’s been pining for you ever since that morning he woke up with his dick nestled against your butt cheeks.”
“Wiseass.” He pinches my butt cheek, making me squeal.
“I’m positive Ryan is into pussy and only pussy.
As am I, so it wouldn’t matter, even if he was into me.
But back to the fuckboy comment, I don’t think Ryan jumps from girl to girl on purpose.
I guess you could say he approaches dating as if it’s an ongoing search for the one. ”
“And he thinks he’ll find her by having threesomes with randos from out of town?”
Logan shrugs. “You never know. Throuples are all the rage these days. At least according to the current book on your nightstand.”
I laugh. “You’ve been reading my book?”
“I read some of it before I met Ry for lunch yesterday.” Logan grins.
“I was really getting frustrated with the married dude, though, so I had to take a break. It’s so obvious he wants to fuck his best friend, but he keeps fighting it, and he’s hurting everyone by holding back.
I don’t get it. He loves watching his buddy fuck his wife, they’re all in love with each other, and his wife’s totally okay with his bisexual awakening.
Just get over your hangups and do it already, man! ”
“Wow,” I muse. “It sounds like you read a lot more than just some of it.” I laugh. “Who would’ve thought Logan Edwards would be into MMF romance?”
He shrugs. “It was hot. I don’t have to like dick to see that.”
“I suppose not,” I agree.
Logan puts slight pressure on my back, guiding me around a corner down an alley. “And on that note, we’re here.”
We stop in front of the same brick building where my favorite coffee shop is located, but instead of a cozy café entrance, we’re at the back end of it, at the opposite corner.
No signage. No storefronts.
Just a single iron door, matte black and imposing, the surface worn from years of use. It’s the kind of door that makes you hesitate, wondering if you’re about to stumble into something nefarious.
“This really is a sex dungeon, isn’t it?” I whisper-shout.
“I told you it was exclusive. This is how they keep it that way.” Logan smirks.
He presses a round button off to the side, barely noticeable in the shadows. A second later, a tiny platform pops out of the door at waist level.
It’s a scanner.
Logan pulls up a QR code on his phone, places it over the sensor, and waits. The red light turns green, and the scanner retracts. A moment later, I hear the distinctive sound of a latch disengaging, right before the door swings open on its own, revealing the interior of an elevator.
“Holy secret lair, Batman,” I mumble. “What the hell am I about to walk into, Logan? Will you just freaking tell me?!”
“See for yourself,” he replies with a grin.
My jaw drops. “Oh, come on. You’re not going to even give me a hint?”
“Nope.” He gestures for me to step inside. “After you, Pip.”
I hesitate. “If you’re leading me to a murder chamber, I’m going to haunt you for the rest of your life.”
Logan chuckles under his breath, pressing softly on my lower back. “Trust me, Pip. If I wanted to off you, I’d hire someone to make it look like an accident.”
“Not funny.” I glare.
He counters with a grin. “Get your ass in the elevator, Rosie, before you draw attention to us.”
“Ugh, fine.” With a reluctant sigh, I move closer to Logan, feeling the warmth radiating from his body as we step inside the elevator. The doors glide shut behind us, sealing us into the dim, metal box. There are no floor selection buttons, just a soft chime before we begin our descent.
I shift on my feet, as the confined space seems to amplify the faint brush of his arm against mine.
Logan gives me a smug grin, his gaze lingering on me. “Am I making you nervous?”
“No,” I deny. “I’m just trying to figure out when you became so James Bond-y.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He winks, a playful glint in his eyes.
I roll my eyes. “You would.”
A second later, the elevator glides to a stop, and the doors slide open with another chime.
I gasp when I see the stunning reception area before us.
The shift from the bustling thoroughfare up top to the quiet, sultry interior is almost jarring, like stepping through a portal into another dimension.
My heels click against the polished dark wooden floor as I glance around, my eyes adjusting to the ambient glow dripping from an antique chandelier overhead.
The walls are covered in black damask wallpaper, its intricate pattern threaded with gold, and barely visible in the low lighting.
This room reminds me of some kind of Gothic boudoir, minus the bed.
It’s elegant, mysterious, and so far from what I was expecting that I find myself momentarily speechless.
A small podium sits to the side, sleek and minimalist, its surface uncluttered aside from a tablet.
A woman stands beside it, wearing a black tuxedo blazer, a matching skirt, and a pair of bejeweled Louboutins that probably cost more than my rent.
Her white-blonde hair is slicked back into a ponytail, and her lips are painted the exact shade of my favorite Bordeaux.
Her expression is cool and indecipherable, but when her gaze flicks to Logan, her lips curve in the barest hint of a smile. “Welcome to the Gilded Dagger, Mr. Edwards,” she purrs. “I’m Claudia, and I’ll be your concierge tonight. I see here you’d like to begin the evening with a table for two?”
He nods. “Yes, that’s correct.”
Her grin is in full effect now. “Right this way.”
I glance at Logan, arching a brow. “Come here often?”
“Not exactly,” he murmurs.
I narrow my eyes, but before I can question him further, Claudia’s swaying hips are leading us down a long, dim hallway, the rich scent of aged liquor and leather growing stronger with each step.
The hall funnels into a dark and intimate bar, with vaulted ceilings and gold-plated moldings.
It’s a magnificent blend of modern luxury and Gatsby-era charm.
The patterned wallpaper carries into this space, barely lit by golden candelabras hung in equal intervals on the wall.
The bar itself is a work of art. Long and polished to perfection, its marble top gleaming beneath the dim glow of amber pendant lights.
The front is lined with plush barstools, each spaced just enough to give patrons an impression of intimacy without losing the social energy of the room.
Behind the counter, rows of meticulously arranged bottles sparkle like jewels.
I can’t read any of the labels under this moody lighting, but something tells me you won’t find any Jim Beam on those shelves.
A bartender, dressed in a tailored white shirt and crisp bowtie, moves with practiced precision, pouring the contents from a shaker into a martini glass, and garnishing it with something fancy.
Our hostess stops beside a curved leather booth tucked into a secluded corner. The seating in this place is unlike any bar I’ve ever been to. There are only about ten tables in total, and each one is spaced so far from another, it’s clear privacy was a key consideration in the design.
“Here we are,” Claudia says smoothly, handing Logan a leather-bound pad after he slides in beside me. Rather than a traditional menu, a single sheet of linen paper is attached, bearing a QR code.
“If you scan the code,” she continues, “you can view the menu and place your orders directly. Should you need any additional services arranged, you can send a request to me by pressing the ‘Concierge’ button in the upper right corner.” She smiles, showing off her perfectly straight teeth. “Enjoy yourselves.”
“Thank you,” Logan says, already pulling out his phone.
Low conversation hums all around us, with soft jazz playing in the background. This entire places oozes elegance, but oddly enough, it doesn’t feel pretentious.
As Claudia disappears into the shadows, I pick up our conversation where we left off. “Explain ‘Not exactly.’”
His lips curve as he uses his phone to scan the code. “I promise I’ll do that in a bit. But I think we could both use a drink right now, so pick your poison, Pip.” He slides the phone over to me so I can peruse the menu.
The specialty cocktails are decadent blends of high-end liquor, house-made infusions, and unexpected additions like milky oolong, smoked rosemary, or honeycomb. Their names—like Velvet Sin, Scarlett Kiss, and Midnight Rendezvous—are as sexy as the atmosphere.
My fingers hover over the screen as I narrow it down to two different drinks. “Should I choose posh and mysterious? Or wicked and dangerous?”
“Why not both?” Logan’s expression is definitely leaning toward the latter.
Well, okay then. I guess it’s going to be one of those nights. My toes curl in excitement.
I return his smile. “Both it is.”