Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
Blake
Blake’s gaze tracked up the facade of the impressive office tower, the glass and steel of its upper floors blazing white with reflected sunlight. He fished the business card Virgil had given him out of his jacket’s breast pocket and checked the address. This was the place.
When he’d shared his vision for the burlesque club, Virgil was surprised but excited.
“Of course I’d rather have you take on the club, instead of some developer,” Virgil had said, opening the top drawer of his desk and rooting through a messy stack of papers.
“The offer is only for my lease, though. I don’t own the building.
You’ll have to work something out with the building’s owners. ”
He pulled out a tattered folder covered with scribbles and dropped it onto his desk. Flipping through the folder’s yellowed, dog-eared documents, he finally found a loose business card and slid it toward Blake.
“Drew and Joel Mazer. I mostly work with Joel. You’ll have to negotiate a lease transfer.”
Those words hadn’t meant a lot to Blake, but Tenny helped him do some research so at least he knew what he’d be asking the Mazers for.
Dressed in the crisp navy suit he’d had custom-made for an award ceremony, he at least looked the part of a future business owner. He took a moment to brush off his lapels and straighten his emerald tie – the one that made his eyes pop – then stepped through the revolving door.
The expansive lobby was two stories high, with a marble floor and enormous chandeliers suspended from a ceiling decorated with ornate plaster rosettes. Lush armchairs upholstered in gold damask were clustered in intimate groupings throughout the space.
Blake’s footsteps echoed as he crossed the lobby toward the elevators. During the ride to the thirtieth floor, he practiced his pitch, mumbling to himself, “I’d like to take over Mr. Glass’s lease and open a burlesque club.”
The elevator doors opened with a soft ding and Blake stepped into a reception area that was far more welcoming than the lobby, with a grey carpet, soft lighting, and dark, practical furnishings.
Seated at an antique mahogany desk to the right of the elevators was a young woman with a platinum blond, shoulder-length bob. Without looking away from her computer monitor, she said, “One moment, please.”
Blake clasped his hands in front of himself. The woman’s pink blazer was amazing – impeccably tailored, with peak lapels as sharp as knives.
She turned to him and flashed a genuine smile. “How can I help you?”
“I’m here to talk to Joel Mazer?
“Are you Mr. Larsen?”
Blake nodded, then blurted, “Yeah. I mean, yes.”
“Have a seat.” The woman held her open hand toward the chairs set along the opposite wall. Above the seating area, shiny brass letters spelled out MAZER PROPERTY GROUP. “I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.”
Blake perched on one of the chairs and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. His heartbeat tapped against his ear drums.
The woman – Christina Gardner, according to the small nameplate on her desk – picked up her phone and spoke quietly into the receiver. She hung up the phone and beckoned to him. “Mr. Mazer is ready to see you now.”
Blake thanked her and approached the glass door behind the front desk.
Inside the office, a middle-aged man with short dark hair was seated at an L-shaped desk, typing on a laptop.
His suit was a conservative charcoal grey, but his purple tie and round wireframe glasses gave him a bit of personality.
Blake opened the door a crack and knocked on the glass. The man looked up and beckoned for him to enter.
“You must be Blake.” With a warm smile, the man came around his desk and offered his hand. “Joel Mazer.”
After a firm handshake, he invited Blake to take a seat in the leather armchair facing his desk and offered him a cup of coffee.
Blake settled into the armchair while Joel walked over to a bar cart that held a bottle of whiskey in addition to a fancy coffee maker. “Virgil speaks very highly of you,” he said, filling a mug with coffee. “Cream or sugar?”
“Black is fine.”
Joel handed the mug to Blake and leaned against his desk, crossing his legs at the ankle.
Blake took a sip of coffee to soothe his nerves. This was the good stuff, smooth and full-bodied, with a pleasing bitter finish. His shoulders relaxed. Joel was approachable and friendly, and not at all intimidating.
He was going to be fine.
“My brother will be joining us shortly,” Joel said. “But we can get started. Virgil told me a little about your plans for the club, but I’d love to hear more.”
Before Blake could formulate a reply, a man barged into the office, talking loudly on his phone. Dressed in a white polo, khakis, and powder blue topsiders, he looked like he’d just stepped off a yacht. His brown hair had chunky blond highlights and was sculpted into a wave over his forehead.
He hung up his phone with a tap of his thumb and stabbed his open hand in Blake’s direction. “Drew Mazer.”
Blake shook his hand and introduced himself.
“Blake is interested in taking over the lease for The Firehouse on Dolores Street,” Joel said. “He plans to open a burlesque club––”
Drew held up a hand, cutting off his brother. “I listened to your message.” His cold eyes bored into Blake. “Let’s see your business plan.”
Beads of sweat tickled Blake’s hairline. “I, uh… don’t have one yet.”
“Look,” Drew snapped. “I’m going to level with you. That firehouse is a dump that should’ve been torn down years ago. I couldn’t care less about that damn property, and now we have a developer willing to throw money at us for that shithole.”
“It’s not a shithole,” Joel said.
Drew continued, ignoring his brother. “So, tell me why I should pass on that very generous offer for your little strip club.”
“Drew, what the hell?”
“Give it a rest, Joel. We’re not doing anything without a business plan. Come back when you’re serious, Mr. Johnson.” With a final glare at his brother, Drew stormed out of the office.
“It’s Larsen…” Blake said, his voice trailing off as Drew slammed the door behind him.
Joel set his glasses on his desk and rubbed his eyes.
“I’m sorry. My brother, well, my brother can be an asshole.
” He plucked a business card out of a brass holder and handed it to Blake.
“Here’s my card. That’s my personal email address where you can reach me.
Draw up a plan and we can meet again. Don’t worry about Drew.
I can push back the talks with the developer and stall the sale. Just don’t wait too long.”
Holding out his hand, Joel smiled. “I like the sound of what you have planned, Blake. I’m looking forward to hearing more about it.”
“Okay.” Blake put the card in his pocket and shook Joel’s hand. “Thank you for your time.”
He hurried out of Joel’s office, making a beeline for the elevator. Christina said a polite goodbye, but Blake couldn’t manage more than a nod in response. His throat felt too tight.
At the elevator, he pounded the down button, willing the doors to open so he could escape before the tears that stung his eyes had a chance to fall.
As soon as the doors slid open, he ducked inside and smashed the button for the lobby. The car began its descent, and Blake’s shoulders shook as he choked back a sob. He angrily swiped at his eyes, humiliated that he was crying.
How the hell am I going to come up with a business plan?
Why did I let Tenny talk me into this?
I’m not smart enough. I’m not––
When the doors slid open again, Blake hightailed it out of the lobby, head down, his tie knot digging into his neck like a noose.
He barely registered the people he passed on the sidewalk as he sprinted to the safety of his car. Once he was in the driver’s seat, the tears really hit. He yanked his tie loose with shaking hands, popped his top button, and gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.
Thirty seconds. That’s all he’d give himself. He closed his eyes and let the hot tears stream down his cheeks.
Then he wiped his face with his sleeve, sniffed hard, and turned the key in the ignition.
When he trudged into his apartment, Blake kicked the door shut behind him. He loosened his tie enough to slip it over his head and tossed it on the couch. His jacket followed, landing in a crumpled heap next to his tie.
“Dustin?” Blake called out. He toed off his loafers on his way across the living room. “Are you home?”
Even though the apartment was quiet, he checked Dustin’s room. The door was open and the bed was neatly made.
Damn. He really didn’t want to be alone.
Blake shuffled into his bedroom and dropped down onto the edge of his bed, shoulders sagging. For a long minute, he sat staring at the floor, elbows braced on his knees.
He kept replaying Drew’s comment in his head. “Come back when you’re serious.” Like he was a joke.
His dress shirt was damp with stress sweat, and he couldn’t stand the smell of it anymore. He took it off and draped it over the back of his chair to air out. Rooting around in his dresser drawer, he found a comfy old tank and pulled it on.
He huffed a wry chuckle at The Firehouse logo emblazoned on the tank. A reminder of who he was.
He was a sex worker. A himbo. Not a businessman. Just a hot body in a good suit, and people like Drew could clock that from a mile away.
He might look the part when he was dressed up. Hell, he’d acted the part in movies. But could he become an actual businessman?
Come back when you’re serious.
His gaze drifted toward his nightstand, where the happy little stuffed duck sat, with chubby outstretched wings and a blue baseball cap. Blake lay in bed and ran his finger down Blathan’s bill.
Ethan would’ve known what to say.
He wished he could talk to Ethan, but he was working. They wouldn’t have another night off together until Friday, and that was the night he was going to The Rumpus Room with his friends.
“Shit.” Blake let out a breath through his nose. He couldn’t just drop this in Ethan’s lap and say, here, fix my life. They’d only been on two dates.
He might have to figure this one out on his own.
He closed his eyes, seeking comfort and escape in a familiar fantasy. Performing on stage. Dancing in a sexy, revealing costume, while the cheers and applause of the audience joined the driving beat of the music.
It was a dream that felt a little further away, a little less possible, than it had before he’d stepped foot into the Mazer brothers’ office.