Chapter Eighteen
Spencer
My flight landed at Heathrow Airport at nine in the evening.
An hour late. I hate being late. Having been drinking since the moment I sat down in my plane seat, I’m more than a little buzzed.
If I weren’t sitting up front in first class, I’m certain the flight stewards would have cut me off hours ago.
My driver, Tony, is in the VIP pickup area. The moment he sees me; he leaps from the car to open the rear door.
“Spencer,” he says in a curt, but professional greeting.
“Hey, Tony, thanks for picking me up at short notice,” I reply.
I slide onto the leather seats, allowing my head to flop back onto the rest behind me.
“Where are we going?” he asks.
“Locked. Please.”
I don’t miss his scathing stare in the rearview mirror.
Needing to block out these negative voices, I glance around me, wishing the area in the car designed for a mini bar was stocked.
Instead, I sit back, trying to get some rest before the stressful evening I have ahead. I hate bailing out on Travis but if I have to choose between being his business partner and resolving things with my wife, there’s no competition.
Before I left Dubai, I sent Sophie a text to explain I was returning to England early but needed a few days to sort things out.
It’s time to trust in my relationship with her.
Visions of Carlo and Sophie have troubled my mind all night.
This is what she’s lived with for years.
What the fuck have I put her through? I assured her Carlo would stay with her indefinitely and also told her if she needed me or wanted a further explanation, she could call anytime.
Her simple response has troubled me ever since.
What the fuck does a heart emoji even mean in this situation?
Upon arrival at Locked, I head straight to the bar. The server takes one look at me and reaches for my usual tipple. I neck it straight down and return the glass to the bar more heavily than usual. The noise draws the server’s eyes.
“Again,” I say sharper than I intended.
Once served, I stand staring at the glass for a moment.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” A familiar feminine voice sings beside me.
“Not tonight, Kalie. I’m not in the mood.” I reply without turning my head.
“Fair enough. Anything I can do to help?” she inquires.
“You can lose my number,” I snap, and pick my glass up, throwing the liquid back again and enjoying the burning sensation as it travels down my throat.
I catch the server’s eye, nodding down at my glass. He reads my gesture correctly and turns to pick up the bottle, splashing a healthier measure into the glass this time.
“Is this your not-so-subtle way of saying we’re through?” Kalie demands.
I turn to analyze her. As always, she looks flawless. She’s wearing pink today; it suits her. She looks classical, but the dress is so short that if she bent over, she’d show everything she has. These are the sort of details that make her too harsh.
Kalie is a spoiled little rich girl, her father, whose path I’ve crossed for business reasons occasionally, would be horrified if he saw her now.
He wants her to settle down and have a family.
But I could never imagine her doing it. There’s no softness about her.
Nothing motherly. Something clicks in my mind, she’s just like my mother was, hard.
Sarcastically, I drawl, “Clever girl.”
The clench of her back teeth almost raises a smirk. It would have done if I weren’t in such a filthy mood.
“Where’s Travis?” I growl.
Her shoulders rise an inch; “He went up to the office twenty minutes ago.”
I pick up my glass and strut off in that direction, leaving Kalie standing at the bar, no doubt seething—not only to be rejected, but dismissed without so much as a cheerio.
Without knocking, I burst into my partner’s office to find him on the phone.
Judging by his facial expression, I instantly know his conversation is difficult. I slump into one of the guest chairs in front of his desk, sipping my drink and considering the best way to break my news.
He slams the phone down with a groan.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were in Dubai until Saturday.”
I rub my fingers over my mouth.
“Sophie and I have got problems,” I admit.
Saying it aloud to an outsider feels strange.
He interrupts me with a chuckle.
“What?” I demand, my mood flipping.
“It’s about fucking time,” he spits.
My eyebrows clash together, wishing I hadn’t been so open about my marital issues. I ignore his amusement, needing to get out of here before I lose my temper.
“I’m selling my shares in the club to Carlo.”
He sits forward, leaning his elbows on the desk, his expression suddenly deathly serious.
“What? No, you can’t do that.”
I snort. “They’re my shares, mate. I can do whatever the fuck I like with them.”
Knocking back the rest of my drink. I slam it down on his desk, my lack of coordination almost smashes the glass, but I couldn’t care less. I rise and turn to the door.
Another person I’ve pissed off; I’m collecting them tonight.
I stride back into the club to see if I can find Carlo.
Claudette catches my eye, and I make a beeline for her.
She’s one of the few original staff members; recently she’s been working in a management role.
Initially, the club employed Claudette as the fixer.
The VIP members loved her a little too much.
In her hunt for a wealthy husband, she was dedicating far more time entertaining the punters than we intended.
However, her organizational skills are top-notch.
So, we promoted her, and now she oversees the entire club, making sure everything is running smoothly. It’s the perfect job for her.
Now that she’s gotten over her infatuation with me, we get on well. I have a lot of respect for her.
I lean down, pressing a kiss to both of her cheeks in our customary manner.
“Hey, Claude, how’s your night going?” I ask, noticing my words are a little slurred.
“Good. We’ve been busy tonight.”
I nod, glancing around at the bustling bar.
“You’ve just missed an erotic show with Carlo and his lady friend,” she teases with a cheeky smile.
My ears prick up at the sound of my friend’s name. I asked him here to discuss taking over the club, not to fuck the patrons.
“What are you talking about?” I quiz her. My brain befuddled.
“He came in about forty-five minutes ago with a blond woman I’ve never seen before.” She moves closer as she murmurs; “She’s hot as fuck.”
My pulse speeds up and I suddenly feel unsteady.
“Are you alright, Spence?” Claudette touches my forearm, as if her petite frame could steady me.
“Describe her to me.”
“About my height, blond hair, gorgeous figure. She’s wearing a very expensive-looking dress which is almost backless; at the base of her spine, she has a sexy lily tattoo on the top of her right buttock.
” She pauses, and I can almost see the cogs whirling in her mind. “Actually, it’s similar to yours.”
My stomach drops and my mind is suddenly blessed with perfect clarity.
The cunt has brought Sophie in here!
“Fuck.”
I take a step forward, only to realize I don’t have a clue where they are.
“Where are they?” I spit the words out.
“Room 212, I believe,” she replies, trying to sound vague when we both know she knows exactly where they are.
My eyes stretch wide.
“He’s in a fucking voyeur room!”
“Get me into that room now!” I bark over my shoulder as I strut away.
“You know I can’t do that. It’s against the club policy,” she calls.
I spin around, marching back to her and getting into her face aggressively, speaking through gritted teeth.
“He’s got my fucking wife in there!” I growl.
Her face pales and her eyes grow wide; she’s never seen me so incandescent.
I turn away from her and storm upstairs in their direction. When I turn onto the long corridor that leads down to room 212, I see one of our security team is blocking access. It’s a relief. Carlo’s made sure nobody can see them. Some of my tension dissipates, sharpening my understanding.
They’ve laid this on to taunt me. But, if he’s told her I own this place, I’m going to kill him.
“Mr. Barton-Jones.”
One of the security guys greets me.
“Chas. What are you doing?”
“I’ve finished my shift. Mr. Moretti asked me to stand here and stop anyone except you from viewing inside room 212.”
My jaw aches with the pressure from my back teeth.
“Get me inside that room.”
“I can’t, sir. He’s locked the door from the inside.”
Pushing past him, I pointlessly hammer on the glazed door. I know they won’t open it even if they hear me—they wouldn’t have locked it if it were going to be that easy.
I watch Carlo standing with his shirt off, embracing Sophie in his arms. Her head is back, her long hair hanging down her back almost to her bottom. She’s naked, and judging from the color of her ass cheeks, he’s been spanking her.
Fuck, she’s stunning.
He’s kissing her deeply, passionately. I can see just from the way he holds her how much she means to him. The scene causes a movement in my trousers. It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen them together.
I watch as he spins her to face me, the first sign that he knows I’ve arrived.
He trails the pads of his fingers over her body. One hand heads south to her pussy, while the other cups her breast. Their lips remain clamped together.
She’s working hard to undo his trousers, but when his long fingers reach her clit, she becomes distracted from her task, and rocks her head back, leaning into his chest.
My fingers itch to torture her like he is. Her whole body is open to him, willing him to make her feel good.
I understand what it’s like to be under Carlo’s spell; he’s intoxicating. His ability to read his partner’s body responses is captivating.
She’s close enough to the window that I can see she’s trembling with her need to release. Just as I think she’s going to detonate, he lifts his hand to her mouth, demanding she lick his fingers.