Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
cove
“Kindness is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”
Mark Twain
“Tank, be a doll and don’t let that Jonas Brothers wannabe through these doors tonight. He’s getting much too needy for my liking.”
I hold my clutch to my side and follow Betsy through the glass doors of Venus Vault, our favorite nightclub in Miami. We dressed up to do damage tonight, Betsy serving looks in her hot pink lapel blazer dress, while I settled on a pair of black leather shorts with a satin button-down and heels.
“I thought you and Elliott were just having fun?” I ask above the loud hip-hop music blasting through the speakers. Betsy leads us through a swarm of sweaty bodies, maneuvering through the back of the room toward the underground VIP entrance.
“We were,” she explains as we’re halted to a stop from a brawl breaking out in front of us. “Disgusting humans,” she mumbles at the two men, and I laugh because that’s Betsy, alright. She takes no shit and has zero tolerance for childish behavior.
That makes two of us. And that’s exactly why we’re best friends.
“Continue,” I tell her as we head toward Chase, the bouncer guarding the vault doors.
“Passcode, Ms. Darling. Ms. Davenport.” Chase nods, waiting for our response.
“Midnight,” we repeat together, and Chase unclips the rope for us to enter. He escorts us inside, and I instantly feel the stress of this past week leave my body the moment the VIP area comes into view.
Venus Vault is one of the most prestigious underground nightclubs in Miami. The upper nightclub acts as a buffer for the locals, but anybody who is anybody in the city of Miami has private access to Venus Vault. Think underground speakeasy meets drinking and mingling with the elite.
Upon entering, soundproof black velvet walls guide down a curved stairwell that leads to the bar and lounge area. The midnight-black aesthetic carries throughout the vault, with accents of silver and gold littered tastefully.
“Yes, we were having fun,” Betsy says, tossing her bright red hair over her shoulder. “Until he invited me to meet his parents for the holidays. It’s February, Cove. Thanksgiving is nine months away.”
“Ah,” I quip. “So, Elliott was making plans.”
“My point exactly. Which means we’re no longer just having fun; therefore, our time together is now over. No part of me likes his brain enough to entertain that.”
“You’re a tough babe to settle with, Betsy Darling.”
“Until I find Mr. Right, yes. I just don’t have the time or energy to invest in someone without common sense.
I have needs, and it doesn’t take more than a quick fuck to tell if those needs can be met.
And I don’t mean just sexually. I mean, why is it so difficult to meet men who challenge us?
It’s like the moment he started talking, I knew we would share nothing more than orgasms. We’re successful women.
Surely there are successful men in the world, right? ”
Stetson Cole should not be the first man to pop into my head.
“Of course there are. Just takes finding them, I guess. Especially ones that are up for having fun until you decide they’re worthy of being Mr. Right,” I laugh, jabbing at her favorite term to use.
This city is filled with men who simply want to hook up, or men who want to hook up and then return to their families at night.
You’d think our generation would have evolved by now.
“Oh, thank god you’re here,” Kimber, our other best friend, greets us, pulling us toward the closest barstool. “I’m two lavender cosmos in and dying to spill about my day. What took you girls so long?”
“Ask Cove,” Betsy calls me out, brows raised with extra spite.
I send her a charismatic smile. “Oh, just stuff with my mom and the house. You know…same shit, different day. I hate it here,” I sigh.
Kimber orders three tequila shots and turns back to face us. “Is she okay? Don’t tell me something else broke again?”
I shake my head, truly at a loss for words on what to do. “Not exactly. There’s another leak. I showed up this morning to a flood of water across her kitchen floor. I feel so bad. It’s just one thing after the other.”
“Jesus,” Kimber sighs. “Does she have a plan?”
“I’m still trying to help her figure that out.
First, it’s the roof damage from the hurricane that she’s still battling insurance over.
Doesn’t look like that’s going to happen.
Then the mold in the bathrooms. I swear all of her appliances are going out one by one.
And to top it all off, I know the air conditioning is on its last leg.
I could hear the fan kicking on and off, like it’s working overtime to cool the house down.
And those are just the obvious things we can see.
I’m dreading to hear what comes from the full house inspection. ”
“That can’t be good,” Betsy mumbles worriedly. “I know firsthand how expensive home renovations are. If there’s anything I can do…”
“I hate that for her. Your mom is one of the best women I know. She shouldn’t have to worry about these kinds of things,” Kimber says.
I nod, because she is. My mom raised me on her own. Worked two jobs for most of my childhood just to give me a stable life. That’s why I’m adamant about helping her.
But she’s stubborn and refuses my help. Like mother, like daughter, I suppose.
“If only she would let me help her. It’s infuriating.
She refuses to take my money. Although my savings are almost entirely depleted, so I’m not sure how much help it would be.
I’ve been working more, hoping I can save up.
She refuses to stay with me and Betsy until we can figure out how to make the repairs.
I feel like I’m just at this roadblock right now with no clue where to go from here. ”
“I’d totally welcome Mama Davenport at our place,” Betsy chimes in, grabbing the tequila shots and distributing them. “It can’t be safe for her to stay in that house.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying all along,” I agree. “I’d hate to see her get sick and be unable to work at all because she was too stubborn to accept help. But it’s exactly something my mom would do.”
“Sounds like someone else I know,” Kimber retorts, fluttering her far-from-innocent eyelashes at me. “Wait a minute. No book tonight?” She searches my arms for a hidden novel. I’m notorious for bringing an aged paperback everywhere I go, just in case a spare moment calls for it.
Tonight, I left the love letters and historic novelists at home. I have no intention of boring her.
“It’s just me tonight, bitch,” I press. “How about you get to talking about all the drama you needed to spill and leave me and my novels alone?”
Kimber smiles wide, and while I can typically read what she’s thinking, this time I’m confident it could be anything. “We’re gonna need to sit for this,” she says before turning on her heels and leading us to a velvet couch against the corner wall.
The space feels sultry and sensual with dim lights, velvet couches, high top tables, and oddly shaped chairs for members to unwind. A bar made from polished concrete and granite lines the back wall, servers waiting in perfectly manicured tuxedos to wait on our every need.
The ceiling of the vault is the most exquisite part of all.
Dismantled pieces of massive compasses cover the entire surface, tucked alluringly into the crown molding.
Most are larger than the diameter of a cocktail table.
The compass housing, lines, arrows, and magnetic needles are all intentionally warped together in a weathered bronze, making the vibes of this place feel otherworldly.
Not a single detail is missed.
It’s timeless and rightfully a coveted spot for the elite Miami crowd.
Lucky for Kimber and me, Betsy’s family is the top-selling real estate company in all of South Florida. Miami is the city bringing in the most profit and capital to maximize its net worth.
It’s because of Betsy’s family status that we even have access to the VIP area.
Settling onto the couch, we hold our shot glasses out high to clink together. “First, we cheers to being the successful women we are. And second, because your girl just landed a job with the Nightingale brothers!” Kimber tells us with the brightest smile on her face.
“Kimber, are you serious?” I shout. “You got the job? You get to design the Nightingale houses?”
“I do!” Kimber squeals, bouncing in her slinky purple dress with excitement. “Drink up, babes, and I’ll tell you more.”
“The things I would do to those men,” Betsy groans, tossing back her shot.
The Nightingale brothers are the gold standard for hot and accomplished.
Not only do they own hundreds of investment properties in Florida, but they also just bought out the Palm Beach Sports Complex. Basically, the place where professional athletes come to train and be taught by the best in the business before heading to the Olympics or major league for their sport.
I’ve flown with multiple trainers and athletes over the years, getting to hear firsthand how prestigious that facility truly is.
“I’m so proud of you, Kimber. You’ve worked your ass off for this,” I tell her.
I take in the happiness radiating off my friends. Betsy, with her fire engine red hair, flawless pale complexion, and dancer’s build. And Kimber, with her long blonde hair, falling naturally down her back, bright blue eyes, and bountiful curves. We’re all so different, yet have a bond like sisters.
These women are my family by choice.
“Honestly, I can’t believe they liked my designs the best out of everyone. I mean, I know my designs are good, but compared to some of the other decorating companies in Miami, the stakes were high.”
“Kimber, you’re literally the best interior designer in the city. Stop downplaying your talent,” Betsy adds, signaling for the server to come over. “What’s next, girls? I need to get a good vibe on where we’re headed tonight. Party till our eyes bleed, or in bed by eleven, binge watching 90210?”