Chapter Two Grant
CHAPTER TWO
Grant
“HOW’S IT LOOKING BACK there?” asks Lucas, aka Tank, as I crouch to shove the tools behind the bar.
“It’ll survive the night,” I say, ever the optimist.
“That good, huh?”
“I took care of the leak. For now. But we can’t get the private playrooms up and running again until we replace the plumber’s mess.
” Which isn’t in my damn budget. Standing with a groan, I stretch my back and wash my hands at the bar sink.
This is why I hate subcontracting, and so often end up doing things myself. At least I know it’ll be done right.
He gives me a sidelong glance. “You want me to fire the guy who did the work?”
I snort. Lucas is the closest thing I’ve ever met to a human teddy bear.
Firing people just isn’t in his wheelhouse.
Thankfully, with someone like me around, he never has to be the bad guy.
Unless he’s playing, of course. In which case, being the bad guy is exactly his thing. “My building, my responsibility.”
“Thanks, man. We talking a lot of work?” The look I give him makes him flinch. “Shit. I know being a landlord wasn’t the plan.”
And yet somehow, here I am, property manager and fix-it man to three different businesses. Definitely not what I envisioned when I bought this building. I’d planned to buy, renovate, and sell. Short-term, low commitment. Just the way I like things.
I grab a beer before glancing up at my friend, who’s standing there, arms folded, legs wide, looking even more tanklike than usual in his uniform of matte leather pants and tight black muscle shirt. “Geez, Lucas, how much time you been putting in at the gym?”
He shrugs one massive shoulder. “Been working a ton outside.”
“Doing what? Crushing rocks?”
“Just some yard work.”
I pull hard on the beer and cast an eye over the club, which is pretty busy for this early on a Friday night. Every seat appears to be occupied, and there’s not a familiar face in the bunch. “What’s with the crowd?”
“Can’t you guess?” Lucas’s smile widens. “Wasn’t this your idea?”
On second look, I notice the group has broken into miniclusters of two, leaning in to each other, face-to-face, chatting animatedly. “You didn’t.”
“What?”
“Dom/sub speed dating?”
“Bingo.”
“My idea?” I snort. “I recall saying something like, ‘Whatever you do, please no speed dating.’” Just the concept annoys me.
When it comes to kink, I believe in taking the time and doing things right.
Speediness is the literal opposite of what a scene should look like.
But, as Lucas has reminded me more than once, the club’s success could very well hinge on thinking outside the box.
Which is precisely why he and Harlow are in charge of events.
I’m just the landlord. “Pull in any new members?”
“Quite a few.”
At least there’s that.
“You stickin’ around to play tonight? Zelda was askin’ about you.”
I say, “Nope,” but what I really mean is hell no. Zelda wants a relationship, a collar, and a Dom to call her own, and that is not me. Which Lucas very well knows. Everyone here knows it. Play, Don’t Stay is my motto.
I suppress a yawn, already planning my exit, when my gaze is drawn toward the front door as it opens. In comes a shaft of mellow light from the anteroom, then Daff, and behind her…
“Oh, hello.” Lucas’s head tilts at an interested angle. “Would you look at that.”
I am looking. I can’t stop looking. Can’t breathe, actually, for the handful of seconds it takes my mind to catch up to my eyes.
The woman who’s just walked in is fascinating, though I can’t say exactly why.
I’d call her cute if it weren’t for the slightly too-strong nose bisecting her face with its sharp edge.
That nose takes the big eyes, round cheeks, and plush lips and makes them arresting, even beautiful.
A classical painting instead of a manga cartoon.
Something about the way she walks, and that body, all soft looking and round with pale, freckled skin, has me perking up for the first time in ages.
“I’ll go say hi.” Lucas’s thick brows do a little dance.
“Don’t bother.”
“Why not?”
“That woman’s not into what you dole out.”
“Oh, please. You can’t read that from here.” He breaks into a grin. “I better go find out,” he says, taking off. I’ll give it to the guy. Never wastes time.
I, on the other hand, trudge around the bar and turn my back to the room.
Because yeah, the newcomer’s absolutely stunning—and I mean that literally as well as figuratively given how I lost my breath when she came in—but between this place, my other properties, and the new project I’m starting on Monday, I don’t have time for distractions.
And that woman would absolutely be a distraction.
I’d bet anything she’s a sub, though. No, I couldn’t see her name tag from that distance, but I’m getting a vibe. Sometimes you just know.
I can’t help but watch over my shoulder as Lucas reaches her side, puts his hand out for a fist bump, and chats her up, all easy smiles.
She hands him a few sheets of paper—probably the standard club questionnaire.
After a quick scan, he throws me a disappointed look and a subtle shrug.
My breath quickens. Dammit, I was right.
Lucas, ever the ingratiating sadist, walks her to a table, pulls out a chair, and after a minute’s discussion, comes my way.
“Sunny does not, alas, wish to be treated like a filthy slut by a man twice her size. You’re in luck, though, because she does wish to be dominated.
” He steps behind the bar and reaches for a glass.
“This is her first kink event, and she’s nervous.
” He pops a champagne bottle with a practiced flourish.
“Celebratory bubbles.” The wink he gives me as he pours is equal parts friendly and lascivious. “On you.”
“I’ll pay, but I’m not walking that over there.”
“Oh?” His thick brows flick up. “You scared of a fresh, brand-spanking-new, bright-eyed little subby-sub?”
“Scared, no. Wary, yes.”
“Oooooh, that’s right. The General doesn’t do newbies.”
“They require time, attention, care…”
“Not to mention commitment. God forbid.” Humming his disapproval, Lucas swans back to her table, where he places the glass in front of her with exaggerated care before pointing my way.
The dick.
Rather than lead Sunny on, I turn my back to the room again and pick up my beer, surprised to find it empty.
The music changes, slow and sensuous replaced with something more upbeat. Behind me, a whip cracks, making me tense up before I force my shoulders to relax again.
“Allllll right, kinksters. Doms, get up and move on to your next lucky partner!” Lucas is having a blast with this speed-dating thing.
Which is exactly why I thank god every day for my business partners.
If I’d been the one to open this place instead of Lucas and Harlow, the club would be a big, utilitarian black box.
No bells or whistles. None of the fancy paint colors or plush velvet furniture.
No shockingly expensive baroque murals painted by avant-garde artists or hidden lighting to warm and soften bodies and turn sexy into sultry.
They’re right, as always. And like Lucas said, if gimmicks like speed dating are what it takes, then speed dating is what they’ll do. Along with auctions, leather nights, burlesque shows, costume parties, and whatever other extraneous crap keeps membership growing.
The fact is that the club isn’t really mine. I’m a silent partner, an investor with a personal interest in its continued existence.
I agree that the club is important. This community is important, and these people will do whatever it takes to keep the club alive and thriving. Including hosting kinky bachelorette parties or, in my case, giving them the space rent-free until they turn a profit.
Which had better be soon. Because between this place and the company moving in upstairs, I’m not making a goddamn dime.
With a sigh, I stretch over the counter and snag another beer from the cooler, knock the cap off against the edge of the glowing wood bar I salvaged and refinished myself, and do my best to ignore the question-and-answer session happening between some lucky Dom and that fascinating little sub at the table right behind me.