3 Cutter
I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN THIS night was going to be a shitshow when it started off with Aubie fucking Gauthier. I don’t know what it is about him that tweaks me up so much, but it’s only gotten worse the longer I know him.
You’d think I’d be used to it by now, dealing with self-absorbed divas on a daily basis for the past two years, but he still gets under my skin.
Maybe it’s because I know what an entitled brat he is.
I can understand the rest of the guys here.
The money’s good and they need it. Not my choice of a living, but to each his own.
But Aubie comes from money. I only know that because I handled the background check for Daryl. Even I’ve heard of the Gauthier name. Aubie’s just another spoiled trust fund baby acting out.
Still, I could even look past that. What really torques me up about him is his lifestyle. He’s a player, and that hits a little too close to home for me.
In true shitshow fashion, the evening took a nosedive from there. First there was a mix-up with the liquor order that escalated to a heated phone call with supplier’s manager, then that asshole Devers calls wanting to renegotiate his boss’s contract. Like I have time deal with crap like this.
And to think I woke up in a good mood. First one in weeks. Teach me to trust a horoscope.
I see Aubie disappear into the men’s room then wonder why I’m still watching. I overheard the conversation when he walked past me with his friends earlier.
“He’s hot.”
“And a dick.”
He obviously thinks as highly of me as I do him. Good. As long as he stays out of my way, we’ll be fine.
My phone dings with a text and I know without looking who it is. I make my way through the back hall to Daryl’s office. Might as well get this over with.
Izzy is perched on the couch when I enter. She polishes off her gin and tonic–Daryl stocks some rare boutique brand of gin just for her–then stands and gives me a pat on the arm.
“I’ll leave you boys to talk business.”
I grab a ginger ale from the bar fridge and sink onto the couch Izzy just vacated and pop the tab before meeting Daryl’s eye.
“What exactly does Devers want?” he asks.
“They don’t like the percentages. He wants to meet with you personally.”
“Devers, or Scarponi?”
“I’m assuming Scarponi. When I suggested Devers come talk to you himself, he balked.”
He smirks then sits back and sighs. “I knew they were going to be trouble. If I didn’t need their contacts in Boston, I’d cut them loose.”
I know Daryl wants to take the Eros model wide, but maybe it’s too soon.
Yeah, he’s had a lot of investors approach him, on both sides of the legal line, but I think he may be spreading himself–and therefore me–too thin.
Head of security doesn’t cover half of what I do around here and the only reason I do it is our history.
Daryl got me sober after my brother wrecked my life. I owe him.
“Set up the meeting.” He finishes off his Coke and nods toward the screens on the wall. “He’s a cash cow.”
My eyes follow his and I have to bite my tongue to keep from groaning. He’s watching Aubie run his game on a table of women. “I have to figure out a way to get him to stop by more often on his days off.”
I say it before I can stop myself. “Why?”
“Are you kidding? Look at him. I know you don’t like him for whatever reason and that’s your business, but you can’t argue with his impact. He’s keeping the audience in their seats after the revue. Izzy says the bar tabs are up twenty percent already this evening.”
More Aubie? It’s not bad enough I have to put up with him three nights a week. I finish my ginger ale and toss the can in the trash before standing.
“I’ll let you know what Devers says.”
I don’t wait for his reply, ducking out of the office and making my way down the hall to the front of house.
This is usually the time of night when the early audience starts leaving.
They come for the revue then wander out to the lounge or catch the late show in the theater.
That’s why what I saw on the screen surprised me.
The house is still packed. What didn’t come through on the screen is the vibe in the room.
It’s not wrapped in that quiet between sets murmur of conversation.
No, there’s a buzz in the air, a kind of manic energy that sends tingles across my skin. I scan the room and spot him, like the epicenter of a tsunami.
They hang onto his every word like he’s some kind of messiah.
Okay, if I’m being honest, he is a good looking man, if somewhat fem, especially when he dresses like he is tonight.
He somehow manages to be fully clothed and still look like he’s halfway through his routine.
Those fucking ripped black jeans have to be cutting off his circulation, and does he have to wear that much jewelry? He looks like a debaucherous pirate.
Not that I care.
I don’t.
I guess I can admit he commands a stage. He’s got that certain something that draws you in. But that could apply to most of the dancers here. Daryl only hires the best of the best. The difference is, they don’t go around flaunting it like he does.
Not that I swing that way. Daryl and I may be the only straight men in this club, and I’m not entirely sure about Daryl.
He might want Aubie here for the business, but he doesn’t take into account the chaos that follows him around. Just last week I broke up a slap fest between two women outside the restroom, both of whom claimed Aubie was flirting with just her.
And not only does he ignore the claims made about him, he encourages them without regard to the trouble he’s causing. He’s the worst kind of attention whore.
Half of me wants to go over there and insist he leave before he starts any drama, but that would go against what Daryl wants. Besides, I don’t want to talk to him.
He picks that moment to look up and catch my eye.
Turn away.
His lips curl up in a sly smirk, like he heard that thought.
My phone rings and I reach down to answer it, pulling my eyes away.
“We got a situation,” Javi, my second says.
I start walking toward the back door. “What kind of situation?”
“Video. We’re in the office.”
Fuck. “Be right there.”
Like I said, a shitshow.
? ? ?
“How did you get in here?” I rub my face so I don’t do something I’ll regret.
I’m seriously considering revisiting the cell phone lockers at the club entrance debate with Daryl.
I get at least two of these a week. I keep telling Daryl the only way to guarantee they’re not taking pictures is to lock up their phones, but he doesn’t want to intrude on their privacy.
The man seated in front of me looks to be in his mid-twenties. Bleached blond hair, a lot of piercings, and a surplus of attitude. Like he’s the offended party.
He props his right ankle across his left leg and leans back like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Reminds me of someone else I know, and that fuels my growing impatience. “I’m here as a guest.”
“Of who?”
He shrugs. “Friend of mine.”
I sigh and pick up a pen, poised over a Post-it pad. “Name?”
“Look, can I just get my phone and leave?”
“No, you can’t. Not until we determine that all the video you shot in the theater has been deleted. If you uploaded it publicly, we’ll have our lawyers speak to your lawyer about how sorry you’re going to be. Remember that speech you got when you were signed in here? That’s our CYA statement.”
“CYA?” he asks.
“Cover your ass. This isn’t our first rodeo.”
These guys are all alike. They think they’re smarter or sneakier or more clever than us. They’ve all got a good reason–I’m a film student, I just needed some raw footage, I’m making a documentary, it’s just for my personal use…blah, blah, fucking blah.
I’ve heard them all. We’ve only had to take two of these clowns to court and won both times. We’re a private, members only business with powerful backers and a good team of lawyers. Unless you’re loaded and don’t mind wasting money, coming after us is a suicide run.
Something this idiot will find out if he insists on maintaining his current attitude.
“I didn’t upload anything.”
“Good.” I push his phone toward him. “Unlock it.”
He glares at me and reaches for the phone. “I have personal stuff on here.”
“I don’t give a shit about your personal stuff. I want what you shot tonight.”
He swipes his finger over the screen and passes it back to me. I scroll to his camera roll and start deleting everything that looks even remotely related to the club. Once I’m sure I’ve got them all, I scroll to his Utilities folder and open Recently Deleted to wipe them permanently off his phone.
“Are these backed up?” I ask.
“I had wifi turned off in here,” he replies with a smug grin.
“Don’t need wifi to upload,” I shoot back. Seriously, how stupid does he think I am? I open my laptop and pull up the Apple homepage, then turn it toward him. “Log into your account.”
He stares at me for a minute, then sighs and drags the computer closer, mumbling under his breath. When he’s successfully logged in, I pull the laptop away from him and find the folder with recent uploads. Only three of them are there, so I delete them before logging him back out.
“You better not fuck with my account,” he says.
“That should be the least of your worries right now.” I pass his phone back to him. “Now, what was the name of the person who signed you in?”
“Why?”
“Because, like you, they are now permanently banned from this club.”
For the first time he shows some actual remorse. “You can’t do that. It wasn’t her fault.”
“I beg to differ. She signed you in, which means she vouched for you. That makes her responsible.”
“But she’s a member.”
“Not anymore.”
It takes a few minutes, but I finally get the name of the woman out of him.
I send Javi to go find her in the theater while I update her membership status and flag her on the watch list. Daryl doesn’t fuck around with people who break his rules.
He doesn’t have many, but the ones he does have are nonnegotiable.
The last thing we want is the pitchfork brigade knocking down our front door.
The woman doesn’t go quietly, threatening to sue, to expose us, to get the cops, a news crew out here until I remind her that she signed an NDA when her membership was accepted. I even pull up the document and show her the signature.
“If you say anything derogatory or revealing about this establishment you’ll find yourself in so much legal hot water you’ll never swim out,” I tell her. “I would suggest you just leave quietly and forget you ever came here.”
When she sees she has no legal recourse, she takes her anger out on her companion. “You just had to ruin things, didn’t you, Avery? Again.”
The last thing I want to do is listen to someone else’s lover’s spat.
I have Javi show them out and blow out an exasperated sigh.
Part of me wishes I could hide out in here until the club closes, but I know that’s not going to happen.
I glance up at the security monitors. The late show in the theater is in progress. Ronaldo is on stage in the house.
And there in the middle of it all fucking Aubie is still running his game.