Chapter Twenty-Three
Victoria
Ispend another half hour agonizing over how I look and have a brief text exchange with Amanda, who promises to meet me in front of the club.
I put a long trenchcoat over my dress for the cab ride, mindful of being in a conservative country. From my understanding, Bahrain’s more relaxed than most of the Gulf, but I’d rather be respectful than oblivious.
The club hosting the party for Gaston is only about a ten-minute drive away from the hotel, and every minute that ticks by heightens my anxiety.
Outside the window, Manama at night is a city of glass towers and light.
The streets are alive with traffic and neon high-rises glittering overhead, with clusters of people moving between restaurants and shisha lounges spilling warmth onto the sidewalks.
By the time the car pulls up in front of the club, a sleek, sand-colored building with a black glass facade and gold lit entrance, I’m close to hyperventilating.
A long line of people wait outside of the club, all neatly tucked in a line behind a velvet rope. Apparently, I’m the only girl who thought it wise to be on the conservative side, because it’s bulging cleavage and short skirts all around.
What the hell am I doing? Am I really just going to strut in there in my heels and short dress and… I don’t know, ask Asher if he’s dating? If he says yes, this mission will be a huge disappointment; if he says no, then what?
I haven’t had sex in years. I barely remember how it’s supposed to go, beyond the basics. I’ve never actually had to flirt with someone; all of my relationships have been a natural product of spending a lot of time with classmates.
I’m about to ask the driver to take me back to the hotel when Amanda steps out of the glass door and onto the sidewalk.
She spots me through the window of the cab, and her face lights up with a beam.
She trots up to the car, an impressive feat in her five-inch heels, and opens the door.
Pulsing bass permeates the air even outside the club—I can’t imagine how loud it’ll be inside.
“You made it!” she squeals.
No turning back now. I hand the driver his payment and reluctantly step out of the car.
“Whoa.” She frowns at my trench coat. “The heels are great, but is that… what you’re wearing?”
Her expression of disgust is almost amusing. “No, it’s what I’m wearing over my dress. I wanted to be respectful on the ride over, just in case,” I explain.
“Oh.” She sounds immensely relieved. “That’s smart. Daddy always brings his driver when he travels, so he drove me here. I didn’t really have to worry about that.”
Evidently not. Amanda’s showing more skin than clothes in an ultra-small minidress.
The V-neck goes to her belly button, where a small star jewel dangles, and I’m not sure the bottom half is long enough to qualify as a skirt.
She looks stunningly amazing, so much so that it makes me feel kind of plain in comparison.
She takes my hand and starts leading me towards the entrance.
“Everyone who’s anyone is here,” she gushes.
“There are a few celebrities, and obviously Elio and Asher. Soren’s here, but Declan and Ilya never come to these things.
” She gives an exaggerated eye roll. A bouncer stands in front of the door; he gives Amanda a quick glance over and waves both of us past the line.
“Second floor,” he says in heavily accented English.
“Let’s get that hideous coat off you,” Amanda says as he opens the door.
A thrumming bass escapes the club like a shockwave, beating in time to my rapid pulse.
The ground floor is like a different world, comprised of loud sound and sweltering body heat.
It’s dark save for the strobe lights, flashes of white and violet cutting through a haze of fog machine smoke.
The ceiling is high and industrial, crisscrossed with exposed beams and rigging for the light show, and the whole space throbs with music so loud I feel it in my teeth.
I gingerly shrug off my coat and hand it to an attendant. Amanda looks me over and lets out another sigh of relief. I can’t hear it, but I can see it from the way her chest slowly falls and her expression relaxes.
“The party’s two floors up, follow me!” she shouts the words to be heard over the noise. “You look hot as fuck, by the way!”
I’m not sure I believe the compliment when I’m standing right next to her, but I take it nevertheless. I need all the confidence I can get.
We fight our way through a massive throng of gyrating bodies that spill from the dance floor and onto every available surface of the room—including tables and chairs.
She leads me to an elevator hidden behind a velvet curtain, manned by another bouncer.
Again, as soon as he sees her, he sends us straight up without asking any questions.
To my relief, the elevator is significantly quieter than the main floor, albeit ridiculously slow. Amanda takes the time to look me over with scrutinizing eyes. I pretend not to notice her critical stare roaming me and channel all my focus into standing still.
What am I doing here?
“You look super fuckable,” she decides. “Like, crazy hot. I’m kinda jealous.” She tosses her blonde waves over her shoulder.
My lips part. “You’re jealous of me? You’re the literal incarnation of the male fantasy.”
“Yeah, but the typical and boring one.” She pops her gum. “You have the sexy smart girl look going for you.” She stares at my face. “It’s your eyes,” she decides. “You have really clever eyes. Hey, you should let me do your makeup next time! I’ll make them pop like crazy, promise.”
Before I’m forced to let her down gently, the elevator stops and the metal doors open with a ding.
The scene that greets me is entirely different from the one on the first floor.
This part of the club should be described as a lounge.
Music spills through hidden speakers, but it’s much subtler and meant to encourage conversation rather than drown it out.
The lighting is softer up here, honeyed golds and deep ambers that make the space feel intimate and expensive.
Couches and tables are strategically set along alcoves in the walls, each one framed by sheer drapes and soft uplighting where people can sit, enjoy bottle service, and talk either pleasure or business.
There is a dancefloor, but it’s small and elegant, and only a handful of people are making use of it.
Overhead lights periodically change color, bathing the rest of the room in cool tones of royal blue or ruby red.
I think I recognize some TV stars milling around.
I don’t have a second to be star-struck before Amanda once again takes my hand and pulls me out of the elevator.
“What’s your poison?” she asks, taking me towards a bar at the back of the room.
“Bottle service here takes forever, so you’re better off ordering. ”
The bar is long, taking up the entire back wall, and has an eye-catching rose quartz counter. Top-shelf liquor dominates the wall behind it, with two bartenders weaving between the many guests seated, taking orders and mixing drinks.
“Oh. Um, I’ll take—”
“Red wine, right?” Elio appears beside me and Amanda, wearing a bespoke navy suit and a casual, if not slightly cool, smile. “Amanda, did you fix my calendar for next week?”
“I did that as soon as you told me what needed to be done,” she chirps.
I frown. Is now the time for them to be discussing PA tasks?
“Cool. Did you also call my dentist to reschedule—”
“Yes, and I confirmed dinner with your mom on Thursday.” Amanda bats her eyelashes at him. Damn, I really need to learn how to do that. “If you’re trying to get rid of me, just say so.”
“Okay. I’m trying to get rid of you,” Elio volleys back.
“Too bad,” she says lightly. “I’m gonna hang out with Victoria for a while. If you have shop-talk, save it for tomorrow. Tonight is celebration time!”
Elio does not look happy at being bossed around by his assistant.
“Celebration time?” he repeats. “I didn’t place very high. Are you switching teams on me, Amanda?” There’s silky, barely-veiled anger beneath his words.
“There is no opportunity to switch teams considering we’re all on the same team,” I interject pointedly. “You and Asher are both the stars of the show. If one of you does well, it’s a win for all.”
I have no clue why I’m growing so protective over Asher, considering that his primary language is still asshole, but I can’t help it.
I bet that nobody curbed the team’s celebratory spirit after races where Elio stole the show; it’s only fair that Asher receives the same consideration.
He’s been consistently overlooked, undervalued, and dismissed.
Granted, he doesn’t do himself any favors with his attitude, but still.
As someone who’s also been passed over time and time again, it hits a soft spot.
I’ve always had a special place in my heart for the underdog.
“You don’t know him like I know him,” Elio says.
“Helping him, being kind to him, only gives him greater ammunition to hurt you down the road. Trust me, I’ve been there.
So, be careful where you throw your lot in, intern.
You might not like the end result.” He leans forward.
“You might’ve helped today, but you also set yourself up for failure.
What happens when your algorithm screws up, and Asher ends up back in P22 because he can’t fucking function in his own in a car? What do you think he’ll do?”
“Elio…” Amanda’s voice is half-censuring but half-doubtful, as if she wants to tell him to shut it but thinks he has a point.