Chapter 8
CHAPTER
EIGHT
Darby
It was a rough night.
Elliot skipped the rest of his sets and locked himself in his room.
I knew he had certain… hangups. The kinds of issues that made our line of work harder than it needed to be.
Mazzy used to ride him about it, always griping over his refusal to work the floor or interact with customers.
Since stepping into the manager role, I’d taken a different tack and gave him the space he clearly preferred.
It seemed to be working too. Onstage, Elliot was hot as hell—aloof, untouchable, and the kind of beautiful that left people begging to be ignored by him.
His frigid bitch act proved that sometimes the best game was playing hard to get.
And as long as the club kept raking in money, that was good enough for me.
But when he still hadn’t surfaced by the next evening when I was getting ready for dinner with soldier boy Mercer, my concern ticked up a notch.
Passing his bedroom door, I noticed a brown paper bag parked neatly on the floor. Oz’s handiwork, no doubt. I picked it up and knocked, then waited a beat.
“Hey, Ellie?”
I leaned in, ear to the wood, but heard nothing. Typical. He was probably lost in music or folding those little paper animals he littered the place with.
After a few more seconds of silence, I crouched and set the bag back down.
“Make sure you eat something before we open, okay?” I called through the door. “No stripping on an empty stomach.”
I lingered a moment longer, watching for the knob to turn.
Nothing.
Heaving a sigh, I pulled out my phone and checked the time. Five minutes till six.
If I expected Mercer to be punctual, I needed to extend the same courtesy.
And I did expect him to be punctual. Colette might’ve run whatever passed for a job interview in her mind, but I had my own concerns to address.
Tonight, I intended to put our new hire through his paces—and treat myself to some of Las Vegas’s finest dining while I was at it.
I left Elliot’s door behind and headed down the stairs, my skirt brushing my thighs with each step.
The white crepe bubble dress was one of my favorites, snug around my middle, blousy over my ass, and tailored with a neat little hole beneath the zipper to let my tail poke through.
My patent Mary Janes were a touch kinder for walking than most of my shoes, and they matched my clutch perfectly.
With my legs bare and looking deceptively long, I was sure Mercer would take notice.
At work last night, he’d stared long and hard enough to make me suspect something else of his had gotten long and hard too.
But the outfit wasn’t for him. The clothes were the giftwrap on the package I intended to deliver to the owner of the restaurant.
Payment for a very expensive dinner for two.
While trotting toward the club entrance, I wondered if Mercer had a nice car.
At least a clean one.
I didn’t expect the kind of luxury rides my sugar daddies trolled around the Strip in, or Club Daddy’s dedicated limo service, but I’d take a decent sedan. Late model. Leather interior…
Gazing across the floor, I spotted Mercer already inside. Mister All-American himself, standing in the entry hall and talking with Colette. The overhead lights caught in his close-cropped hair, and the broad line of his shoulders carried that military rigidity, even out of uniform.
He hadn’t noticed me yet, so I let my gaze wander. He was solid. Dependable looking. Clean-cut in a way that stood out around here.
But my inspection ended in a frown. I should’ve warned him about the dress code. His jeans and short-sleeved button down did his ass and pecs some favors, but they wouldn’t pass muster anywhere I liked to dine. He’d need a jacket at the very least.
Luckily, Club Daddy was descending from his office slash love nest just then.
“Becky!” I trilled, flouncing my skirt and wagging my tail all the way to him.
Mercer and Colette turned at the sound, but my eyes were all for Beck. I plastered on my best baby face as I stopped before him.
“I’m taking Mercy out for an onboarding dinner,” I announced. “And he needs to borrow this.” Catching the hem of Beck’s suit coat, I gave it a tug. It would be a tight fit over Mercer’s biceps, but it would have to do.
Beck’s dark brows dipped. “That sounds like a date.”
“It’s a perk,” I countered, batting my lashes. “I’m welcoming our newest staff member into the fold. This job comes with benefits, does it not?”
Beck paused, still skeptical. “Am I paying for this date?”
“Would you like to?”
“No.”
I smirked. “Then it’s a good thing I have it covered. But Mercy needs his arms covered, or they won’t let him in.” I pulled on the jacket again.
Beck heaved a breath. “What kind of place are you taking him to?” he asked while shrugging out of the garment.
“The kind that requires sleeves.”
He handed the suit coat over, and I accepted it with a satisfied nod.
“Don’t worry. I’ll bring you back a doggie bag.”
Colette and Mercer watched as I wandered over and held out the jacket for Mercer to take.
“You’ve got the right idea,” I told him. “Not wanting to die of heatstroke in the desert, but you should probably put this on.”
Mercer’s eyes widened then cut away. He rubbed the nape of his neck. “Sorry, I didn’t know—”
“No, honey, I’m the sorry one having to cover all this up.” My gaze roamed across his torso. “But the place we’re going has a certain look, so I’m afraid you’ll have to sweat.”
He hesitated then slipped into the coat. As expected, it was snug across his shoulders, looking like it had been shrunk in the dryer. I hid a smile behind my hand.
“I have something you might want to wear too,” Mercer said.
“Oh?” I arched a brow.
“It’s outside.”
He turned and held the door open for me, quite the gentleman, and we exited into the parking lot. The arid air was an immediate affront, but I noticed the soul-sapping heat less than the vehicle situated front and center.
A motorcycle.
Smooth matte black with whitewall tires and a swath of white and red across the tank emblazoned with the letter V. Twin helmets perched on the seat.
“Well, this is a first,” I remarked while moving closer. “Victory,” the word read along the side. I traced a hand over the leather and metal as I circled the bike, the warmth of the material soaking into my skin.
“Careful,” Mercer warned. “The pipes are hot.”
“At ease, soldier.” I giggled and flicked him a glance over my shoulder. “Demons don’t burn.”
He backed off a half-step but kept an eye on me while I finished my inspection and came to a stop beside the seat. I was no stranger to getting my legs around something, even in a dress, but I had a feeling once the motorcycle got moving, my skirt was going to turn into a sail.
“Can a girl ride sidesaddle on this thing?” I tapped a fingertip against the gas cap.
Mercer’s forehead creased. That made two times I’d flustered him tonight, and I was just getting started.
“Probably not,” he admitted. “Do you need to change? I can wait.”
I waved him off. “We’ll make it work. Lucky for you, I wore my pretty panties.” With a wicked grin, I swept my skirt back to flash the garter on my thigh.
Pink crept into his cheeks, and his gaze darted away like I’d mooned him.
Flustered count: three.
While Mercer faced away, I took note of the helmets waiting for riders. Lifting one, I held it out. “Is this the thing I need to wear?”
His head snapped up. “Yeah,” he replied. “Need some help?”
Putting on a helmet? No.
Finding one that fit, though…
There was a reason Colt was the only Doll with bragging rights about a hat collection. Well, and now Zephyr with his perfect hair, ass, and everything else. But we couldn’t all be Satan’s favorites.
My grin turned crooked as I looped a finger around the spiral of my right horn, drawing Mercer’s gaze.
His jaw dropped. “I-I didn’t even think about that.”
I flicked my tail and chuckled. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. Just extra accessories,” I said. “And don’t worry about the helmet. I’m pretty hardheaded. I’ll survive.”
Mercer wavered through a nod. He grabbed the extra helmet and tucked it into his saddlebag then donned his own helmet and buckled it under his chin.
“Okay… all set,” he muttered.
I hopped onto the bike, tucking my skirt under me and letting my tail flick lazily over the side. Mercer swung his leg over, and I scooted up behind him. It was a snug fit with my chest to his back and my arms draped around his waist.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
“Perfect,” I replied then pressed my cheek to his shoulder. Nice and firm.
The engine roared to life beneath us. When I tightened my grip, Mercer stiffened, and I couldn’t resist a little tease.
“Are you sure this isn’t just an excuse to get me all snuggled up to you, Mercy?” I whispered, brushing my lips near his ear. “Quite the compromising position. Imagine if we were naked right now.”
Every muscle in his chest and arms tensed, then he cleared his throat. “How about you tell me where we’re going?”
The restaurant’s awning gleamed like a strip of silk, and the lights above it spilled golden light onto the curb where Mercer eased the Victory to a stop. The valet hurried over, eyes flicking between the bike and its riders.
I dismounted first with my skirt gathered in one hand. Mercer followed, tugging his helmet free with a sweep that mussed the top of his dark hair.
Before he could put the thing away, I turned on him.
“Hold still.” I stepped close, tugging the lapel of his jacket flat against his chest, then smoothing a wrinkle along his shoulder.
His expression hovered somewhere between startled and indulgent as I finished with a brisk pat to his arm. “There. Now you’re presentable.”
With a flick of my tail, I pranced ahead. Mercer handed off his keys, then closed the gap to me with an unhurried stride that made it seem like he was keeping an eye on me and the entire block at the same time.