Chapter Seven
CHAPTER SEVEN
Soren
I usually liked the legalese stage of a project. Knowing things were in the hands of the lawyers allowed me to stop thinking of the business side of things and gave me time to really dive into the project itself.
Because as much as the average person might think that club owners just slapped a coat of paint on a building, ordered liquor, and hired some staff to be able to open, they were mistaken.
Sure, that was all part of it.
But there was a certain amount of research that went into clubs. The success of each one was unique to its surroundings and patrons.
I couldn’t drop a cowboy western club in the middle of the Bronx and expect it to last past the opening month when curiosity alone would fuel sales.
You had to dig deep and figure out what your new neighborhood was like, who in those places was in the right age bracket to go to clubs, and what they liked. Or didn’t like.
That helped determine which DJs you sought for entertainment, how you decorated, and even the cover charge.
That said, I found myself constantly distracted while trying to pore over the research on demographics that I’d had Teresa compile for me.
Because I suddenly wanted the paperwork to be finalized. So I could see Saff again.
“You know what I want?” Teresa asked as she brought me another file—this one full of the statistics on the other bars in the general area in Brooklyn.
“What’s that?”
“A women’s-only bar. You get all pretty, go out with your girlfriends, make a fool of yourself screaming at the top of your lungs to some dramatic ‘90s ballad. And, best part, no men trying to grab your ass or spike your drink.”
“It’s illegal,” I said, flipping open the file.
“What? What’s illegal?”
“Female-only bars. Or male-only bars, for that matter.”
“Why?”
“Gender-based bias.”
“That makes no sense. There are women-only gyms.”
“Because gyms aren’t considered public establishments. The membership fees make them private clubs. Which are allowed to choose their clientele.”
“Huh. You learn something every day. Well, maybe you should open a women’s-only private club then. That just so happens to serve alcohol, have a DJ, and a general, you know, bar-like atmosphere. I’d pay a membership fee. I’d be there every weekend. Got too much testosterone in my house. I’m choking on it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, actually meaning it. There’d been a growing trend of women wanting safe spaces for themselves to have fun without the fear of unwanted advances or spiked drinks.
Though, as far as I knew, there was no evidence that such a club would have long-term success, since a big part of the popularity of bars and clubs had to do with the dynamics of dating life.
It might not be politically correct to say, but men—historically—liked looking at pretty women. And women, by and large, liked getting all pretty in the hopes of finding a partner.
It was biologic.
Even if current statistics said young women had a significantly lower interest in dating than any generation before—especially when compared to men of the same age group—I was hedging my bets on more singles being open to meeting people in person after too many failed years using dating apps.
“Why are you looking so down in the dumps, huh? You should be celebrating. You’re this close,” she said, pinching together two fingers with her bright purple acrylic nails, “to having this deal in the bag. But you’re sitting here looking like someone kicked your puppy.”
“I’m happy about the deal.”
“Yeah, you look over the fuckin’ moon,” Teresa said, rolling her eyes. “You know what I think? You need to get out of here. When’s the last time you did anything other than work and sleep?”
“I also eat and go to the gym.”
“Real exciting life you got there. Come on. You’re a man in your prime. You’ve got boatloads of money. You walk around… looking like that,” she said, waving at me. “You should be having fun.”
“Are you saying you think I’m… attractive, Teresa?” I asked, teasing.
“Oh, please. You’re a walking billboard ad,” she said, waving her hand like I was being ridiculous. “Or, like one of those guys on the covers of those books my girlfriend is always reading. You know the ones. Lots of steam, and the kind of possessive men our mothers would warn us against dating in real life.”
“Are you saying your mother would warn you against me?”
“Eh, you’re alright. I mean, would it kill you to spend more than a night with a woman? Or, heaven forbid, find one you love and respect enough to marry and make babies with? But how are you even gonna find one, when all you do is sit in this office?”
She had a point.
I mean, not about finding just any woman.
But the answer to my current distraction problem lay in one particular woman.
“You’re right,” I said, closing my files and arranging them into a stack on my desk.
“Wait. What?”
“You’re right.”
“I mean, I know I’m right. I’m always right. But what am I right about right now?”
“I’m going out tonight.”
“Yeah? Good for you. I’m glad to see it. And not just because I want to cut out early before Marty watches our show before I get home. He doesn’t know I know but he totally watched it without me last week. Those laughs of his were too perfectly timed.” She said all of this while rushing out of my office to collect her things. “Okay. You don’t need anything else from me?” she asked, shoving her phone into her bag.
“I’m all set. I’m heading out with you.”
We rode down the elevator as she gave me a blow-by-blow of the show she and her husband were watching.
Then, just before walking out of the front doors, she turned back to remind me, “Just remember: babies and venereal diseases can last a lifetime.”
With that, she was gone, leaving me shaking my head and smiling even as I reached for my phone.
“Hey, boss man,” Calvin answered after one ring. “You need a lift?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. I’ll just head on over to the office now.”
“Actually, meet me at my apartment in an hour,” I said, starting to walk.
“Will do. Going anywhere special?”
“Brooklyn.”
“Sounds good. I got me a nice new playlist to keep me company,” he said, hanging up.
I drummed my fingers on my phone screen for a second, uncharacteristically nervous about a text.
Care to do some club research with me tonight?
The answer came back just as I was walking past my doorman.
What kind of research? Where?
There were a thousand ways I could have answered that. All of them being more professional than what I’d landed on.
Meet me at Bar B at nine. Wear something club appropriate.
I waited for her answer—a thumbs-up emoji—before tossing my phone on my kitchen counter and making my way toward the primary bedroom, peeling off layers of clothes as I went.
I thought maybe a shower would help clear my head. But as soon as I was under the spray, all I could think of was what Saff might look like outside of those awful business-casual outfits she was always wearing.
Maybe in a skintight club dress.
Or, better yet, nothing at all.
“Fuck,” I sighed, closing my eyes, but the image was already burned on the backs of my eyelids.
There was only one way I could possibly get through this night without doing something that could seriously compromise the future of this business deal.
Even if blurring this line further could potentially make it even harder to keep my thoughts—and hands—to myself.
I tried to tell myself that it couldn’t possibly be worse than standing there alone in my shower, mind overwhelmed with thoughts of her, with my cock straining.
So I let my hand slip down and curl around my length as my mind drifted.
And suddenly, we were back in my conference room.
She was up on the table, bare naked. And I was in my seat, scooted close, my face buried between her legs, those thick thighs of hers clamped to the side of my head, her fingers tangled in my hair, her hips rocking against me as her moans filled the empty office.
Then she was pulling my hair until I lifted up, until I moved to stand.
Then she was sitting up, working my belt, button, and zipper free, then reaching inside to slide her hand around my cock, stroking me as her heated gaze held mine.
Then she was leaning down, sucking me into her mouth, moaning around my length—
“Fuck,” I hissed, coming so hard my body shook.
Afterward, I finished cleaning up and climbed out of the shower, hoping the little bout of stress relief would allow me to think straight while club hopping with Saff.
I changed into a black suit with a matte black shirt. No tie. A nice watch. The cologne I could have sworn I caught her trying to sniff when I’d saved her from falling at the club.
With that, I made a few quick calls to club owners to ensure we could get in at all the places I wanted to check out, then made my way down to the lobby, spying Calvin parked a few cars down.
“Going back to work, Mr. Vale?” the nighttime doorman, Walter—who’d apparently been working as a doorman in various buildings in the city since he was twenty, which had to be a solid forty years ago—asked as he held the door open for me.
Christ.
If everyone who saw me on a daily basis thought the only possible place I could be going was work, maybe Teresa was right in suggesting I needed to get a life.
“No, actually. Heading to meet a woman.” I mean, it wasn’t untrue.
“Oooh, alright then,” Walter said with the twinkle in his eyes that came from a man who’d seen it all and had no judgment about it. “Have a good night, Mr. Vale.”
He said it like I wouldn’t be making it back to my own bed later. I would be. Alone. Even if it would probably be smart to find myself a woman—literally any woman other than Saff—and spend a few hours trying to get this clawing need out of my system.
That wasn’t going to happen, though. Because I was pretty sure the only person who could satisfy that desire was Saffron herself.
And she was off-limits.
“Mr. Vale, got the car all polished up,” Calvin said, opening up a gleaming door. “And I stocked some cold coffees for you in the back. I know you prefer hot, but they don’t appear to make any kind of device to keep drinks warm in cars yet.”
“Thanks, Calvin,” I said, slipping in.
“So, where we heading?” he asked as he got behind the wheel.
“Bar B in Brooklyn. But we will probably be hitting up a few different clubs.”
“We?” he asked, gaze flicking up to the rearview.
“A… business associate and I.”
“Cool, cool. Sounds good to me. You know, this car could really use one of those privacy windows…”
“I’m not going to be fucking her in the car, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I said, reaching for one of the cold coffee drinks. “We’re opening a club together. We are going to other clubs to scout out the competition.”
Maybe if I said it enough, I would start to believe it myself.
“Sure sure. Sounds like a good time, boss man. Have a drink or two for me.”
“Will do.”
I couldn’t be drinking.
I’d order one. Maybe sip. But the last thing I needed to do was lower my inhibitions around Saff.
We made it to Brooklyn just five minutes shy of when I told Saff I’d meet her, but Calvin lucked out with a spot just half a block away from the club.
Calvin turned to look at me just as my gaze caught sight of Saff walking down the street.
Was she still unsteady in her heels? Yeah. But you barely even noticed that when you saw the rest of her.
I’d imagined what her body was like under her business casual clothes. But not even my most vivid fantasies came close to the reality.
Saff had definitely come dressed for the club in a curve-hugging bodycon dress that dipped just low enough in the front to hint at cleavage. But it was clearly her legs she’d chosen to show off with the short skirt that left most of her thick thighs on display.
Calvin followed my gaze, then looked back at me.
“That her?” Calvin asked, letting out a little whistle.
I couldn’t blame him.
She looked so good she made a man want to fall at her feet and beg to be allowed to worship her.
“That’s her.”
“You got you a little pocket princess,” he said before rushing out of the car to open my door.
“Thanks, Calvin,” I said.
Saff was busy checking out the line for the club, dread spreading across her pretty face—likely imagining standing on that line in the heels she clearly wasn’t comfortable in—so I got another moment to drink her in.
“I’ll find me a good parking spot. Just shoot me a text when you’re ready to hit the next club.”
“Sounds good,” I said just as Saff’s head turned and her gaze landed on me.
I swear it did so with impact, knocking the air out of my lungs.
“Hey,” she said, coming to a stop in front of me. “I’m not going to lie; I’m dreading that line.”
Even as I reminded myself to keep my damn hands to myself, I pressed one to the small of her back, feeling the heat of her skin through the thin material.
“We’re not going to be standing on a line,” I told her, walking her up to the bouncer.
His gaze moved over Saff, then toward me, but quickly back to Saff, something like confusion on his face. Almost as if he… knew her?
“Soren Vale,” I said when his gaze cut to me again.
“Yep,” he said, reaching to pull open the black velvet rope and allow us to pass.
There was some grumbling from the crowd, but as soon as we were one foot in the door, the music drowned out anything else.
I went ahead and used that sound barrier as a reason to keep my hand at Saff’s back, guiding her through the crush of the crowd, then up into the raised area of the VIP section.
“Heaven forbid you hang out with the common man,” Saff said as we slid into one of the rounded booths.
“We need to be able to talk,” I reminded her.
“What?” she yelled over the music.
I really didn’t need a valid excuse to scoot closer toward her in the booth. “We need to be able to talk,” I said, distracted by that strawberry sweet cream scent clinging to her skin, and the way her leg was pressed up against mine.
“Talk,” she repeated, and up that close, I could see the way her breath was picking up pace. “Can we drink?” she asked.
It was a terrible idea.
“Yes,” I said, flagging down the bottle service girl.