Chapter Eight
CHAPTER EIGHT
Saff
I knew we were supposed to be discussing business. But with my nerves skittering all over the place, I wasn’t going to be able to think straight without a drink.
It turned out that the ugly, uncomfortable, unflattering business casual clothes I’d been wearing around him had been a key part of my new persona. Stripped of those and strapped into a clinging club dress I’d needed to go out and buy—since I was generally a jeans and tee kind of chick—I felt neither like myself nor the businesswoman I was trying to appear to be to Soren.
I felt like a woman. One who was seated right up against a gorgeous man in a great suit, smelling like sin, watching me with those gooey eyes, and leaning in to be heard over the music, his breath warm on my ear and neck.
So when the bottle girl came back with champagne, I took my coupe and drank, even if I wasn’t a champagne kind of girl.
“Good?” Soren asked, mistaking my second greedy sup for appreciation when it was really just a survival tactic.
“We should have this on the menu,” I said, awkwardly trying to steer the night back into safer territory. “So, why did you want to come here?”
“Bar B has the best reviews of all the local clubs. It’s a perfectly middle ground between the more seedy establishments and the luxury ones.”
“Don’t knock the seedy ones.”
I’d spent many an enjoyable night in the local dive bars and clubs. True, I was usually working. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy a drink or two and the music.
“I’m not. They all have their place. But this is more what I have in mind for our club. It invites everyone from all different backgrounds, but has a decent cover charge and can charge premium for drinks.”
I knew that was what Renzo had in mind as well. The more profitable a club was, the more money we could wash through it.
“Is this what you have in mind for the VIP section?” I asked, gesturing around at the barred-off area we were sitting in. There were six booths in total, most of which were occupied.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“There are too many tables. True VIPs—the kind who aren’t going to hesitate to drop ten grand in drinks for their friends—are going to want to feel like they’re getting something truly exclusive.”
That made a certain kind of sense, I guess.
“How many are you thinking? Four?”
“Three. The balcony isn’t that big, and we don’t want to have to turn away someone’s entourage because the other tables have put the area at its max.”
I didn’t expect him to have such in-depth answers right on the spot. It was kind of hot when a man was just… really knowledgeable about something. I mean, I’d once had a three-day fling with a guy who’d talked for an hour about the building of some cathedral in Europe somewhere. It wasn’t even the topic that got me; it had been his passion and confident expertise in the area.
And Soren, he was definitely passionate and proficient in the topic of clubs. Even if, outwardly, nothing about him suggested he was a club kind of guy.
“Why did you get into nightclubs?” I asked as Soren refilled my glass. He hadn’t even touched his own. “Were you a big club-goer when you were younger?”
“Not at all, no. Honestly, I was hungry to make a name for myself as quickly as possible. And, I won’t lie, as much money as possible. I had a little cash to invest. And my research said that while nightclubs—like restaurants—have a high failure rate, they also allow you to make a lot of money relatively quickly. Since new clubs bring in a lot of traffic right away.”
“Was your first club a success?”
“God no. It was a huge failure,” he admitted with a self-deprecating head shake. “I was just a partner on that venture. It was the other guy’s vision and plans. And they weren’t good. That said, when it had been open for two months, I offered to give him back my portion of the club. He was still naive enough to think he’d have long-term success, so he agreed. I had my initial investment back, plus almost half. I used that to invest in another club. So on and so forth.”
“Did that club fail?”
“Miserably. Within two years, he’d leveraged his house to keep it going. But was still at risk of losing both.”
“That sucks.”
“Eh. I bought him out,” I said, shrugging. “He got to go home and lick his wounds. I got to turn the club into what I knew it could have been all along. It’s still going strong a decade later. It’s had a few facelifts and a name change over the years, but it keeps going strong. That one has a lot of sentimental value.”
“What’s it called?” I suddenly had a need to go home, go online, and find out everything I could about it.
“The original club—under the old owner—was The Vaulted Room. When I opened, I did it without the The . Now, it’s simply The Vault.”
I committed that to memory as I had another sip of the champagne, deciding that I was maybe a champagne girl after all. The bubbles were kind of fun, tickling my face as I drank, dancing on my tongue…
Uh oh.
I was already a little tipsy.
“You okay?” Soren asked.
“Yep,” I said, popping the p . “Where’s the bathroom around here?” I asked.
Soren lifted a hand and pointed halfway down the club.
“I’ll be right back,” I said, sliding out of the booth, feeling a rush of cool air over me when I wasn’t so cozied up with him.
I wobbled on my heels a bit as I tried to move through the crush of the crowd, getting stopped twice by men who wanted to dance.
“Fuck off.” It was my usual refrain. And depending on the guy, it was either met with shocked embarrassment or egotistical outrage. Neither of them would make me spare them another second of my life.
I made it to the bathroom without having to wait in a line, going inside to wet a paper towel and wiping the back of my neck, chest, and cheeks with it.
“Girl, I’d need a cool shower if I were on a date with a man like that too,” the girl washing her hands beside me said, all glittery red hair and matching eyeshadow.
“He’s not my date. We’re business partners.”
“Yeah? Never had a business partner of mine look at me like that.”
“Mae, you work at a cell phone store,” her friend declared, coming out of a stall while still trying to pull her jumper back into place.
“Still,” Mae said, shrugging. “He was looking at you like he’s been wondering what you taste like. If you know what I mean.”
“She knows what you mean,” her friend said, done adjusting her clothes and washing her hands. “Sorry, she gets chatty as hell when she’s on E.”
With that, Mae’s sober friend wrapped an arm around Mae and led her back out into the club.
Not wanting to be gone too long, I did another quick swipe of my overheated skin with the wet towel, tossed it, and made my way back out of the bathroom.
Only to damn near knock over Soren.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you.”
“That’s not weird at all.”
“Figured I could act as crowd control. Someone grabbed you on your way over here.”
He’d grabbed my hip so he could yell in my ear. But the technicalities didn’t really matter.
“I may not look like it, but I can take care of myself.”
He nodded at that. But he was already there, so he held out a hand toward the crowd we’d have to walk through to get back to the VIP section.
I charged forward. Expecting—I don’t know—for people to just move out of my way.
It wasn’t long, though, before bodies were knocking into me from all sides, sending me slamming back into Soren’s wide chest.
His arm went around me automatically, draping low around my hips. So, so close to where I swear I could feel the music throbbing in time with my pulsing desire.
A pained sound escaped me, and I was thankful for the ear-splitting level of the music, because it meant that there was no way Soren could have heard it.
“You alright?” Soren asked, so close that his lips touched my ear.
The shiver that moved through me was one of those full-body ones. There was no way he hadn’t felt it.
One song melted into another, the slow, steady bass beat a sensuous sound that had everyone else on the dance floor moving close, hands roaming, bodies grinding.
I couldn’t tell you who moved first, or if it was some strange, mutual decision at once. But the next thing I knew, I was leaning back into Soren, my hips swaying in time with the beat—and his.
His arm slid all the way around me, pulling me closer, then holding me against him.
I didn’t really know what the hell was happening.
I wasn’t even a dancer.
And nothing about Soren said he was either.
Yet there we were, smack dab in the middle of a dance floor, bodies melded together, swaying with the music.
Maybe it was more accurate to call it some sort of mating ritual than a simple dance. Without even being aware of it, I arched into him, my ass pressed against his pelvis, my head turned to the side to feel the beat of his heart.
This wasn’t about the music. I couldn’t even hear the music over the blood rushing through my ears.
It was just about us, about the undercurrent of attraction we’d both clearly been fighting.
I sucked in a deep breath, and Soren’s hand slid up from my hip, over my ribs, then came to settle just below the swell of my breast.
Did I take another deep breath just so I could feel the touch of his thumb slipping upward? Yes, yes, I did. And as the pleasure hummed through my body, I couldn’t come up with a single regret about it either.
Soren seemed equally out of fucks to give as his hand shifted, covering my breast completely, dragging a moan out of me that was immediately drowned out by the music swelling around us.
Soren must have felt it, though, been emboldened by it.
His hand kept moving, slipping up over my chest, then closing around my throat. A flutter of need spread through my core as he tightened his grip, then used it to turn me.
His hand stayed at my throat as the other went around my lower back, holding me tightly against him as he looked down at me, intention clear in his eyes.
But he gave me a beat, one last chance to keep things between us professional.
I couldn’t find any objections, though, not when he was looking down at me with a heat that matched the fire burning through me.
So I angled my head up ever so slightly.
It was all the encouragement he needed.
He closed the distance between us, his lips crashing down on mine.
My belly swooped as my body melted into his.
The man kissed how he looked—hard, deep, skilled.
When it came to men, I typically liked being the aggressor. But everything in me wanted to be dominated by this man, to let him set the pace, to show me what he wanted.
His lips pressed deeper, demanded more, and I was helpless but to give it to him. My pulse was slamming in my neck under his hand before he slowly slid it back, fingers drifting up to sink into my hair at the nape of my neck, gripping, pulling.
A moan escaped me as the pain/pleasure teased across my scalp.
Soren took the opportunity for his tongue to slip between my parted lips, claiming mine, teasing and toying until my hands were clinging to his arms, until my body was trembling against his.
We could have gone on like that for hours. Forever.
But sometime while we’d been getting lost in each other, the music had shifted to something faster, and the crowd was jumping around, sending one guy flying into us, knocking us apart.
The second we disconnected, the reality of what we’d done was like an ice bucket tossed over my desire.
What if this just screwed the deal up?
What if Renzo found out?
What would happen to the reputation I’d fought tooth and nail for if everyone found out I’d lost a major job because I’d kissed my partner?
Well, technically, he’d kissed me.
But it didn’t matter .
I’d allowed it.
I’d allowed it, and now everything could be ruined.
No.
No, I couldn’t let that happen.
I could still save this deal. And my damn dignity.
I sucked in a deep breath, channeling every cold, hard bitch I’d ever seen in film or read about in books.
I actually felt a chill move over me, making my skin goosebump and a shiver slide down my spine.
“I thought you wanted to do research,” I said, yelling to be heard over the music, “Not grope me on the dance floor.”
With that and nothing more, I stalked off, storming toward the door like a woman scorned, not fully, thoroughly, mind-numbingly kissed.
The night air was a cooling balm on my overheated skin. My ears rang as I took a steadying breath, my gaze scanning the street, hoping for a cab.
Not seeing any, I turned down the road and started walking, cursing my stupid heels with each step.
“Saff,” Soren called, making me close my eyes and exhale through my nose.
The stubborn part of me wanted to ignore him and keep walking. The part of me that cared what my boss thought about my actions had me stopping, but not turning around.
I swear I sensed him coming up behind me before I felt him. That sizzling static sensation that seemed to crackle between our bodies when we were close.
I didn’t know what I could possibly say if he was going to call me on not being an unwilling participant in that dance and kiss.
Soren exhaled hard enough to rustle my hair.
Then, in a low voice, completely shocked me by saying, “I sincerely apologize if I overstepped a boundary.” He stepped even closer, close enough for me to feel the heat of his body behind mine. “Rest assured I will never do so again.”
There was no accounting for the sinking sensation in my stomach. That was what I wanted. Right? To keep things professional. To not risk my job and reputation.
“How about we meet tomorrow?” he suggested. “At your office. To discuss design plans.”
My office.
That I sincerely hoped Bastian had finished setting up. If not, he would be up at the crack of dawn doing it before the meeting.
“Two p.m.?”
“I’ll be there.”
“I will have Bastian send Teresa the address.”
There was a slight pause, like maybe he was going to say something other than what came out. “Can I give you a lift home? My driver is right down the block…”
“No. I’m going to walk.”
“You live around here?” he asked.
Shit.
I really didn’t need him knowing that.
“To the subway,” I clarified.
“At this time of night? Alone?”
I would have bristled at the concern in his voice if it was literally any other man on the surface of the earth. When Soren said it, though, it made a strange fluttering sensation move across my chest.
“I’m a lot tougher than I look.”
There was another pause—Soren battling with his conscience, no doubt.
“Allow me to walk you to the platform then. For my own peace of mind.”
Dammit.
I literally lived just a few blocks away.
But to keep up with the lie, I guess I was hopping on the closest train to, well, anywhere else.
“Fine,” I agreed, starting to walk.
Soren moved to walk beside me, slowing his much longer-legged pace to stay beside me.
Neither of us said anything as we walked down the block, then down the next set of steps toward the mezzanine, the stark fluorescent lights making me wince as the scent of grease, metal, and, well, urine met my nose.
“I thought you had a driver,” I said as Soren fished a MetroCard out of his wallet.
“I do.”
“Then why have a MetroCard at all?”
“Because traffic in the city can be a nightmare,” he said, swiping his card, moving through the turnstile, then waiting for me in the paid zone. “Sometimes, it makes more sense to take the subway. And other times, I just don’t want to bother Calvin if I’m just heading to an early—or late—meeting.”
I had to admit, I liked him a little more, knowing he wasn’t someone who thought his employees’ whole worlds did—and should—revolve around him.
We silently descended another set of stairs, my heels clicking on the concrete as the station shook when a train arrived.
“Have you ever been here before?” I asked as we walked out toward the platform, the crooning of a busker, making Soren immediately reach for his wallet and toss a ten in the man’s open guitar case.
“I kicked around Brooklyn when I was younger, I guess. Here and there. But I spent more time in The Bronx.”
Interesting.
Nothing about this polished businessman made me think he would have spent time in The Bronx, which statistically had the most violent crime of any of the boroughs—just beating out Brooklyn for the top spot, in fact.
As if reading my mind, Soren leaned down a bit. “I’m a lot tougher than I look too.”
There was something in his eyes as he said it that suddenly had me thinking that my first impressions of him weren’t correct. Perhaps he hadn’t been raised with a silver spoon like I’d assumed. Maybe he, like me, had needed to fight past adversity to get where he was.
Like I needed yet another reason to like him.
Or, even more dangerous, respect him.
“Cold?” Soren asked when I crossed my arms, my hands chafing up my bare skin.
I wasn’t cold.
It was kind of balmy down underground, the air getting trapped between trains.
But before I could tell him that, he was shrugging out of his suit jacket and wrapping it around my shoulders. “Here,” he said, pulling it close around the front. “Little big,” he said, giving me a slight smile as the material completely dwarfed me.
I was overwhelmed by the scent still clinging to the material—tobacco and leather—and the way it was still warm from his body heat.
“Thanks,” I said, keeping my gaze lowered, so he didn’t see the desire that I felt coursing through me once again. “That’s me,” I said, having no idea what train was rumbling up through the tunnel, but deciding I was taking it regardless.
“I’ll just wait to make sure you get on.”
“Okay. Well, uh, I’ll… see you tomorrow,” I said as the train pulled up beside us. “Oh, wait,” I said, starting to pull off the jacket.
“Give it back to me tomorrow,” he said, looking past me to give a trio of what looked to be teenage boys a hard look.
That protectiveness should not have had my sex doing a fun little clench. But there was no denying it happened either.
“I’ll be fine,” I assured him.
“Would you do me a favor?” he asked as he walked me to the door.
“Okay…”
“Can you text me when you get home, so I know you got there safely?”
Alright.
This time it was my heart doing a little clench.
Which was even more unnerving.
“Uh, sure. Okay.” I stepped inside the car.
“Saffron,” he called.
“Yeah?”
“Right when you get home.”
I wasn’t prepared for the simultaneous heart and sex clench. But there it was.
“Okay.”
Before he could say anything else, the doors slid closed, and the train was shooting off.
Soren wasn’t exactly wrong to be suspicious of the guys who, upon closer inspection, looked closer to twenty or twenty-one and almost immediately started to glance over at me.
I hated that he had such good instincts.
And was even more curious about what his life was like before becoming some nightclub mogul because of them.
“Today is not the day,” I said, moving over toward a seat. “And I am not the one.”
“Oh, please, what could you possibly—” the bolder of the group—all swagger, no brains—said as he moved closer.
“If you so much as think about it,” I said, casually sitting down and crossing my legs, “I will cut off your dick and shove it down his throat,” I said, pointing for emphasis. “Then cut off his and stick it up your ass.”
To drive home how willing I was to do it, I reached down into the bodice of my dress and pulled out my knife from where it was sitting between my breasts, the metal warm from my skin.
I flicked it open.
“Want to know how a little thing like me got to be a capo in the Lombardi crime family?” I asked, slowly getting to my feet and stalking closer to the leader of the group. Who suddenly looked close to making the train car smell even more like piss than it already did. “Or are you going to be good little boys, sit your asses down, and study your goddamn feet?”
Unsurprisingly, they went with the latter option.
I wasn’t naive; I knew it was the family name, not necessarily me, that made them decide to behave. But a win was a win, and I would take it.
Besides, I knew the threat wasn’t an empty one.
I’d done arguably more unhinged things in the name of my family and reputation. Or my own personal safety.
Even if I was glad to make it out of the subway without getting blood all over Soren’s nice jacket.
“Of course,” I said, reading the signs as I made my way up the steps and onto the street.
Only I would take the train right into the worst neighborhood in Brooklyn just to get away from Soren and my overwhelming urge to say screw it to my job—and common decency laws—and demand he fuck me right up against the wall at the platform.
Not in the mood for another trip underground, I flagged down a cab that took me all the way back to where we started from, dropping me off outside my apartment building.
Where I promptly reached for my phone and shot off the text I promised I would.
“Thank you. Get some rest,” was his almost immediate response.
I made a beeline for my comfy chair where I yanked off the stupid heels, pulled the blanket up over my bare legs, and reached for one of my books.
But not one of the murdery ones.
Nope.
This was a night that called for one of the spicy ones.
And so what if the hero who was telling the heroine she was a good girl and to drink her water suddenly morphed into Soren in my mind?
It was no more absurd than falling asleep in his damn jacket.
And having vivid, sweaty dreams about him that were so real that I woke up damn near close to orgasming.
Great.
So much for keeping those lines un blurred.