Chapter Nine
CHAPTER NINE
Soren
We both knew she was a willing, active participant in the dance and the kiss that followed it.
Contrary to popular belief, an apology was a power move.
In this case, it not only allowed the deal to move forward, but it gave me more chances to be in Saff’s company.
Because there was no way now that I’d gotten a taste, that I was going to be happy with just one taste.
Once the paperwork was signed and filed, there was no going back on the deal. There was nothing stopping us from exploring what was clearly sizzling between us.
We were both adults.
We could give in to our desires in our personal time and still manage to professionally work together.
Or, at least, that was what I was telling myself as I grabbed my tablet. I’d spent the morning creating design boards and digitally drawing up potential changes to the club floor plan.
“Go on and head out early,” I told Teresa as I made my way out of my office.
“What?” she asked, brows scrunched. “It’s one in the afternoon. You sick? Should I be calling an ambulance? Come here,” she went on, getting to her feet and waving both hands at me. “Come here, let me check you for a temperature.”
“I’m fine, T,” I said, shaking my head at her. “I have a meeting with Miss Amato at her office.”
“What about after?”
“I dunno. But I’m not coming back here.”
“You’re not…” Teresa moved around her desk. “What are you flinching for?” she asked, throwing up her hand and pressing the inside of her wrist to my forehead. “Hmm. I don’t think you’re warm,” she said, putting both her hands to the side of my neck to be sure. “You’re not… dying or something, are you? Some news from the doctor making you reevaluate your priorities…”
“Think about that, T,” I said, smiling at her concern. “You didn’t set up any doctor appointments for me.”
“True, but, hey, you never know. You men and your aversion to the doctor. You should have heard the stink I had to throw to get my Marty to agree to get his damn colonoscopy. And I mean, I get it. No one wants something up their ass. At least not without dinner and a nice set of diamond earrings, anyway. But you gotta do what you gotta do to make sure all the parts are working.”
“All my parts are working,” I assured her.
“I don’t know if I believe you,” she said, eyes narrowing. “I’ve been with you for years now. I’ve never known you to blow off more than half a day of work. Something’s up.”
Teresa was a dog with a bone when she was suspicious of something. Her poor sons likely didn’t get away with anything.
As a general rule, I didn’t like to lie to T. She was too important. But just this once, just to get her off my back, I decided to.
“I have some life shit to catch up on,” I told her. “Kitchen is bare, personal care items are all but empty, dry cleaning needs to be picked up…”
Hell, none of that was actually a lie. My kitchen was bare. But it almost always was. My items were all on their last drops, but I had that on auto-ship. And my dry cleaning, well, that was a never-ending errand.
“And I missed the gym this morning.”
“You missed the gym ?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“That’s like me saying I missed brushing my teeth. You never miss the gym.”
“I overslept.”
Her eyes were slits at this point.
“There’s something here you’re not telling me.”
Yeah. The sweaty, vivid dreams that I hadn’t wanted to wake up from. Featuring a short, stubborn, responsive Saff.
“I was up late last night. It happens. Nothing’s wrong. I’m not dying. I just know things are about to go into overdrive with this project, and I want to get ahead of the life shit beforehand.”
“So, what I’m hearing is I should tell my Marty to really memorize my face because he’s not gonna be seeing me for a while. Alright. Fine,” she said, going back behind her desk. “But don’t think you’re fooling me. I know there’s something going on. Just remember—I always find out. I am a find-out-ologist. I have a degree in find-out-ology.”
The woman knew what condoms I bought. There were no secrets that I could keep for long.
I just hoped I got a chance to enjoy Saff before Teresa got on my ass about what a terrible idea it was.
“Got it,” I said, making my way toward the elevator.
I thought I was in the clear.
But just as the doors slid open, Teresa’s voice carried over to me.
“She’s real pretty, Mr. Vale,” she said. “But is she worth risking your whole empire for?”
I walked forward like I hadn’t heard her.
As the doors slid closed, I had an unnerving thought.
She just might be.
But that was just ridiculous, so I spent the whole drive back to Brooklyn reminding myself how hard I’d worked for my company, how much I’d sacrificed, how far I’d come from the kid borrowing, conning, and stealing to try to get a future for himself.
No one and nothing was worth risking all of that.
Certainly not after a single kiss.
Even if it had been the best one of my entire goddamn life.
I almost had myself convinced that it was all in the heat of the moment, that I was romanticizing it, that it was just the music, the dance floor, the hormone-laden air.
That is, until I walked into Saff’s office.
And that damn strawberry sweet cream scent was all around me, making me damn near groan as I took a deep breath.
Her office was on a high floor of a mid-size building that was not exactly what I’d been expecting. Though, why I’d conjured up any thoughts about her office was beyond me.
It suddenly struck me how little I actually knew about Saff as a person. Even as a businesswoman.
I had no idea what she did, aside from holding the deed for the building I wanted. So there was no reason for me to have assumed she was as wealthy as I was.
The elevator opened to a hallway, with two offices on each side.
Saff’s was the last on the alley side.
A small metal placard sat in the holder on the door.
Amato Holdings.
That was entirely too ambiguous to suggest any specific type of enterprise.
I pushed open a door and was met with an office straight out of the ‘90s: drop ceilings with harsh fluorescent lights, gray and white tile floors, and a boxy, solid, u-shaped reception desk in speckled gray.
There’d clearly been some attempts to modernize things. The black velvet couches sat facing a framed TV. There was a coffee bar—complete with a fridge—set up against the wall the door was on. It even smelled faintly of fresh paint.
“Mr. Vale,” Bastian greeted me, rising from his creaky chair.
Something about him seemed wrong to me right then. Nothing felt off about him at my office, but somehow, at his, there was just something about him that I couldn’t put my finger on. It was almost like nothing about him screamed ‘assistant.’
“Bastian,” I said, giving him a nod.
“Miss Amato is expecting you,” he said, reaching to close his suit button before moving out from behind his desk to walk me toward the solid room off of the waiting room. Even the door was solid wood. Or, rather, some sort of fake wood.
I guess Saff liked her privacy while working.
Bastian knocked twice before reaching to open the door.
“Mr. Vale for you.”
I don’t know if Saff mouthed something to him, or made a face, or what, but Bastian gave her wide eyes and a strangely tight jaw before shooting me a fake smile.
What was with their dynamic?
“She’s expecting you,” he said, waving me in. “Can I get you a coffee?”
“Sure. Black is fine.”
With that, I moved inside and Bastian closed the door.
Once again, I was hit with the scent of strawberry sweet cream. Only this time, it didn’t seem to be coming from Saff herself but the candle burning on a bookshelf sitting behind her desk.
The desk itself was a simple wooden one with brass pin legs. The surface featured a pen holder, a laptop, and a single notebook.
And everything looked… new. Unused.
Or maybe I was just imagining that, looking for something that wasn’t there.
Like her chairs in the lobby, Saff’s desk chair was black velvet. And hanging off the back of it? My jacket from the night before. Looking suspiciously wrinkled.
Had she simply balled it up and left it on the floor after taking it off? Or, more interestingly, had she worn it to bed?
I might have focused more on that.
But my gaze slid to Saff.
And I swear it felt like someone knocked the wind out of me.
She was in another of her business casual outfits. But this one was slightly less hideous than the others, with a tight pencil skirt, a white square-neck short-sleeve top, and a black blazer.
She was noticeably shorter, too.
Flats instead of heels.
In the eye-straining fluorescent lights, that hint of blue I swore I saw in her hair before looked even more prominent.
Strange.
Some sort of dyeing mishap?
And with her makeup lighter, the freckles over the bridge of her nose were more prominent.
“I don’t have a conference room with cucumber water,” she said, waving toward one of the black barrel chairs on the opposite side of her desk. “But I have pretty decent coffee and comfortable chairs.”
“That’ll work,” I said. But as she went to sit back in her chair, I waved toward one of the others. “But it might be better if you sit beside me. I have some designs to go over.”
“Right,” she said, her posture going tighter. Almost as if she didn’t want to be next to me. Or, more realistically, like she was afraid to be too close to me. “I tried to jot down some ideas. But I’m not really good at… imagining things up like that in my head. I mean, I see images in my head. That’s why I like reading,” she said, flicking a wrist toward the shelves, making me want to take a second to look over the titles to see if I could glean anything else about her from them. But that would have to wait until she was distracted. “But I can’t just… create something from nothing in my head, if that makes sense. I need the… words, I guess.”
“Luckily, I can,” I said, sitting down and unlocking my tablet. “I created a few concepts, just to give you an idea of what my vision is for the bar. Based on what I know works, community demographics, and some local outreach.”
“Local outreach?”
“I had a couple people who work for me hit the streets and ask around about what kind of establishment everyone is most interested in.”
“Which is?” she asked, suddenly tenser than a moment before.
“People are both concerned about affordability, but also a luxury feel. They want enough security. Apparently, there are some concerns about the local organized crime activity—you okay?” I asked as Saff made a strange choking sound.
“Here,” Bastian said, making me jolt. I hadn’t even heard him come in. “Have a drink,” he said, passing Saff a coffee mug.
“Thanks,” Saff mumbled, taking a sip.
“Mr. Vale,” Bastian said, passing me a too-heavy stoneware mug.
“Thanks, Bastian.”
“Do you need anything else?” he asked, giving Saff another of those strange, borderline inappropriate looks.
“No,” Saff croaked. Then, stronger, “No. Thanks. You can go.”
There was another silent conversation between their eyes before Bastian finally excused himself.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you involved with your assistant?” I asked, point-blank. I had no right to demand to know anything about her private life. And as much as I maybe tried to tell myself it was a professional sort of interest, I knew it was pure fucking jealousy on my part.
Bastian was an attractive guy, but in a completely different way than me. There was something undeniably… hard about him. And it wasn’t even just the tattoos sneaking out of the collar of his shirt, and under the sleeves of his jacket. It was how he carried himself, a look in his eyes.
“What? Involved?” Saff asked, brows furrowing.
“Are you fucking him?” I asked.
“What?” she asked, a half-laugh escaping her. “I mean… how is that any of your business?”
“Because, in this case, your personal entanglements could impact the deal,” I said, dressing up an HR violation in a three-piece suit.
Saff watched me for a long moment, brows pinched, thinking her next words through carefully. “What kind of mental gymnastics did you have to do there to disguise your nosiness as due diligence?”
“If I didn’t ask, I was going to be up all night thinking about it,” I admitted before I could stop myself.
“Why?”
My gaze cut to hers. “You know why.”
I swiped at my tablet screen, knowing I needed to get back to the task at hand before I admitted something I was going to regret.
“I’m not fucking Bass,” Saff admitted, surprising me.
“You two have a strange dynamic I can’t put my finger on.”
“Bass is opinionated and… and arrogant enough to think he’s in charge, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. That said, he does occasionally save me from making an idiot of myself. So I keep him around.”
Once again, there seemed to be just enough truth in her words to have someone less observant take her at face value. But there was a false note in there that I couldn’t help but pick up on.
“I hate that,” she said, distracting me.
“Why?” I asked, glancing down at the image she was pointing at.
“I can get behind all the neon lights. It’s a classic for a reason. But that ice-blue color is awful. Kind of too bright. Looks like somewhere people are gonna wait to see if they’re going to heaven or hell. No one’s gonna want to get shit-faced while they’re worried about their immortal souls.”
“Fair enough,” I said, swiping the image away. It wasn’t at the top of my list anyway. I’d included it in case she hated everything else. “Any others you don’t care for?”
“This one. The red and black. It just screams cheesy vampire romance book. And don’t get me wrong, I love a cheesy vampire romance book. It’s just the wrong vibe for a club. Besides, I think it needs more seating. This isn’t the mid-aughts, where everyone could club for five hours straight on icepick heels, running on adrenaline and cranberry vodka. The people are tired. They want to sit on occasion.”
“I agree,” I said, nodding. I’d been adding more seating to my clubs over the last two projects I’d worked on. “Let’s try this: what do you like that you see here?”
“I like the purple and blue lighting. And these lights in particular,” she said, pointing toward the circular ones. “I think it’s important that the small details are unique and photographable. Everyone takes pictures and videos everywhere they go now. You want every inch of the place to pass the vibe check.”
“Agreed.”
“But not that,” she said, wiggling a finger at some uneven neon lighting.
“Why not?”
“I’m stone-cold sober, and it’s making me dizzy.”
“Alright,” I said. I personally liked that one, but it was a small compromise.
“Where are the plans for the bathroom?”
“The bathroom?”
“The women’s bathroom, in particular.”
“You care about the women’s bathroom more than the bar?” I asked, swiping over toward the mock-ups for that area.
“I do, and you should too. Do you have any idea how many selfies are going to be taken in there? How many pep talks are going to occur there? How many friendships will be formed, if only for the night? There is nothing more sacred than the women’s bathroom at a club.”
“I suddenly feel like I need to go back and redo the ones at all my other clubs.”
“You probably should. Here, give me that,” she said, ripping the tablet out of my hands and clicking around.
She was completely absorbed in her search.
So I went ahead and got lost in her.
The way her eyes squinted as she looked at images, how she nipped her lower lip with her teeth in concentration, the way her dark hair fell back from behind her ear.
My fingers itched to reach out, to touch the silky strands and tuck them back where they belonged.
My hand actually lifted.
Just when she announced, “There.”
My hand dropped back down.
“Show me what you got.”
In five minutes, the woman had found enough images to perfectly design the women’s restroom. And the thing was, it was perfect. Better than any ladies’ room I’d ever designed before.
“Wow.”
“Yeah?” she asked, making my gaze slip up to catch her in a rare unguarded moment, her eyes round with hope, with—perhaps—the need for validation.
“It’s perfect. I will get someone on finding everything on your board.”
I watched her work to fight back the smile, then give me a simple, “Sounds good.”
We spent the next hour going back and forth about the bar, the stage, the dance floor and seating area, and—finally—the VIP section.
In those debates, I felt I finally got to see more of the real Saff that was hiding beneath the cool, collected businessperson she was trying to portray herself to be. She was confident and opinionated, if not outright argumentative, at times.
“Oh, good. Another black wall. I was starting to worry this place might actually have some character,” she said, popping out of her seat. “I didn’t realize edgy, minimalist funeral home was the vibe we were going for.”
“Says the woman who wanted to hang velvet drapes like it’s some sort of vampire prom,” I said, tossing the tablet on the desk where she was leaning.
“Heaven forbid I try to give the space a little warmth . ‘Cold’ and ‘reserved’ might be your personality traits, but they don’t make for good design.”
“So, this isn’t just about the club,” I said, getting to my feet.
“What? Of course it is,” she said, angling her head back to keep eye contact as I towered over her.
“Tell me, darlin’, what part of what happened on that dance floor last night was cold and reserved?”
Her eyes warmed at that, the pupils blowing wide at the memory.
Her lips parted twice before she managed to make anything come out between. “That was you… accosting me.”
“Was it you accosting me when you ground your ass against me and took a deep breath so my hand slid over your breast?” I asked, leaning a little closer.
“I didn’t—”
“We both know you did,” I said, lowering my face toward the side of her face, my breath warm on her ear. “Just like we both know that you were kissing me back. Just like we know how much you liked my hand on your throat and pulling your hair.”
“That’s not—” she tried again, but there was no mistaking how breathy her voice sounded.
“I bet you’re wet right now, just remembering it.” A sweet little whimper escaped her at that, her own body betraying her. “And I bet you want me to check,” I went on, my hand landing on her leg just below the hem of her skirt.
I was close enough to hear her breath catch.
“Tell me you want that.”
Another little mewling sound escaped her.
“Is that a yes?”
To that, her head did a quick little jerk.
And, well, I didn’t need any more encouragement than that.