Chapter 17 #2
“We can order from any menu here,” I offer. “Unless you’d prefer a change of scenery.”
“What about the rooms upstairs?”
I hesitate. I’d rather be anywhere private with her—but not here. “They’re available.”
“No event tonight?”
“No. The events are planned in advance.”
She looks, for a breath, disappointed, then relaxes into the booth. Golden light pools along her collarbone; her thigh brushes mine—an accidental confession. Her fingers trace lazy spirals on the table, each one a distraction I feel everywhere.
“Are you comfortable here?”
“It’s dark,” she murmurs, leaning in. Her fingertip grazes the corner of my mouth; I catch it between my teeth, slow enough to taste her restraint. “That’s what he gets paid for?” she asks, glancing toward Eddie. “Greeting everyone?”
His job is actually much bigger than a professional greeter, but I tell her, “That’s the part of the job he loves.”
“Hmm.”
I’m not sure what she hoped to see. The Sanctuary is built for discretion; no one overhears by accident. If Eddie’s listening, he’s planted the means to do it. The booths in the restaurant are designed to allow private discussions, business or otherwise, to go unheard.
“Instead of upstairs,” I say, voice lower now, “I’d rather bring you home—or see where you live.”
Should I care more about Eddie and what he’s doing? Absolutely. And I do. But some battles wait. Tonight, I want something simpler—privacy, not performance. Time with her, real and unscripted.
“Tell me about the people here,” she says, voice soft, gaze traveling the room. “Those guys. Barely legal. Are they models?”
I look to the booth she’s spotted. Three Asian men—I don’t recognize two of them, but based on the one I know, I can speculate.
“The guy in the center? Founder of a meme coin creation company. He’s only twenty-two, but he’s been at it for five or six years.
Possibly one of the wealthier individuals in this room. ”
“And he’s a member?”
“Joined this year—after a member invited him as a guest. He won’t stay long. If I were to guess, he’s here to meet someone interested in launching their own meme token. This is an ideal spot for a speculative discussion—a year from now, there won’t be any photographs to document the meeting.”
“Why does that matter?”
“It doesn’t always but at its essence, it’s a pump and dump scheme. The name of the game is to keep it quiet until the announcement, so the price shoots up in the euphoria.”
“That’s shady.”
“Yes. But currently quite legal. I expect those three will have their meeting, maybe dinner, then they’ll hit the clubs.”
She shoots them one last withering look. “And what about them?”
“A lobbyist. Two senators.”
“So again, a meeting they’d just as well remain out of the public eye.”
“A meeting. A friendship.” I point to the bar where two men are sitting further down from Tommy and the models. “That guy is a film director. And the man he’s speaking to, I can’t remember his exact role, but he’s an executive at one of the movie studios.”
“And they’re here?”
“Could be filming. Might be a premiere. There are many reasons one might be in New York. Hell, the director might live here.”
“And you don’t remember their names?”
“No,” I admit with a sigh. “That’s why I have Eddie.”
“What about that couple?” She points to a candlelit table with an attractive man and a woman.
“They’re both actors.”
“Oh. Who are they?”
“American actors,” I say with a shrug. “The woman’s more reality TV. I’m not sure—but I know they’re actors. Could be a first or second date. Or maybe they’re friends and don’t want to attract rumors.”
“It’s fascinating,” she says.
“Is it?” I ask as a group of men with grey-streaked hair in casual business wear enter.
Eddie greets them instantly, leading them to a booth.
They work nearby in the financial district, and whatever they do, they’re high enough on the totem pole, or perhaps behind the scenes, that they don’t often wear ties.
Dinner fades into the background hum; the jazz drops an octave, silky, sultry.
Around us, conversations blur into white noise—deals being made, secrets being shared, the usual symphony of power and desire that fills The Sanctuary each night.
But in this shadowed booth, with Brie’s fingers brushing mine, the rest of the world fades.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I whisper. What I mean: something real. Something not for the case, not for the club—just us.
“Hmm. You first,” she says, but her gaze flits across the room, ever watching.
“You want me to go first? Fine.” I catch her hand, press it flat to my chest.
“Every woman since you has been a pale echo of a weekend I couldn’t forget.”
For the first time tonight, vulnerability flickers across her face—quick as lightning. “That’s…dramatic.”
“Maybe not what you want to hear,” I murmur, leaning closer, the air between us charged with heat and risk. “But I don’t play games. I don’t want misunderstandings. I want more.” She doesn’t pull away—but she doesn’t lean in either. And that hesitation tells me everything.