20. Another Round For Table 21
Chapter 20
Another Round For Table 21
HUNTER
“ W e’re celebrating!” Vaughn exclaims, placing down a glass of amber-hued liquor at the table where the three of us are sitting. “Let’s hang out tonight.”
He loosens the silk tie around his neck and then pulls it free from his collar.
“We’re already hanging out,” Christian responds.
“Eating appetizers and drinking whiskey at the club is what we do every other normal night of the week. I’m proposing we go out and get wasted out of our minds like we did back in the day.”
Vaughn is excited about something. What it is, I don’t know, and I only halfway care. I’ve got a difficult business negotiation on my mind that I need to tie up, as well as a beautiful woman at home who is growing very impatient with her pregnancy. Her recent texts only confirm that.
Megan: How much longer are you going to be at the club?
Me: Maybe an hour or so.
Megan: What are you doing there that you can’t do here?
Me: The staff need to see me in the building, Megan.
Megan: That’s why you have a manager.
Me: I also run my other business from here.
Megan: At eight o’clock at night?
Me: Really, babe?
She knows all this already.
Megan: Fine, but don’t you dare think you can walk in here after midnight, and I’ll just spread my legs for you. I’m tired.
She’s the one wearing me out every night, but I play along.
Me: No expectations at all.
Megan: You suck.
I chuckle as I place my phone back on the table. Megan is so restless at times that it took me over thirty minutes tonight to convince her that stopping by the club was a bad idea at this point in her pregnancy. She took it way too personally and accused me of pregnancy bigotry (whatever the hell that is). All I told her was that nobody wants to party at a nightclub next to a pregnant woman.
She was livid, although I understand her frustration. The weight of the pregnancy makes her feel uncomfortable at times, and she’s often bored at home. While she loves to paint, which keeps her busy up to a certain point, I think she misses human interaction with someone other than me and her security detail. Once I wrap up this negotiation I’m working on, I think I’ll take her to Paradise Cove for a week-long beach getaway. She’ll like that, and we both need the escape.
“What the hell are we celebrating anyway?” Christian asks Vaughn, breaking my train of thought.
“My divorce.”
“I didn’t get any finalized paperwork,” Christian replies in a confused tone.
“I handled it myself.”
“Get the fuck out of here!” Christian jests.
“Yep, sure did.”
“What did you do?” I ask, worried about how exactly Vaughn handled his scandalous ex.
“I told her I was sick of paying lawyers and that we were both grown people who could handle the end of our relationship in a civil manner.”
“Sick of paying lawyers? You haven’t paid me one red cent,” Christian scoffs.
I laugh because Christian’s just fucking with Vaughn. We’re friends, so it’s assumed that Christian is helping Vaughn with his divorce because of their longstanding friendship, not for money. Christian doesn’t need the money, and divorce law isn’t even his specialty.
“I still have to pay her legal fees.”
“You pay them only if she wins, idiot, and I’d never let that happen,” Christian blusters. “I hope you didn’t give her all your damn money because that’s all she wants.”
“I didn’t.”
“But you gave her more than what you should have, didn’t you?”
I don’t want to hear the answer to that, so I raise a quiet hand to get a server’s attention. I notice that another new girl is working in the main room of the club tonight, and I wonder what’s going on. Why is there such a staff turnover? I thought Gage had a handle on things.
“May I help you?” the server approaches. Like most of the women who work at the club, she’s relatively young and attractive, but something about her reminds me of when Megan first started, almost like she’s like a fish out of water.
I can tell by the way she directs her greeting to Vaughn that she doesn’t know who I am. It’s how I’ve always preferred it, though. I like to watch new hires from a distance and make sure that they fit in here. This is not the easiest place to work. One night, there may be a table of haughty investment bankers, and another night, a party of rowdy motorcycle gang members—a true reflection of how wide my reach is in the city. Servers who work here need to know how to navigate the personalities of all sorts of people.
Vaughn grins, taking pleasure in the fact that the new server is flirting with him—something she should have been told not to do the minute she was hired.
“We’d like everything on the sampler appetizer menu and another round of drinks for the table, beautiful.”
She blushes at Vaughn’s lame flirting attempt. “May I ask what you all are drinking?”
“The bartender will already know,” I interrupt. “Just tell him another round for Table 21.”
“Okay.” Her face drops, probably a reaction to my abruptness. When she starts to walk away, Vaughn calls after her.
“And don’t forget our appetizers, beautiful.”
She turns her head to smile and almost bumps into a customer by mistake. “Right away, sir.”
“I think my dick just got hard,” Vaughn chuckles.
“It’s been so long that you don’t know the difference?” Christian quips.
“I thought you wanted to go out to celebrate,” I say to Vaughn, annoyed that he’s just flustered one of the new hires.
“I do, but I would rather eat here first. With Lena in the kitchen, at least I know the food will taste good. Then we can go and drink somewhere else.”
“You and Christian should go hang out, but my mind is on other things. Happy for you, though, friend. Now you can move on.”
“Just say what you want to say, dammit.”
“Hmm, let me think,” I quip. “Maybe that your impulsive marriage was a mistake from the beginning.”
“Or how about you can’t turn a whore into a housewife,” Christian laughs.
“You two are the worst friends a man could ask for,” Vaughn sucks his teeth and takes a swig of his drink.
“We tried to warn you,” I say, shrugging my shoulders.
“And you never listened,” Christian scoffs.
“But now that you’re free, just make sure you don’t celebrate with one of my employees,” I warn him as I watch the new girl get an earful from Gage.
“You mean with your hot new server over there? Did you see the ass on her? Is that thing real? You know how the ladies are getting butt implants nowadays.”
“Good thing you’ll never find out,” I say.
“Why? She could be just the woman to convince me that not all of them are bad like–”
“Don’t say her name!” Christian abruptly interrupts with a laugh. “It’s like saying Valdemort’s name out loud. Bad things will happen.”
“Just don’t do it,” I tell Vaughn with a grin, knowing that he’s just talking crap about messing with the new employee, or at least he better be. I’ve got enough on my plate without having to worry about his extracurricular activities.
“You don’t play by a fair set of rules, Hunt. Why are you the only one who gets to pursue a hot employee, whisk her off to Paris, move her into your building, get her pregnant, and live happily ever after.”
“Watch yourself.”
“I’m just saying.”
“The key part of that story is that she was my employee, and they’re my rules. I can play by them any damn way I want.”
Christian and Vaughn chuckle at my prickly response but immediately quiet down when a recognizable group of men enter the club. It’s Dante DiAngelo and two of his right-hand men. It’s highly unusual that DiAngelo would visit the club without calling me first as a courtesy, which puts the three of us on high alert.
“Did he call?” Vaughn asks the question.
“No, he didn’t,” I say as all three of us continue to stare them down as they approach.
“Where’s Lars?” Christian asks in a low tone.
“He’s at the apartment.”
“Why?”
“I wanted my best men on Megan. Stop worrying. Dante DiAngelo is a friend.”
When it’s convenient for him.
“DiAngelo,” I greet him tersely.
“My apologies for just dropping by, Hunter, but a matter has been brought to my attention that I need to discuss with you.”
“Have a seat,” I offer.
He looks at Christian and Vaughn cautiously. “This needs to be in private.”
I take a sip of my whiskey and assess Dante’s intent through his body language. He’s trying hard to remain emotionless, as if whatever he has to say isn’t that important, but the tension in his hands tells me otherwise. He keeps twisting that signet ring of his that he never takes off.
“Let’s go to my office,” I offer as I stand. “Tell the server to send up some food and drinks,” I tell Vaughn and Christian.
“Will do,” Vaughn agrees reluctantly.
Dante’s men stay downstairs with Vaughn and Christian, which feels like a gesture to make me feel more comfortable.
It doesn’t.
“How can I help you?” I start the conversation once I close the door to my office.
“We’ve known each other a long time, Middleton.”
“Yes, we have.”
"I've helped you when you needed it." He's referring to Megan's family and perhaps a handful of other favors.
"And I've done the same," I say, reminding him of the time I saved his fucking life from his own grandfather, who wanted him dead.
“True; I think it’s fair to say that our lives are the sum of our choices.”
“Meaning?”
“I was approached three days ago by a man named Fabre out of New Orleans.”
My heart slows.
“And?”
“You know him?”
“I do.”
My Glock is in a locked drawer on the left-hand side of my desk. I’ll never get to it in time.
“I’m not going to bullshit you, Middleton.” He pulls back his suit jacket and flashes a .38 seated in his waistband. “If I eliminate you, I was promised a seat at the table.”
That fat fucker.
This is what I get for thinking Fabre could be reasoned with.
“So you’re going to kill me in my own club and think you’re going to walk out of here alive?”
“Oh, I’ll definitely walk out of here.”
He pulls the gun out of his waistband but holds it down by the side of his thigh. DiAngelo and I have a long history, and he’s hesitant, probably still weighing his options. If he kills me, will Fabre deliver on his promise? Or if he doesn’t, will I reward him with something more?
“Are you waiting for something?” I ask cooly. Pissed that this douchebag has the balls to kill me in my own damn club. Fabre probably requested that be part of the arrangement in order to make my whole operation look weak.
The funny thing is–he was right.
I see the very moment in Dante’s eyes when he realizes this, too, and makes his final decision.
I could try to run for it and call downstairs for help, or I could leap for my drawer and try to force it open to grab my gun, but I know that neither of these choices will get me my desired result.
There’s just not enough time.
Once DiAngelo raises his arm, the only image that flashes through my mind as the shot rings out is of the woman I love.
Megan.
Who will protect her now?