THIRTY
Gigi
Considering the Circle’s recruits aren’t allowed to hook up with one another, Pixies is allegedly the go-to place for matchmaking. The club is situated in a bustling back street in Shoreditch, and it’s attended by some of the most eligible bachelors in the city.
With a hand on my lower back, Harry ushers me through the front entrance with a nod to the bodyguard controlling the front door. I watch in surprise as girls crowd the length of the street, waving about their resumes in the hope of being hired. Despite their perseverance, I’ve been told the main staff are women within the society, working either to appease our boss or to earn some extra cash.
We walk down a cascade of steps that causes my thighs to burn, and when I truly don’t think we can walk much further we keep going … until we finally reach a room that should never see natural light. The dark ambience, with its pink strobe lights and sleek furnishings, is incredibly erotic, causing the skin Harry rudely teased earlier to burn with desire.
To add to the mix, he looks incredible tonight. The dark shirt struggles to accommodate his biceps, and I suddenly forget all the reasons I don’t want him. I’m reminiscing about how his forearms strained as he ran his fingers over—
Nope. Nope. Not thinking about it .
Pixies isn’t huge. Modest, if you will. The Boss owns the property, but he must have conspired with an interior designer, because it’s nothing short of spectacular. Pink and red curtains decorate the walls, emphasising the stage, where women prance around in their lingerie. Meanwhile the bar is stocked with vintage wines and liqueur and lined with a rich velvet fabric that runs across the back wall.
Sitting on plush chairs at circular tables or inside the booths, rich businessmen gawk at the half-naked women onstage while their trophy wives turn a blind eye.
Despite it not being obligatory to get down on the dance floor and shake whatcha’ mumma gave ya’, I imagine the performers would argue it’s a small price to pay in exchange for the wealth and power they’ve gained throughout the years. While the idea of stripping down to my bare bones should make my skin crawl, I’d be lying if I said a part of me isn’t intrigued. Their confidence bounces off the walls, and even if the male gaze should be off-putting, it puts a soft blush on my cheeks.
Air is sucked from my chest as Harry fists the back of my dress.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“I was joking,” I say, referencing my heated cheeks.
Andy chuckles, warning half-seriously, “He wasn’t.”
Harry leans down, brushing his lips against the shell of my ear. I check my surroundings, making sure nobody witnesses my body screaming for him as he whispers, “I’d gouge the eyes out of every man who caught a glimpse of you on that stage. And I don’t make threats I don’t intend to keep.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” Ignoring the spark of something peculiar in my abdomen, I add, “I’m not yours to protect, remember?”
He stares back in silence.
We reach the bar, crowding near the end since all the seats are occupied. Andy orders for the three of us, and I welcome the tart taste of cranberry against my lips. He chuckles, the sound vibrating his glass of beer and causing the contents to spill over the edge.
“Look at her go.”
“Who is it?” I ask, following his sight to the stage.
“It’s Poppy,” Andy says, finding amusement in my shock. “You’d never recognise her, would you?”
I watch, holding back a shocked scoff as she embraces the attention with an extra swagger in her step. I wouldn’t have even recognised her. She’s wearing a costume wig to conceal her real identity, and her confidence is blinding.
I turn to Harry, intending to see what’s keeping him so quiet, but there’s a distant look in his eyes. He stares at my hand where it hangs loosely at my side, watching it with the same levels of concentration as he’d give to an intricate jigsaw puzzle. Ever so slowly, he stretches out his finger and brushes his skin against the back of my hand. I’ve been so hell-bent on trying to join this society and throwing all consequences aside that I haven’t even considered how detrimental this could be to his mental health.
My selfishness must be slowly killing this man.
I don’t want him to get in my way, but fucking hell, I do. If anyone would be able to convince me otherwise, it’s him. That’s why I’ve been refusing his advances – I fear the hold he has on me will tear down my barricades with force and invoke a feeling stronger than my tunnel vision to succeed.
I slowly raise my head, finding his eyes fixed on mine. “Harry—”
“Trouble incoming,” Andy says, disguising his warning with a sip of his drink.
Mine and Harry’s hands rip apart as if sparked by a current.
He turns his back, busying himself at the bar, as I plaster on a smile at hearing heavy footsteps approach.
“Gigi, so glad you could make it.”
The Boss looks identical to how I always see him – in an immaculate suit, with his greying hair gelled to within an inch of its life. I thought Pixies had more of a toned-down dress code, but it seems to be a rarity to see him in anything other than business attire.
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” I tell him.
“What do you think of the place?”
“It really lives up to expectations. It’s beautiful.”
And it really is.
When I look around to appreciate the interior again I meet Harry’s stare. He watches the interaction with scepticism. There’s another drink at his side with my name on it, since I already downed my first with surprising speed. I smile at the offering, determined to have a drink with him and flush out whatever this is between us.
As if he can sense my escape approaching, the Boss says, “While I have you, there’s someone I want you to meet.” Without giving me a chance to interject, he presses a hand to my lower back and beckons me forwards.
All the tables in the venue are within eyesight – a layout I bet was implemented so he could spot everyone’s presence. Yet I’m led to a corner concealed by a thick curtain. The privacy is unlike the rest of the venue – whoever has the luxury of sitting here also has the benefit of not being watched by wandering eyes. A bodyguard lets us through, pulling back the curtain to display a large circular booth. Five men take up the space, all with a perfect view of the stage. I don’t recognise any of them at first until intimidating dark brown eyes meet mine.
“Gigi, I’d like you to meet—”
“You’re Hudson Anderson, right?” I ask, my interest piqued.
His smirk is cocky but far from the flashy kind. “You are correct, young lady.”
Hudson fucking Anderson. I’ve seen him on the cover of GQ more times than I’d like to admit. I’m also pretty sure this is the only man my mum has ever envisioned her daughter with. Talk about the most eligible bachelor … but untouchable in every respect.
Rumour has it that unlike the old men in this establishment, who are desperate for a bit of young ass on their plate, Hudson hasn’t been spotted with a woman in public for years. Women practically throw themselves at him, but he’s not interested. He’s a true gentleman, some might say. He treats ladies with respect, and while a few of his friends’ eyes drop to my cleavage, his gaze never falters.
The last time I checked, Hudson is in his mid-thirties, yet his dark hair is still impressively thick, matching the light stubble adorning the lower half of his face. Even from his seat I can tell he towers above six feet. I have to give it to him – he looks dashing dressed in designer from head to toe, from his Tom Ford suit to his Gucci shoes. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone to imply he’s relaxed, but the three-piece suit says otherwise. I guess for people like him business never stops.
Supposedly, Hudson has more money than sense and could give even the Boss a run for his money, which probably explains why Richard’s adamant to provide him with the VIP treatment.
“I’ve heard a lot of things about you,” I say.
He stands up from his seat behind the booth, offering me his hand. When I hold it out to him hesitantly, he grips my fingertips, pressing my knuckles to his lips.
“Only good things, I hope,” he says, genuine concern in his voice.
He doesn’t break eye contact as he peppers a kiss on my skin. I smile quickly, hoping to hide my flushed expression as I politely drop my hand from his grip.
“Are you busy?” he asks. “Please, sit.”
“Oh,” I say, taken aback by the kind gesture.
Someone pushes a chair against the backs of my knees, forcing me onto it. I fall against the fabric with a huff, and Hudson is nothing but smiles as the Boss eagerly takes a seat beside me.
“Rich, did you see the latest heist hit the papers this morning?” he asks. “I really admire that person of yours who’s stopping all this from leaking to the police.”
“I only allow the best in this company,” the Boss says, his words lingering in the air.
The men start discussing their latest business, and I sit in my seat, listening with intrigue. From what I’ve gathered, several heists are occurring at once. Some have been years in the making, while others take nothing short of a few days. No wonder they say it’s a life worth dying for. The Circle isn’t just an occupation – it’s people’s livelihood.
“Will you be working here?” Hudson asks, breaking me from my trance.
I blink, surprised by the question. I chance a look at the Boss, and he raises a brow, waiting for my answer.
Why’s he giving me the opportunity to speak? I thought only society members worked here.
“Oh …” I force myself to swallow. “I’m not sure.”
“Ah. You’re not part of their inner group yet, are you?” Hudson asks. When I shake my head, he grins and turns to the Boss. “Aren’t you going to help the girl out? Give her a little bit of a heads-up, for crying out loud.”
“I don’t give special treatment. No matter what legacy she has to live up to.”
Hudson nods slowly, stating, “She’s a Thomas.”
I shake my head in disbelief at the idea another person is withholding secrets about my own blood. It’s becoming difficult to keep up at this point.
“You knew Jack too?”
Hudson smiles, ignoring the question as he says, “I hope you have a magnificent night, Miss Thomas.”
I sit in silence, pondering the sudden farewell. This isn’t the only time people have brushed off my mention of Jack. It’s getting tiring. Harry even acknowledged that I haven’t pressed further about him … I fear I’m losing my determination to find answers in chasing this new lease of life.
By the time I’ve left the booth I find myself with more questions than I started with. When I reach the main bar and approach the others, Harry’s eyes run over me with concern. “What was all that about?”
“Nothing,” I say.
Peering over my shoulder, I look towards the concealed booth, feeling an unnerving suspicion that someone’s eyes are on me.