Prologue #2
“Well, that settles it,” Elizabeth says in a biting tone as she stands. “Looks like none of us are getting the club after all.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Amelia pleads. “Are we not going to consider it at least?”
Hearing the hope in her voice goes straight to my heart. My pure-soul sister only wants the best for everyone and everything. She refuses to believe anything negative or accept even a hint of pessimism.
Me on the other hand…
“Consider what?” I ask, glancing at her. “The six of us are more likely to sprout wings and fly to Neverland than work together and create something that could actually succeed.”
“Not with that attitude,” Weston jokes, which is par for the course with him. He doesn’t take anything seriously. Mom always says he has the looks of one of his dads and the personality of the other.
Amelia’s soft hand touches my arm. “Maybe Dad is right. Maybe we could own it together. It could work.”
It could. It could also be a humiliating attempt to be half as good as Salacious.
That place was all my dad could ever talk about.
How special it was. How it was so much more than a sex club.
As if that’s even possible. A sex club is a sex club.
A place where people who are too fucked up to find real partners go to get laid.
So excuse me if I don’t want to hear how he met my mother there and how all our parents practically lived there.
The only reason I even agreed to help my dad run his club is because I know he is literally never there, and it saves me the trouble of having to find sex elsewhere.
If the rest of them want to take a crack at running it, they can be my guests. I’ll keep my office and frequent the VIP section just like I always do, and nothing has to change.
Standing from the table, I pocket my phone and take a step toward the door, mumbling, “What a waste of time,” as I brush past Jack.
“One year,” he announces as my hand rests on the door. For some reason, it’s as if he’s speaking directly to me. I stop, mostly out of shock that he’s actually agreeing to this. Curiosity has me sticking around to hear what he has to say.
As he continues rallying the rest of the group like we’re heading into battle instead of agreeing to own a kink club, I try to remember a time when I used to look up to Jack.
He’s seven years older than me, and I only met him briefly as a kid, since my parents moved us out to Paris before Amelia was born.
But I remember when he moved to Paris at twenty-five to work for my dad. I was only eighteen at the time, and I thought I was getting a brother. Instead, I got a rival.
Unlike me, Jack excels at everything.
Jack isn’t locked inside his own head all the time.
Everyone loves Jack.
I don’t think anyone even likes me.
My eyes narrow as he inspires the others with plans for how they can contribute to L’Amour with their own skills. Elizabeth is a talented dancer. My sister is an artistic genius. Weston could manage the bar, obviously.
“And what about me?” I ask, standing behind Jack.
I have no skills. Nothing to contribute. I assume he’s about to tell me something like I can head security or sign insignificant shit just to keep me busy and make it look like I have a job.
If my own father couldn’t trust me with this club, why would he?
Instead, to my surprise, he replies, “You, Julian… You’ll be my partner.”
I’m hit with the sensation of everything inside me stopping mid-motion.
“Your partner?” This must be a joke. Is he patronizing me?
“Yeah. You and I will manage it together. And after the year’s up, those of us who want to leave can leave.”
I blink as I scrutinize his plan. He wants to run the club with me?
I’m not buying it, but I should be glad. At least this way, I might actually be able to prove to my father that I have a brain. Maybe by the end of it all, he’ll look at me the way he looks at Jack St. Claire.
“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll do it.”
My sister claps excitedly in the corner.
“Wait,” Phoenix says with half hesitation and half exhilaration. “So we’re really doing this?”
“I guess we’re really doing this,” Jack replies. His gaze lingers on me, and it might be the longest he’s looked at me in years. I assume he’s second-guessing his initial plan and just now realizing I’m nothing more than a spoiled brat, which, admittedly, I am.
It’s a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy. I was raised spoiled. I turned out spoiled.
But just once, I’d like to be more than that.
Weston bounds over to the table and hands us all a sweet vodka shot. With my eyes down, Amelia suggests that we rename the club, since Dad said we should.
When Jack proudly suggests Legacy, there’s a sense of purpose and dignity in it.
Legacies can be tricky. Legacies acknowledge that something great came before, leaving enormous shoes to fill, and I know a little about that. Legacies leave an awful lot of room for disappointment.
The bigger the legacy, the greater the risk. And trying to follow Salacious might be the greatest risk of all.
Swallowing my apprehension, I raise my glass and watch Jack smile with something like faith in his eyes. It might be the first smile I’ve seen on him in years. I hope he knows what he’s getting into.
“To Legacy,” Weston cheers.
“To Legacy,” the rest of us echo.
I toss back the sugary shot and set the glass down on the table. Letting Jack’s words run back through my head, I focus on one word in particular—partner.
I’ve never been a partner, never even had a real friend or been in a substantial relationship, but now I’m supposed to know how to manage this. All I know is how to keep people out and play a very convincing smug bastard. But if we’re going to pull this off, I might actually need to let someone in.
It’s sure to be a disaster, but if it’s what I have to do to prove myself to my dad and Jack and maybe even myself, then I’ll do it.
So here’s to fucking Legacy.