Chapter 13
Damien
I’ve never cared for pole dancing. It might be an unpopular opinion, especially in this industry, but I stand by it.
Some men call it art. Most men will admit it's sex.
I prefer my women wrapping themselves around me, not around a dirty pole while competing for the attention of a room full of expensively dressed, seedy men.
Still, part of owning a gentleman’s club is being seen in that club, so once in a while I do my diligence by grabbing a drink at the bar and taking a seat in the back with Diego. He would prefer front and center, but I don’t want or need the attention.
“Where is your head at, boss?” Diego asks.
I turn to him. “What do you mean?” I ask.
“I mean, you’re off the clock, having a stiff drink while watching some of your most talented employees, and your eyes are glossed over. You look like you’re about a thousand miles away. Either that whiskey is loaded or you have something on your mind.”
“I own a hotel and a club,” I start in. “I manage over eighty people, and that’s not including the ones that report to me from the sister hotels. I always have something on my mind.”
“You also have people working under you whose job it is to do the worrying for you when you’re not in the office. By the way, that’s one of your assistant’s duties,” he says with his eyes locked on the stage as a girl in a black thong does a spread eagle.
Speaking of Annelise. I’d be lying if I said that’s not where my mind was.
That’s where my mind has been all day. Although she showed up to work today looking like Hillary Clinton, I still wanted to undress her right then and there.
Partly because those pants were hideous and because I still want to explore every inch of her body.
I want to drive her wild. I want to devour her. I want–
“You really need to learn when to clock out, brother,” Diego cuts in, saving me from the daydream that might have ended up as a wet dream if I’d allowed it to go any further.
“Kind of hard to do,” I say, taking a sip of my drink. “My assistant showed up at work today in slacks.”
“Slacks?” he asks with a smirk.
“Half a fucking pantsuit,” I mutter, and he laughs.
“How did that go over?” he asks.
“I took her shopping,” I answer, taking another sip.
“Shopping? You hate shopping.”
“I know,” I say.
“So why didn’t you just remind her what the dress code is and send her off on her own? Why supervise one of your least favorite pastimes?” he asks, taking a swig of his beer.
“She wouldn’t have picked out the right stuff,” I tell him.
“Assistant attire isn’t hard to choose. It’s like…a short story. Long enough to cover the subject, short enough to keep it interesting,” he says, laughing at his own joke.
“She’s not used to spending money on herself,” I answer, and he lets out a low whistle.
“You really found a keeper,” he says as his eyes follow a girl up a pole.
Unfortunately, I think he’s right. I’ve never wanted an assistant like I want Annelise.
She makes me feel feral. Animalistic. Like I’m constantly battling my self-control.
It’s not something I am used to. Lack of control for me is unacceptable in any area of my life.
The benefits clause in the contract is just that–a benefit.
I don’t need it. It’s not weakness. It’s icing on the cake, and who am I to deny myself some extra icing once in a while?
“So I didn’t want to bring it up,” Diego starts in, and I cut him off.
“So don’t.”
“I’m hearing rumors,” he goes on.
I take a sip of my drink. “About?”
“We’ve lost a lot of customers this past month,” he says, and I drag my eyes over to him.
“Lost them how?” I ask.
“Canceled reservations,” he states.
“We have a non-refundable policy,” I point out.
“I know,” he answers.
“Any idea why?”
Diego takes another pull from his beer. “I mean, I have a theory,” he says.
“Which is?”
“I think that new high-rise down the street is buying people off. Offering an extra night and restaurant vouchers for people who duck out of their reservations with us and go there instead.”
My jaw clenches. “What makes you think that’s happening?” I ask.
“Because I’ve heard other owners saying they have the same suspicion.”
“When?” I ask with a furrowed brow. I don’t love that Diego has information I don’t.
“Top Golf,” he smirks. “You know that party you skip out of every month.”
I take in a frustrated breath. “Remind me again who owns that hotel. The King Diamond, right? I thought it was Abernathy.”
“Abernathy used to own it. Back when it was the Relick. King Diamond is owned by–”
“Dylan Decker,” I mutter. “God fucking damn it. What else is he doing besides coaxing patrons out using cheap sheets and a continental breakfast?”
“That’s not all that snake is up to,” he goes on.
“Of course it’s not.”
“Apparently they’re mimicking our branding, our benefits for Gold Members, and tossing in extra perks,” he says.
“They’re swiping our Gold Members out from under us?” I snap.
“We’ve lost five. Another two haven’t renewed.”
“Anything else?” I huff.
“Word is he’s got someone working on the inside,” he says.
“Inside? Inside where?” I ask.
“Here.”
“Why would he need an insider at the Opal Room?”
“Because we have the best girls in Sin City. And where our girls sin, people follow.”
“Fucking perfect,” I say, downing the rest of my drink.
“What do you think the best plan of action is?” he asks.
“We have to figure out who the fuck he’s got hiding in the shadows.
We have enough cameras. Let’s get men reviewing them.
Maybe have a couple security guards do rounds instead of staying posted throughout the club.
Incognito maybe. Set them up with girls so they look like patrons.
If they’re stupid enough to approach the girls, we’ll catch them on the spot. ”
“Good plan,” Diego says before taking another sip of his beer as he goes back to watching the stage.
I only wish I could be that casual about all of this.
Unfortunately, I don’t think there is going to be a quick fix to this.
It’s not just about solving the problem.
I’m not just looking to put an end to it. I’m going to put an end to them.