Chapter 4 Bianca
BIANCA
My makeup is nearly finished.
I look fantastic. Youthful. Virginal, yet sultry. Just the dichotomy Rouge wants me to embody. It’s a good aesthetic for my show, of course, but it’s more so for the private entertainment I provide behind the velvet curtains of the club.
Men like it when they think they’re deflowering a woman.
Even the ones who’ve deflowered me several times before.
It’s all about the illusion.
Truth be told, none of them took my virginity.
That was snatched from me a long time ago.
A small tear slips out of my left eye at the thought.
Damn it—my makeup!
I dab the tear away with a tissue. The tear has left a tiny streak along my face. Like a small crack in a Ming vase.
Of course, anyone who knows the real me—which, to be fair, isn’t many people—knows that several more cracks exist under my skin. Cracks formed from a lifetime of rejection and trauma, some of them miniscule fissures, and others gaping chasms.
None of them have healed.
I quickly reapply a touch of makeup to cover the tiny river carved by my tear, and I reach into my bag for my finishing powder. That’ll help keep my makeup in place in case there are further eruptions of emotion from my eyes during my set.
I grope around, finally shining my cell phone flashlight inside.
Shoot. It must be back in my car. I keep my makeup bag on the floor of the passenger seat, and sometimes it rolls around and something falls out, which is what happened today. I thought I grabbed everything, but the finishing powder must have rolled under the car seat.
I check my watch. Aces opened for the night about a half hour ago, but I’m not scheduled to sing my first set of the night for another fifteen minutes. I have enough time to run to my car in the Aces garage and grab the powder.
Good thing I drove tonight. I normally walk to Aces, but it’s a little cold this evening.
It’s March, and things are beginning to warm up, but the evenings are still pretty chilly.
It feels silly to drive such a short distance, but in the grand scheme of bullshit that has been my life, this seems pretty benign.
I throw on an ivory overcoat and head toward the Green Door, up the mirrored staircase.
I knock three times.
Chet doesn’t open immediately.
I press my ear to the door to the foyer. A man is speaking. It’s a voice I don’t recognize.
He’s getting louder, though.
Then a pounding noise.
“Chet, you’re not hearing me. I demand that you let me in.”
And silence.
A few seconds later, Chet opens the door to the foyer for me, widening his eyes. “Miss Bianca, aren’t you supposed to start singing soon?”
I nod. “Just have to run to my car real quick, grab my finishing powder. I’ll be back before my set begins.”
“I see.” Chet gestures me through the door. “Be back quickly or you’ll be missed.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” I walk through the door.
And I’m absolutely floored by the man standing at Chet’s pink desk.
Tall, broad shoulders. Muscles straining against a tight black dinner jacket and white button-down. A sprinkling of stubble across a chiseled chin and jaw. A strong brow casts a shadow over his slightly inset eyes, which are as dark as his tidy short hair.
This is the handsomest man I’ve ever seen in my life.
The kind of handsome that can ruin you.
But in the best possible way.
I reach my arm toward him. “I don’t believe we’ve met, sir. I’m Bianca Montrose. I work here at Aces.”
He looks at me, and his eyes widen. His mouth opens slightly, and he awkwardly takes my hand in his, shaking it gently.
Lightning rips through my body at his touch, going first to my heart and then to my extremities before landing firmly between my legs.
He blinks a few times. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”
I giggle. “It’s Bianca. And you are…?”
“He’s leaving,” Chet says. “Dr. O’Rourke here is not a member of Aces, nor is he here as a member’s guest.”
Doctor?
Of course, that doesn’t necessarily imply a medical license. He could have a doctorate in any number of disciplines.
But if he is a doctor?
I can’t wait for my next checkup.
“Doctor?” I ask. “Do you work at a hospital nearby?”
His eyes flicker. “I do. St. Charles, not too far from here, actually.”
There it is. He’s a medical doctor. A healer.
A healer who hasn’t taken his eyes off my boobs since I shook his hand.
“Do you have a first name?” I ask. “Or should we keep things professional?”
He grins. “Harrison. Harrison O’Rourke.”
Harrison O’Rourke.
What a name.
It rolls off the tongue in an almost musical way, but it’s got a certain masculinity to it as well. It must be the R’s, and the hard K sound at the end.
Suffice it to say I’m leaning in.
“Pleasure to meet you, Harrison.”
He kisses my hand. “The pleasure is all mine, Bianca.”
Chet cuts between us. “Yes, and it is just luscious to see a new friendship blossoming. But you’ll have to take it outside. Although, Miss Bianca”—he checks his watch, which hangs off his skinny wrist—“you’ll have to keep it brief. Your first curtain is in ten minutes.”
Harrison cocks his head. “Your first curtain?”
I gesture to the door that leads to the mirrored staircase. “I’m the singer here.”
Harrison shoots his eyebrows up. “I thought you looked familiar. You have a lovely voice.”
Warmth rushes to my cheeks. “Thank you. It’s a living, I suppose.”
“I have great respect for singers,” Harrison continues. “I love to go to the theater when I can, catch a musical, sometimes even an opera. I have no idea how you guys do it.”
I shrug. “It’s all in the technique. Like going to the gym, only the muscles you’re honing are much smaller than the ones in your arms and shoulders.”
He chuckles at that. “You’re very kind.”
“If it’s a singer you’re looking for,” Chet interrupts, “you are welcome to scout Michigan Avenue for one, Dr. O’Rourke. But I really must insist that you leave now.”
And I feel it.
The little twitch over my left eyebrow.
Normally it warns me that something terrible is about to happen.
But this time… I think it’s trying to tell me something.
That this man, this beautiful Dr. Harrison O’Rourke, needs to come to Aces tonight.
Is it just because I’m horny as all hell for him?
Possibly.
But he needs to be here.
I close in on Chet’s desk, leaving very little space between me and Harrison. I feel the heat coming off his chest in waves, inhale the seductive scent of his cologne.
“Chet,” I say. “I would like to invite Dr. O’Rourke to the club as my guest.”
Chet scrunches his forehead. “Miss Bianca, you are not a member of Aces. You are its employee. You are not allowed to bring a guest inside.”
I roll my eyes. “Those rules apply to the cards. Not to me.”
Chet drags a yellow fingernail over the pages of his book, flipping to a section near the front outlining the Aces Underground Rules and Regulations.
“Full-time employees are allowed on the club premises during working hours only and may bring no guests.” He widens his grin.
“There it is, black and white. Read all over.” He chuckles.
I clasp my hands. “There you have it, Chet. I’m not a full-time employee. I’m engaged with Aces as a contractor. Rouge doesn’t take taxes out, and I’m not granted options like sick leave.”
“But that still doesn’t mean—”
I hold up a hand. “Two people are allowed downstairs, am I correct? Members and full-time employees, correct?”
He furrows his pink eyebrows. “Correct.”
“And I’ve just explained to you that I’m not a full-time employee. Ergo, I’m a member.”
“Miss Bianca, that doesn’t quite—”
I lean onto Chet’s desk. “And I do have one more ace up my sleeve that no other employee has here, Chester.” I grin. “None of them are the sister of Rouge Montrose.”
Harrison drops his jaw. “I’m sorry, you’re Rouge’s sister?”
I smirk. “Guilty as charged, Doctor.”
He squints at me. “Forgive me, but you look nothing like her.”
“The Montroses have a wide gene pool to work with.” I turn back to Chet. “Are you really going to deny me this request, Chet, or do I have to get my sister involved?”
“Rouge isn’t even here tonight, Miss Bianca.”
“Yes. She’s at the Jade Sanctum.” I gaze at Chet’s watch. “And now her star singer is about to go on in five minutes. Do you want to explain why you held her up in the foyer when she was just trying to grab something from her car? Something she needs for her set?”
“Miss Bianca—”
“Or”—I sit down on the edge of the desk, running my fingers up his arm—“you can scratch my back tonight, Chet. And next time you need a favor, I’ll be at your beck and call.”
Harrison clears his throat.
I don’t like flirting with another man in his presence—especially when the other man in question is one Chester Aristotle Tabbitt, the weirdest-looking guy I’ve ever seen—but I trust my intuition more than most other people. And it’s telling me this man has to come to Aces tonight.
Chet sighs. “Fine. Dr. O’Rourke may come to the club tonight. But, Miss Bianca, if your argument stands and you are indeed a member, not an employee, I’ll need to see some ID.”
“Of course.”
Chet checks the IDs at the door anyway. Only a few Aces employees come through the black door in the alleyway. The rest go through another entrance.
He slowly stands up and unlocks the door to the mirrored staircase. He takes in a deep, resigned breath. “Welcome, Miss Bianca and guest, to Aces Underground.”