Chapter 12 – Beau
FIVE YEARS AGO
BEAU
“ I was bringing champagne over to their booth, and when I was putting the bottles in the bucket, the asshole in the polo shirt grabbed my ass!” Mandy’s hands shake with anger as she retells the story.
Heavy bass from the sound system pounds through my office walls, but it’s one of the few places in my nightclub where you can have a conversation without yelling.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “I’m so sorry, Mandy. Do you want me to press charges? I can access the security cameras for footage if you need it.”
She shakes her head. “No. Kicking them out is good enough for me.”
“Still not sure that was a great idea,” Peter mutters next to me. He’s the manager at Velvet & Vice—for now, though. If he keeps complaining, he’s going to talk himself right out of a job.
I cross my arms and glare at him. “Nobody harasses our waitresses and gets away with it. Point blank. They crossed the line, so they’re out on their asses.”
“After their champagne bottles were already opened but before they pulled out their black cards to cover the cost,” Peter says. “We’re a new club. We can’t afford to scare away big spenders just because they’re misbehaving a little.”
I grit my teeth. Peter thinks he’s helping, explaining business to the twenty-three-year-old who just poured his food truck earnings into opening a nightclub.
Most clubs would side with the VIPs, not the cocktail waitresses, but I don’t plan to run Velvet & Vice like it’s any other club.
I was able to turn my food truck into a successful steakhouse without compromising my values, and I’m going to do the same thing with this nightclub.
Unfortunately, if I start snapping at him now, it’s going to make me look like a young hotshot, not a stable restaurateur with a good head on his shoulders.
“Why don’t you go check in on the other VIP booths, Pete?” I suggest, as calmly as I can. “Mandy and I have a bit more to talk about.”
Peter scowls. He loathes when people call him Pete, but he follows my orders. Once I’m sure he’s out of earshot, I turn back to Mandy.
“Sorry about him. He’s getting fired tonight, he just doesn’t know it yet.”
Mandy smiles. “Good. He’s a dick. I thought you might be, too, but you had my back with those jerks. Thanks.”
“Why don’t you head home? You’ll get paid for the rest of your shift, plus I’ll throw in an extra $500 to cover any lost tips.”
She ducks her head. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, I do. I’m not going to let anyone who works for me feel unsafe, ever. Seriously, if anyone gives you so much as a bad vibe, tell me. I’ll take care of it.”
“I appreciate that. I’d rather keep working, though. I don’t want to leave the other servers in a lurch by leaving early. The club is super busy tonight.”
“Then consider the $500 a bonus.”
“Thanks, Mr. Bishop.”
I wince. “Beau, please . Being called Mr. Bishop gives me hives.”
“Okay. Beau.”
Mandy shoots me one last smile before she heads back to the bar.
I make a mental note to consider her the next time I’m promoting a server to supervisor.
Opening the security footage on my computer, I rewind to see the group of guys security escorted out.
Most of them seem to have accepted being kicked out, but one is being dragged by the arm by a bouncer.
He’s got pale blonde hair and he’s wearing what looks like a bulky Bulgari watch.
I’m sure without a shadow of a doubt that he’s the one who grabbed Mandy.
The unfortunate side of owning a luxury club is dealing with rich assholes.
I lock up my office and head for the club’s main floor. I like to do a round of the club a few times a night when I’m here, and I stop by at least twice on the nights I work up at Terrace. It lets me keep an eye on the crowd, make sure the service level is high and the party is happening.
The pounding dance music vibrates through to my bones as I open the door.
I grin as I take in the scene. It took months and way too many meetings with an interior decorator to get Velvet & Vice to look just the way I pictured it.
The mirrored bar makes the dance floor look bigger, the colored light fixtures—set to blue and cyan tonight—add an upscale feel to the place.
The dark booths around the edge of the room have a more intimate feel.
Couples can cuddle up or friends can enjoy deep conversation.
Whatever kind of party you’re looking for, you can find it at Velvet & Vice.
I lean against the back wall to watch the crowd.
Women in sparkling dresses crowd the dance floor, drawn to the siren call of Robyn’s “Dancing on My Own.” Stone-cold classic.
Groups of friends down cocktails at the high-top tables near the bar, and Toronto’s hottest DJ, a former model who goes by the mononym Gwyn, spins at the head of the room like a priest leading a ritual.
A flash of sparkling black in the crowd draws my attention.
It’s a dress, worn by a woman walking in a group of college students.
I don’t know why my instincts tell me to follow her with my eyes.
Her hips sway as she walks in her high heels.
She’s facing away from me, chatting with a friend. Then her head turns, and?—
Holy shit.
It’s fucking Brinley, wearing the world’s sexiest fuck-me dress.
Of course, I’ve always known Brinley’s pretty, with her big brown eyes and the dimple that flashes on her left cheek when she smiles.
I know that because I’m not fucking blind .
But tonight…fuck, she’s something else entirely in that black dress.
Luke’s little sister isn’t supposed to look like that , with the fabric hugging her small waist and full, sexy hips.
She’s abandoned her thick black-rimmed glasses.
Her long brown hair hangs loose for once, drawing my eyes down to her?—
Nope . Not looking at Luke’s sister’s ass. Not happening. My chest gets tight, just thinking about how hard he’d deck me if I went there.
Hell, based on the way every man she passes gives her a double take, Luke would deck every person of the male persuasion in the whole goddamn club. But Luke’s not here, which means someone has to keep an eye on her.
Unfortunately, that leaves me.
I watch as a strange guy in a shiny button-down, not from Brinley’s group, approaches her on the dance floor. He steps right into her space and leans down to whisper in her ear. Fuck, does she even know this guy?
Apparently not, by the way she quickly steps back and shakes her head. She tilts her head toward her friends, and I know she’s in the middle of the classic club speech. Thanks, but I’m with my friends tonight . I’ve seen it a thousand times at Velvet & Vice.
I stare daggers at Shiny Shirt, willing him to walk away. I don’t want to have to go over there and interrupt Brinley’s night.
He doesn’t. Instead, he leans down again, probably trying some pathetic pick-up line he’s used twenty times already tonight.
Brinley doesn’t even give him the time of day.
She just turns around to dance with a female friend, acting like he doesn’t even exist. Shiny Shirt blinks, befuddled.
He stares at her dumbly for a moment before he stalks away, shoulders slumped with defeat.
She doesn’t need me to save her. She’s a grown woman, surrounded by friends, not the least bit drunk or incapacitated. She can handle herself.
I lean back against the bar and watch anyway. No way am I letting Luke’s baby sister get into trouble at my own club, and with Brinley wearing that dress , I know that Shiny Shirt won’t be the last man to try his luck.
Which is exactly what happens.
Guys approach Brinley all night and she handles them neatly every time. If the men accept her “no” with good grace, she blesses them with a smile and gets back to her friends. If they dare to push a second time, she delivers a sharp refusal that sends them slinking back to their own friends.
When I glance at my watch, I realize with horror that I’ve been watching Brinley dance for forty-five minutes.
That officially makes me a creep. I should go back to the office, or check on the bar stock.
Or do literally anything other than stand here tracking Luke’s little sister across my own club like some kind of?—
My eyes narrow as a new would-be suitor approaches Brinley. This one is tall and muscular, almost as big as me. His pale blonde hair glints under the club lights. As sharp and clever as Brinley is, she’s way too small to ever fight him off if things get physical.
The guy taps her shoulder and says something. Brinley shrugs him off, like she has with everyone else. The blonde doesn’t walk away, not even when she snaps some comeback at him and turns away. He grabs her waist and pulls her back against him, ignoring the way she stiffens.
Fuck. That’s not just any guy, it’s the guy who groped Mandy earlier. He must have gotten past security somehow and I know he’s not letting Brinley go that easy.
I’m across the floor before I’ve even made a conscious decision. Pure animal reflex incinerates every rational argument I’ve been making for the last hour. Brinley might not need me to save her, but she’s got me anyway.
My hand lands firmly on his shoulder as I spin him around to face me.
“I thought you were escorted outside once already tonight.” My voice sounds like icy steel, cutting in a way that surprises even me. “You wouldn’t make me call the police to remove you a second time, would you?”
The blonde’s eyes narrow. “And who the fuck are you?”
“I’m the man who owns this club.” My fingers tighten around his shoulder. “And you’re not welcome here.”
Uncertainty creeps into his eyes. What an entitled fucking asshole. “I’m a paying customer,” he says dumbly.
“I don’t need your money. I need you to leave now, before things get worse for you.”
Before my fist slams into your ugly face hard enough to shatter your goddamn jaw.