Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
He stood at the office window, broad shoulders rigid beneath the sharp cut of his dark shirt, one hand braced against the glass as he stared out over the bleaker side of Old Montreal.
You’d never know that two blocks over was a completely different part of Old City.
Gone were the postcard streets tourists crowded for cobblestone charm and glowing café lights.
This stretch of the city wore its age harder—weathered brick buildings stained by decades of rain, rust bleeding down fire escapes, alleyways choked with dumpsters and shadows that seemed to linger too long.
Flickering neon signs buzzed against the gray afternoon, casting weak color over cracked pavement slick from an earlier rain. On these streets, people moved with their heads down, collars turned up against the cold, disappearing into smoke-stained doorways and forgotten corners.
The city looked tired from there. Hard. Like it had learned long ago not to trust promises.
His reflection ghosted faintly in the glass, jaw tight, eyes distant as if he were looking beyond the streets entirely—past the decay, past the noise, toward something only he could see.
The clinic sat quiet at the moment, but Montreal never really slept.
Even here, on its rougher edge, the city breathed in sirens, muffled voices, and the low hum of trouble waiting for the dark.
Pushing away from the window he closed the blinds, shutting out the cracked pavements and dull facades of the aging buildings.
He sat back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the desk as his thoughts swirled.
Razor realized his feelings for Lottie ran deep.
He hated not seeing her at work every day.
It actually grated on his nerves when Hemlock talked about them working together.
He’d taken a good look at himself and had made up his mind to approach her about trying another date.
It had been a while since he felt this kind of pull toward someone.
Every time he thought about her, he couldn’t help but feel a mix of frustration and hope.
The distance between them wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, too.
And the last thing he wanted to do was push her away by rushing into something she wasn’t ready for.
He knew she had her hesitations when it came to intimacy, but something in him said it was time to break down her walls, not with force, but with a little more thoughtfulness, a little more control over the situation.
The idea of The Red Door had lingered in his mind for a while.
A place where control wasn’t about domination, but about mutual understanding and boundaries.
Maybe that was what she needed: a space where she could feel safe enough to explore what she really wanted, without the pressure of jumping into anything too fast. No expectations.
Just options. Razor had learned that sometimes people needed time to find their own rhythm.
He could suggest them going. Not as a demand, but as an option. A place where things could unfold in her time, on her terms. The worst thing that could happen? She could say no. She could back away, and that would hurt like hell, but at least he’d know he gave her the space to decide for herself.
The last thing he wanted was to rush her, but there was a gnawing ache in his chest every time he thought about how much he missed her. And that was something he couldn’t ignore. Not much longer.
With a deep breath, Razor made his decision. He’d reach out to her, invite her to accompany him to the club. As viewers, not participants. He’d let her choose. Let her decide if she was ready for something more. It was the best he could do.
The worst that could happen? He could lose her, but at least he'd know he'd given it his all. Without letting himself think about it any longer, Razor pulled out his phone before he had the chance to talk himself out of it.
His thumb hovered over the screen for half a second before he typed out the message.
Razor: Lottie, when you get time, give me a call. Thanks, Razor.
The response came almost immediately.
Lottie: I’m available now.
His stomach dropped. Well, hell. This was either going to go really well or end with him getting kissed off quicker than he’d expected. Dragging a hand over the back of his neck, Razor turned his chair away from the desk.
The phone barely rang once when she answered, “Hello?”
The rasp in her voice hit him low and hard, sliding straight through his chest and shooting straight to his cock. Christ. He’d forgotten what her voice did to him.
“Lottie.” His tone came out rougher than intended, thick with everything he’d been trying not to think about since the last time he saw her.
There was a brief pause on the line.
“Is there something wrong at the clinic?” Concern colored her words instantly. “Do I need to come in?”
The fact that her first thought was work and helping made something tighten in his chest.
“No.” Razor leaned forward with his elbows braced against his knees. Suddenly, a conversation with rival clubs sounded easier than this. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Oh.” Relief softened her voice.
He blew out a slow breath. “I was wondering…” he paused, choosing his words carefully for once in his damn life, “...if maybe we could give a date another go.”
Silence. Not awkward silence. A surprised silence.
“What do you think?” he added quickly.
“Umm…” Lottie sounded completely caught off guard. “Do you think that’s a good idea, Razor?”
He leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling as he listened to the soft sound of her breathing over the line.
“I think,” he said slowly, “we owe ourselves another shot. Last time didn’t exactly go the way either of us planned.
A soft huff of nervous laughter came through the speaker.
“How would you feel about accompanying me to The Red Door?” he hesitated just long enough to make sure she heard the next part. “As spectators. Not participants.”
The sharp intake of breath on the other end had him grimacing. Hell. “I thought…”
“Yes.”
The word burst out of her fast enough to stop him cold.
Lottie cleared her throat. “Yes, “ she repeated, quieter this time, sounding almost embarrassed by how quickly she’d answered. “I’d like that.”
The tension in Razor’s shoulders eased a fraction. “You’re sure?” he asked, wanting to give her an out if she needed one. “No pressure, Lottie.”
“I’m sure.” He could hear the smile creeping into her voice now. “Just tell me when… and what you want me to wear.”
That image hit him harder than it should have. Razor dragged a hand over his jaw, trying to keep his head where it belonged.
“I’ll make sure you’re off work,” he said. “Then we’ll figure the rest out. How’s that sound?”
“Perfect.”
A beat passed between them. “Thank you for calling and asking me, Razor.”
Something about the sincerity in her voice settled deep under his skin. “Have a nice evening, Lottie.”
“You, too.”
After ending the call, Razor set the phone onto the desk and leaned back in his chair. The hard part was over.
Now he just had to not screw it up.