6. Not tonight
CHAPTER SIX
not tonight
AIDEN
Fuck. That didn’t go very well, and the worst part is that she’s absolutely right. Us dating would look bad for her. I might need to iron out a few kinks before I ask her again.
Anything but have that conversation with Mum.
She won’t understand. This fear she shared with me yesterday, of me being a lonely, sad party boy who’ll never grow up, will be solidified. Especially if she catches me in this lie. This pathetic lie. She’ll never trust me again when I tell her I’m happy.
Of course I am. Look at my life!
I do want to find someone, though. That life-altering love. Like what Mum and Dad had. And I don’t understand why it’s so bloody hard.
But generally I’m fine.
I can’t have Mum focusing on me when she should enjoy her second chance at love, but that’s exactly what she’ll do. It’s what she’s always done.
“You okay there, champ?” Elliott asks as we walk down the stairs, on our way to greet the rest of the hospitality-focused investors of the Aurellan Group before the big event starts.
We take every opportunity to make them feel special and discuss further growth before we open the doors to an event.
And before it’s too loud to talk business.
“Yeah,” I answer after a beat.
“Have you finally told her you’ve had your eye on her since day one?”
My eyes snap to him. What?
“You need to recalibrate your observational skills.”
“So you haven’t?”
I shrug. I suppose she’s shown up in a fantasy here and there. The way she presses her lips together when I call her Linny, or how her eyes shine when she sees something she likes. Those blushing ears I’ve just learned about.
“If you’re not seeing her, can I?”
I stop short and grab his sleeve. “Don’t even think about it.”
Elliott laughs and I let go of his shirt, my mind reeling.
“I was joking, just helping you open your eyes,” he says, smiling at me.
“Fucker,” I mutter, shaking my head as I straighten his sleeve. “Sorry.”
“You’ve told her something, by the looks of it?” Elliott presses. “You seemed nervous around her today.”
“It’s complicated.”
I could’ve given him a simple ‘no’ but I didn’t want to.
The handful of investors, minus Mark, because he’s arriving with Rey for the official opening, are already in the Diamond Lounge with a glass of champagne.
My hostess knows the drill. She’s flanking the door, ensuring I’m ready to take over.
I nod a thank you to her and she returns the gesture before leaving the room.
I greet everyone, shaking hands, patting shoulders, throwing around the details I remember about all of them—children, wives, girlfriends, new business moves—whatever the conversation calls for.
“Aiden, darling,” a soft female voice sounds behind me, and I turn.
“Venetia, Rupert,” I say. “I didn’t expect you here tonight, but what a lovely surprise.
” I dip down, accepting the kiss on the cheek from my self-proclaimed godmother and a handshake from her husband, Rupert.
He’s never been as fatherly as Venetia has been motherly, but I really don’t mind that.
He’s as dry as they come. But I appreciate his investment in my company.
I appreciate even more that he’s not a Diamond member because, as much as I love them both, I don’t need Mum’s friends all over my favourite space.
“We weren’t planning on coming,” Rupert says. “But Venetia read something in her news blog thingy and said we couldn’t miss this talked-about event when we’re invited. Always have to keep an ear to the ground, this one.”
“I’m old and bored, Rupert, what else am I to do?
” Venetia deadpans, swatting a hand towards him.
“Now, this design is delightful, Aiden. I haven’t been in here before.
” She scans the room, and I watch her as she takes in the fireplace, the red velvet armchairs in the corner, and the turquoise Chesterfield sofa on the other side.
She walks over to the light sage green wall covered in paintings and photos with intentionally mismatched, ornamental frames.
Her hand travels over the hint of texture on the wall, before it drops back to her side.
“Did your designer do all your rooms, or is this someone else?”
“Linnea?” I ask.
Venetia nods. Eyes wide and eyebrows raised, her gaze now lands on the elegant chandelier above me, before roaming over the dark green and off-white coffered ceiling.
“Do you enjoy working with her?” she asks.
“I do.”
Rupert returns from his networking conversations. “What are you talking about?” he asks.
“Linnea Fredriksen did this room,” Venetia answers. “Isn’t it splendid?”
“I thought you turned her down.”
“I did.”
“Why did you turn her down?” I ask. “If you don’t mind telling me.” I recall the evening last week when Linnea seemed so deflated. This must be why.
Venetia’s eyes meet mine, her nostrils flaring when she breathes in, and I wonder if I’ve asked too much.
“Well,” she starts, exhaling for a long time.
“An interior designer would be very close to me for months. I need someone I’m comfortable with.
Someone who’s genuine, not performing.” She sighs.
“It’s so tiring constantly having people behave how they assume I want them to.
I crave enthusiasm. Someone who’s passionate about design and not … transactional, or too structured.”
“Does Linnea’s design give you ‘transactional’?
I understand where you’re coming from, but I can’t fault her on anything,” I say, and a memory of her first visit to The Orion floats back.
Linnea walking through what is now the Green Room and the Pink Room, pointing and waving, talking fast, ideas storming.
Her mind clearly racing and bubbling over.
She wanted to cover the ceiling of one room with sculpted branches and fake leaves, giving it a forest canopy effect (which she did).
“And she’s full of energy and enthusiasm when she gets into the flow of it. I’ve seen her in action, and it’s quite something,” I add, allowing the smile that tugs at the sides of my mouth to fully unfurl at the thought.
“Hm,” is all Venetia says, but she’s still eyeing up the design.
“Lady Beauchamp,” Elliott’s voice comes from my side. I didn’t notice him arriving next to me. “I couldn’t help but overhear. Are you familiar with Hotel Fabiano? Soho?”
Venetia shakes her head, but gestures for him to go on.
“That’s Linnea’s design. I didn’t work directly with her, but I’ve invested in the hotel, so I was close to the renovation project.
Anyway, I was there one day she was doing a walk-through with her team, and there was nothing performative about what I saw.
They were asking her questions, they discussed and threw ideas around with her, they laughed together.
I watched them for a while, and they were hanging on her every word.
I made a note of wanting to work with her myself, although I’ve not had the pleasure to yet. ”
Elliott’s words bring up the image of him watching her and thinking about her. My chest tightens, and I flex my fingers before balling my hands into fists while Elliott touching Linnea plays out in my mind’s eye.
Venetia sighs loudly, bringing me back, and I shake my head.
What the fuck was that?
“Alright, boys, I hear you. Perhaps I’ll give her a chance.”
Rupert huffs. “Henry said she’s always just done what he told her to. How can you trust her without him?”
Fucking Henry, is he spreading shit about Linnea?
I grit my teeth at the sound of his name. The memories from Halloween are still fresh. The anger I felt towards him that night simmers in my gut and I bite down.
“Henry is a slippery snake, Venetia,” I say. “I’d not breathe in the same space as him, let alone allow his opinions any weight.”
“How’s that?”
“He’s a ruthless businessman who just took over half of his ex-wife’s company, left her in debt, and is clearly speaking poorly of her behind her back. I’d not trust anything he says.”
“But if he built the company, isn’t that his right?” Rupert asks.
“Linnea is the true talent behind LEAF Design, and I can confirm Elliott’s observations. She’s a great leader for her team. They always go above and beyond.”
“What about the group that left her?” Venetia interjects.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Henry paid them off, or promised something Linnea couldn’t give. Either way, it says more about his ruthlessness than her abilities.”
“If she’s in debt and struggling, why aren’t you lot helping her out?” Rupert asks, pointing at me and Elliott.
“She’ll want to succeed on her own, and I respect that,” I say.
In my side-vision, Elliott’s studying my face. He’s analysing me the way he always does, the hobby-psychologist or whatever. Wondering where I got my insights from, perhaps. I don’t need to share that I learned this from when Linnea turned me down earlier.
“Well, you’ve given me something to think about, although I’m not sure what to believe.”
I decide a change of topic is necessary, and announce it’s time for everyone to join us on the first floor for an exclusive first-look at the newly developed Elven forest.
Once we’ve given the small group the tour and let them test the AR glasses, we’re done with the pre-event, and Elliott, Sebastian, and I head to the staff rooms to get into costume for the main event.
Elliott’s wide frame moves into my line of sight, and the image of him with Linnea—although entirely made up by my weird brain—kicks up something in me again.
“I didn’t know you worked with Linnea at Hotel Fabiano,” I say, that adrenaline rushing through me.
“It’s not a secret. And I didn’t work with her. Aiden, what’s the problem right now?”
“Ugh, who made you so fucking observant?” I wave a hand and clock the hurt expression on Elliott’s face at my irrational outburst. “Fuck… Sorry, man. I’m just … a bit off.”
Elliott puts a hand on my shoulder, and I stop walking. “It’s alright,” he says. “Whatever’s bothering you, I hope you’ll resolve it. She’s a lovely girl.”
“Yeah,” I say, and a tightness in my chest tells me how much I agree with that statement. Fuck.
“Ready to watch Mark start his next chapter on the red carpet?” Sebastian asks from my other side. “I never thought Mark would be the first one of the group to propose to someone.”
“Yeah, me neither,” I say, but I hear what Sebastian meant to say. Of the four of us, I was meant to be the first one, because I’ve always been the romantic. But I’m thrilled Mark is proposing to Rey, so I’m not sure why my stomach feels so heavy.
Instead of continuing the AR party and fantasy-themed celebration of Mark and Rey’s engagement, I find myself back in regular clothes outside Le Lounge.
It’s darker than usual tonight. The light above the black front door is out, so it’s even more inconspicuous.
Le Lounge has never been mentioned in any blog, press, or other media. There are plenty of sex clubs in the city—with websites and open application forms—but Le Lounge is only by invitation and a seriously tedious vetting process. Wonder if I can learn something from their methods.
But not tonight.
This is my private space.
Of course, some of the clientele from The Orion also frequent this club, but there’s an unspoken rule that we don’t interact when here. There’s no business on the agenda. No one I need to charm.
The hostess greets me with a nod and her casual gaze. That woman knows more than is healthy for one person, but she’s good at pretending she doesn’t.
“Good evening, Rita.”
“Good evening, Mr A,” she says, reaching for the phone I hold out for her. My shoulders drop an inch as she slides it into a velvet pouch and tucks it away in a cubbyhole behind her.
Aiden Aurellan, CEO, is on hold.
“How is the event going?” I ask, jutting my chin towards the thick door behind Rita.
“Excellent, sir. I’m sure you’ll have the most wonderful time.”
“Good.”
“Will you require a suite as usual?”
“Most likely.”
Rita nods and hands me a key. “Suite three.”
I make my way through the dimly lit basement. The speakeasy style is deliberate: there are fake windows painted with a view of London, dark brown Chesterfield couches, exposed brick walls, and dark blue carpet underfoot.
The darkness is one thing I like about Le Lounge. The light is low enough in here that you can only distinguish someone’s features when you’re up close.
There’s no need to perform. No need to pretend it’s anything else, because we’re all here for the same reasons. What we share is contained between these four walls, mutually agreed as just sex between peers. No one expects or wants more from me and I can enjoy guilt-free physical release.
I let out a long breath, scanning the room.
A woman with her back to me draws my attention. Long blond hair cascades down her back, ending above a generous backside.
Perfect.
I weave my way towards her through the people talking across tall tables, past a couple already starting their foreplay on the couch. There’s one guy I recognise from somewhere but can’t place, and a shadow cabinet member. She gives me the slightest wink as I pass.
I walk up next to the blonde, and she tilts her chin up to meet my eyes. Her face is narrow, rather than square, but she’ll do.
The chit-chat is short, we don’t get into work or life details here. She could be anything from a CEO to a human rights lawyer, it doesn’t matter—we’re both here for the simplicity.
I lean in, whispering in her ear, dropping a hand to the dip in her waist, and she responds by arching against me.
Her kiss is hungry, possessive, and just what I need tonight.
Once in my suite, she slips out of her dress and underwear. Her solid hips and that soft curve of her waist make my dick twitch.
“So,” she says, sitting down on the foot end of the bed, spreading her legs. “Do you like to watch?”
She slides her hand down her stomach to her already swollen clit, watching me watch her.
“Keep going,” I rasp, and she lays back on the bed, her blond waves fanning out around her.
I undo my pants to let my cock out, but I’m not as hard as I should be.
What the hell?
Is it… No.
No, it’s a coincidence.
I’ve fucked blondes before. Plenty of times. Get a grip.
The woman’s pink pussy is glistening with arousal, her moans fill the room, but I still don’t feel it.
Linnea.
Would she moan like that or just whimper?
Fuck. No.
I shouldn’t go down this route. Linnea deserves better than me perving over her in my head. Why the hell is she in my head like this?
Luckily, the woman can’t see me as she’s reclined on the bed, going to town on herself. I do up my trousers again, tucking my shirt in.
It’s fine. All fine. I’m just having a rough day.
“Are you okay?” the blonde asks after finishing, shifting to the edge of the bed.
“I am, thank you, that was … beautiful.” I straighten my sleeves and clear my throat. “That was all.”
“You don’t want to fuck?” she asks, eyeing me up and down, a frown forming.
“Not tonight.”