Chapter Three #2
He navigated the edge of the dance floor, nodding to familiar faces as he passed.
Several subs lowered their eyes respectfully as he approached, and a few Doms raised their glasses in greeting.
The sense of community had always been what drew him to Club Sensation, even when he wasn’t in the mood to play.
“Mind if I join you?” Avery asked as he reached Marc and Foster’s table.
Marc looked up with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, his face lighting up. “There he is. I was beginning to think you’d stood us up.”
“Just running a bit late.” They all exchanged hellos, and Avery settled into a chair across from them. “Unexpected complications at the hotel.”
A furrow marred Marc’s brow. “Still can’t find a new head chef?”
He gestured somewhere behind Avery’s line of vision to someone Avery assumed was a server.
Avery tried not to groan, the hurried meeting with his chef buddy gnawing at him. He’d been way too distracted and cut it short.
“No, that’s still an issue. This was something else.”
He hesitated, not wanting to drag everyone down with his work problems. But his friend was a damn good psychologist.
“Go on,” Marc encouraged. “I can tell it’s weighing on your mind.”
Avery glanced at Foster, who had lifted his head from Marc’s shoulder and was watching him with curious eyes. The young man’s face still held that post-scene glow, relaxed and content in a way that reminded Avery that he hadn’t brought a sub to that blissed-out stage in ages.
“One of my employees was living in the hotel.” Avery sighted. “In a storage room in the basement. When I went to talk to him about it, he ran.”
Marc’s eyebrows shot up. “Ran? As in, literally fled?”
“Literally.” Avery rubbed his temple, the memory of Eli's panicked expression still vivid. “The kid looked terrified. Not just embarrassed about being caught, but genuinely afraid. Like he was running from something more dire than losing his job.”
A server approached their table, and Marc ordered two glasses of seltzer water with lime. Avery showed the server his bracelet, then requested a double scotch, neat. The amber liquid would help dull the edges of his preoccupation with the mystery of Eli Newman.
Foster shifted in his seat, then leaned his elbows on the table. The young man narrowed his eyes, and his gaze was trained on something, or perhaps nothing, behind Avery.
“What kind of afraid?” Foster tapped his fingers, his eyebrows dipping low. “I mean, was it actual fear for his safety?”
Avery replayed the scene in his mind, which only added to his anxiety about his missing employee. Eli’s eyes, the way he'd backed into the washing machine as if Avery might attack him, the tremor in his voice when he’d mentioned the alternative to living in a storage room.
“Definitely fear for his safety. When I asked about his living situation, he said sleeping in the storage room was better than the alternative. Then he bolted.” Avery took a deep breath, his shoulders tense with the memory of Eli’s panicked flight.
“I've dealt with staff caught in difficult circumstances before, but this was different. Something about his reaction felt extreme.”
“I agree that he might be in trouble of some sort,” Marc said, his therapist's voice slipping into the conversation. “Were you able to discover anything about him from his employment file?”
“Not much. His application was filled with fake information, according to my assistant. The address he listed doesn’t exist, and the references don’t check out.
I’m honestly surprised he got hired in the first place.
” Avery shook his head. “That’ll be a whole other issue for me to deal with.
But regardless, it's as if he wanted to remain invisible.”
The server returned with their drinks, setting the amber liquid in front of Avery. He lifted the glass to his lips, savoring the smoky burn as it slid down his throat.
Marc leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. “Someone running a con doesn't usually sleep in a basement storage room. That suggests desperation rather than criminal intent.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.” Avery took another sip of his drink, the warmth spreading through his chest. “The housekeeping manager said his work was exemplary. Never complained, always early, stayed late. That doesn’t fit the profile of someone trying to scam the system.”
Foster straightened in his chair. “What if he’s running from someone? Like an abusive ex or something?”
The suggestion hit Avery with unexpected force. He’d considered financial troubles, immigration issues—even minor legal problems. But the idea of Eli fleeing from an abuser made his jaw clench. The memory of Eli’s eyes wide with terror suddenly made more sense.
“Whatever it is, his fear was genuine.” Avery set his glass down with more force than he intended. “I can't stop thinking about him out there, alone and scared.”
Marc studied him with the careful gaze of someone who made his living reading people.
“I can see that,” Marc said gently. “You've mentioned his fear several times in the past five minutes, and your jaw keeps tightening every time you talk about him running away.”
Heat crept up Avery’s neck, and the scotch burned in his stomach as he shifted in his chair. Marc’s perceptive observation made him feel exposed in a way he didn’t appreciate.
“I'm concerned about a member of my staff,” Avery said, his voice coming out more defensive than he intended. “That's what good employers do.”
Foster glanced between them, then reached for his seltzer. The ice clinked against the glass as he took a careful sip, clearly sensing the tension that had settled over their table.