Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
CRICKET
I’ve visited a lot of strip clubs. Not for enjoyment, but mainly for work. Mafia men and gangsters love to do their dirty dealings among bare tits, I swear. There was that one time Lance and I mistook a strip joint for a bar. They served good wings, and we were high out of our minds, so we stayed for a show. But outside of that, I keep my sex life relatively private.
But never in my years of going in and out of seedy clubs have I seen something like this.
The Dollhouse. Gabriel’s private club.
I’m currently in the bathroom, washing my hands for the second time under the warm water because the lavender-honey, automatically dispensed soap smells so damn good. Actually, the entire bathroom smells like a sweet meadow. I didn’t actually use the toilet; I’m only here, stalling until Gabriel arrives, but from the looks of it, each stall has a bidet.
I take a deep breath, trying to focus my thoughts and remember the instructions Vienne gave me. Gabriel likes a classy, intelligent woman. If you’re a stripper and your tits are out, he’ll watch, but he won’t touch. A little hypocritical for a man who owns probably the fanciest fully nude club I’ve ever seen in my life. Regardless, it’s why I’m here tonight in a high-necked romper, my breasts fully tucked away.
My crimson stilettos match my silky, red romper. I hate the color red. Maybe because I’ve seen too much blood, cut too many jugulars, and stitched up too many wounds. I see red, and I can almost taste the metallic. It’s not appealing to me. But apparently it is to Gabriel.
Tonight’s mission is easy enough. I’m just supposed to capture his attention. From what Vienne told me, if I’m successful, Gabriel won’t ask for my number, nor will he give me his. Likely, he’ll give me a phone in which he can contact me on. A phone that’s being tracked. He likes to stay in control.
To me, the showmanship is obnoxious. I can’t imagine any woman likes to be waiting at the edge of her seat for a call, unable to initiate a conversation when she pleases. But it’s not like I’m actually trying to date Gabriel. I just need to get him a little turned on and loose-lipped. I’ve done this so many times before. The stakes are higher, but the mission is the same: stalk, seduce, then slay.
When my palms are clear of suds, I grab a hand towel from the warmer. Yes, a hand towel warmer, to keep your hands cozy after the luxurious lavender bath they just took. For fuck’s sake—I could get married in this bathroom and call it a luxury affair.
My stomach flips at the thought of marriage. I push it as far away from my mind as possible, still not ready to open that can of worms. The more I think about Lance, the more I have to dwell on what I almost had and then lost. I wish I could call him, but that would entail forgiving him and putting my pride aside—two acts that are not my strength.
Grabbing my sleek, black clutch, I pull out the new iPhone Vesper obtained for me. I couldn’t use my old one, and I’d need to keep rotating phones. Gabriel could easily tap my devices. I was told I needed to stay away from PALADIN headquarters as well as a precaution. Easy enough request.
Me
I’m here, waiting.
Vesper
He’s already there. Slipped in through the back.
I roll my eyes and grumble.
Me
Worst ops ever. You were supposed to alert me when it was time.
The text bubble indicating that Vesper is typing populates for a while. She must be typing out a paragraph.
Vesper
It’s time.
I laugh to myself, knowing she deleted whatever lecture she felt compelled to write.
Okay, showtime.
After exiting the bathroom, I make my way to the bar, pretending like I’m interested in a drink. Set smack-dab in the center of the room. It’s a good vantage point to scour the club.
The Dollhouse has an odd setup. I think I understand the notion behind it, and it creeps me out. In long rows on either side of the massive main floor there are large cubes lined up next to each other—maybe ten feet by ten feet each. The dancers have plenty of room to maneuver on their poles, but make no mistake, those are cages.
Each cube is completely see-through on all sides. Each cube also has a stripper pole down the center of the enclosure, but those are the only similarities. They are all decorated differently. Some look like living rooms with suede couches and sophisticated credenzas, others like bathrooms with large claw-foot tubs. Most are themed like bedrooms, though. Every type of bedroom you can imagine—from dark, to romantic, to colorful, to modern.
The cubes are rooms of a house. Perfectly staged with beautiful nude women to inhabit them. They are to be looked at, but not touched. Like dolls that are staged.
What’s really bothering me is I can’t see the doors to the enclosures. How the fuck are the women getting in and out? Are they truly trapped? I don’t see any hinges, and the glass is smooth and flush on each side. There’s a creepy chill that crawls up my spine as I desperately look for confirmation that these women are not actually caged, and at the mercy of the club managers who get to decide when they have their freedom.
I’m so hyper-focused, looking for seams in the glass or hidden door hinges I might’ve missed, that I don’t notice Gabriel until I’m standing a few feet away from him.
His area is roped off, dissuading any guests from getting too close. He’s seated in a tall, emerald-green, velvet chair. His sitting area contains two of the crushed-velvet chairs and a large black cube that’s being used as a table for his appetizers.
Everything is pointed toward a glass cube that looks like goth Barbie’s dream room, filled with chains, whips, and other various BDSM elements. That would be straightforward, but the uncomfortable part is that the bed, sheets, and throw pillows are all hot pink and frilly. There’s a poster of lollipops in a medley of pinks on the further wall—such a weird contradiction.
Gabriel must sense me staring because he glances at me in his periphery. I snap my gaze to the dancer to the left of me, cursing myself for being so unsmooth. But when I can’t help but look in Gabriel’s direction again, he’s staring at me completely unashamed.
I suck in a small breath and look away again. Goodness. His picture didn’t do him justice…and in the picture he was exquisite. If this man is truly the devil in disguise, my God , is the devil hiding behind a sexy package.
I take a few steps to the left as if I’m trying to examine the dancer closest to me from a different angle. It’s amazing how they never make eye contact. She works the pole in the green room, as I’ve dubbed it. I’m not sure what the point of this room is, but there are a lot of tall plants, and she’s wearing a thin, green thong and nothing else.
A small hand presses against my midback. I turn to see a young server. She’s dressed in all black, nearly blending in with the dark ambiance of the club. In fact, where did she even come from? She appeared out of thin air. “Miss, are you here alone tonight?”
Weird question. “Why?” I ask, defensively.
“Mr. Lochland would like to invite you to his table, but he wanted to make sure you were unattached first. He didn’t want to be disrespectful of your date if you had one.”
The devil respects monogamy? Vienne might be the crazy one here.
I glance over her shoulder at Gabriel, whose attention has gone back to the dancer in front of him. “I’m single.”
“Excellent.” She gestures behind me to the velvet ropes separating Gabriel from the rest of the commoners in the club. “Shall we?”
The server escorts me the ten feet from where I’m standing to Gabriel’s area. She unhooks the rope to let me in, then quickly fastens it back. Interesting. She doesn’t cross the rope. Instead, she asks me what I’d like to drink from the other side of the divider.
“Dirty martini, please? Extra filthy, with a couple extra olives.”
“What kind would you like? We have pimento, garlic, bleu cheese, jalape?o, brie, or feta-stuffed olives.”
“Um…” I close my eyes trying to remember what options she gave me. “That was a lot of choices.”
She holds up her hands. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring you a sampler.” She smiles.
Gabriel rises from his seat to join us. “Bring enough for two, Celeste, and a martini for me as well.”
He finds my gaze, and I give myself permission to stare back and appreciate his stunning good looks. He seemed so much younger in the picture Vienne showed us. But he’s quite a bit larger in person. He’s tall and obviously muscular even through his business suit.
“Would you like your usual, Mr. Lochland? Splash of gin and a twist?”
“Actually, I think I’ll have what she’s having. A dirty martini with…I’m sorry, how did you order that again?” A playful, teasing smirk crawls across his face, lighting his dark eyes up.
A breathy chuckle escapes my lips. “Extra filthy,” I answer.
His smile grows even more. “That’s the one. Two extra-filthy martinis, Celeste. And afterward, would you please take a dinner break and put your feet up? Order yourself a nice, thick steak with all the fixings, on the house. Okay? That’s an order.”
“You’re too kind, Mr. Lochland.”
“I’m worried about you. A fifty-hour week is too much. I’ll be talking to Dave on Monday about overworking my servers.”
Celeste tucks a lock of her brunette hair behind her hair. “All due respect, Mr. Lochland, Dave was doing me a favor. I need the overtime.”
Gabriel’s smile disappears, and he crosses his arms. “Why?”
Celeste’s eyes hit the ground. “Just some medical stuff insurance won’t cover. It’s been a mess, but I’m okay. I just need—”
“Call my office, please. The number is in the staff break room. Tell Stacia to put you on my schedule first thing Monday morning. Whatever mess you’re in, we’ll clean it up, okay?”
Her eyes well up. “Thank you so much, Mr. Lochland.” She sniffles. “Um, I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
As soon as Celeste disappears, I ask, “Well, Mr. Lochland, was that for my benefit? Or would you have done that either way?”
His flirtatious smirk returns. “Offering to help my employee was not for your benefit. I would’ve done that regardless. Now, ordering a dirty martini was absolutely for your benefit. I wanted to hear you say ‘extra filthy,’ again.”
I chuckle. “Extra filthy,” I repeat.
His dimples deepen as he laughs. He places his hand on my back perfectly. Low enough where there’s a tickle that dances up my spine. But not low enough to be sleazy. “Care to sit?” He guides me to the chair closest to us, then takes a seat in the other.
“What’s your name?”
“Maria,” I answer.
He shakes his head and holds up his finger. “No, it’s not.” I feel the heat in my cheeks. Shit. Vienne did warn me that Gabriel is a bit of a human lie detector. But I didn’t think a name would tip him off. “Why lie?” he asks.
“Why do you think I’m lying?”
He crosses his ankle over his knee and rubs his finger over his chin. “I don’t think you’re lying…I know you’re lying. I’ll admit, it’s a very big pet peeve of mine. You can either be honest with me or drink your martini elsewhere.” His jaw clenches.
Ah. There he is. The alpha I was expecting from a man of his status.
“I’m sorry. This isn’t my usual kind of club. I suppose I’m a little embarrassed and was planning on keeping my identity to myself tonight.”
“Why is that?”
“This place is beautiful, but this is voyeurism.”
Gabriel sucks in his lips and is quiet for a beat. “As is every strip club.”
“Yes, but these cages—”
“Cages?” he asks, eyes widening. “What cages?”
I point forward to the woman in front of us who is wearing leather leggings and nothing else in Barbie’s house of horrors. “The glass is sealed on all sides. They’re trapped. It’s sadistic.”
Gabriel lifts his brows, looking surprised. “That’s not usually the kind of thing my club members fixate on.”
Yeah, probably because none of them have been locked in a room, left to die, like me. “Call me ultra-feminist.”
“If you’re feminist, then you can appreciate that all of these women make six-figures for their art. I don’t hire whores. I hire dancers and artists who love to share their bodies. It’s at my insistence that they use trapdoors within the rooms, underneath the rugs,” Gabriel says, pointing to the black fuzzy area rug in the center of the room. “I don’t want my dancers to walk naked from their stages to the dressing room. They have private entry and exit away from guests. The club policy is look only, no touching. I take extra precautions to ensure that rule is respected and my girls are protected.”
Heat rises in my cheeks. I’m embarrassed because I thought the worst. Here I thought Gabriel was a little sick, when he’s actually unfathomably considerate.
We’re quiet for a while. Gabriel doesn’t look too pleased with me, and I mentally chastise myself for putting the mission at risk. He’s not going to want to see a woman who openly challenges his integrity. I need to pivot the conversation.
“My real name is Fiona,” I say. “Fiona O’Leary.” Maybe it’s not smart to give him my real name, but O’Leary is a common enough surname. Hopefully, it doesn’t raise any red flags.
“Ah, Irish name. Matches the Irish accent.”
Dammit. Does everyone hear it? Seriously?
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to give you a hard time,” I say.
His smile returns. “You didn’t, Fiona. And by the way, it’s very nice to meet you.”
Celeste returns with a large tray balanced on her palm. She unfolds a stand and sets the tray down. One by one, she hands us our martinis over the rope. She also hands Gabriel a long serving dish with half a dozen compartments, each filled with a different type of olive.
He laughs. “And dinner is served. It’s vegetarian; I hope you don’t mind.” Gabriel sets the dish down on the table between us. He winks at Celeste before she collects her things and whisks away.
“Is she not allowed behind the rope?”
Gabriel takes a sip of his martini and then sets it down. He looks unimpressed. “Typically, getting too close to me garnishes the wrong kind of attention. If they stay behind the rope, it’s clear they are my staff, and there’s less chance of some made-up romantic scandal.”
“Oh,” I say. “Perhaps I should be on the other side of the rope, then. We wouldn’t want people to get the wrong impression.”
“Being?”
“That I’m romantically interested in you.” I wink.
He laughs. “Such a shame. And here I was trying to be on my best behavior. Where did I go wrong?”
“Well, calling me a liar was a bit of a turnoff.”
He scrunches his brows at me. “Except you lied.”
“Well, yes, but no woman wants to be told the truth point-blank like that. You have to dance around the point. For example—I’m not a liar. I simply didn’t tell the truth.”
Gabriel folds his hands and nods. “Thank you for the tip. I will store that in the arsenal of tips for future flirtation.”
“Is that what you’re doing? Flirting with me?”
He clutches his chest, pretending to be wounded. “Wow. That hurts. Apparently, I’m lousy at it.”
I let out a hearty laugh. “Not at all. It was an actual question. I’ve misread men in the past.”
“At the risk of being too forward, I highly doubt that. When it comes to a woman who looks like you, there’s only one thing on a simple man’s mind, and it’s very easy to read.”
I duck my head and look up at Gabriel through my lashes. I show him a small pout. “And what about you? Are my looks all that you’re interested in?”
Gabriel smiles. “Ah, I said a simple man, didn’t I? I am a lot of things, Fiona. Simple is not one of them.”
I finally take a long swig of my martini and can’t for the life of me understand Gabriel’s distaste. This is by far the best martini I’ve ever tasted.
“Something on your mind?” He must notice my bulging eyes.
“I’m surprised you put your drink down. This is phenomenal. I’ve had quite a few filthy martinis in my life…this outshines them all.” Somewhat reluctantly, I set the martini down. I don’t want to seem too eager. Keep it classy. Vienne’s voice rings in my head. He likes sophisticated.
“I’ll pass the compliments on to my bar manager,” Gabriel says. “But I can’t drink too much. I have an important meeting later this evening.”
“After ten o’clock on a Friday evening?” Shit. I bite the inside of my lip, realizing how overly inquisitive I sound. Luckily, it seems to go over Gabriel’s head.
“I have business all around the world. Evening here, but morning for my counterparts.”
“Right,” I say, quickly accepting his answer.
Gabriel gestures to the dancer in front of us. “May I ask your opinion on something?” When I nod, he continues. “This is a new stage that we’re trying out. Sort of a play on light and sweet meets dark and dangerous. What do you think?”
I take in a deep breath as I study the confusing scene in front of me. “Would you like me to be polite, or honest?”
Gabriel grins. “Be brutal.”
“This scene makes me want to check the bathroom mirror for empty prescription pill bottles. It’s not the BDSM; that can be quite sexy. It’s just how dark and dingy everything looks. Like a prison cell in a third-world country. Add the random pink accents, and it’s giving me kidnapped, child-bride vibes. I’m not a fan.” I grimace when Gabriel’s silent. “I’m sorry, you told me to be honest,” I add.
“Fiona… I couldn’t agree more. Something wasn’t sitting right with me. It’s why I came here tonight, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I’ll call my artistic director and let him know we need to lose the ‘child-bride’ vibes.” He smirks. “And by the way, that’s what I’m interested in.”
“Pardon me?” I ask.
“I noticed you because you’re beautiful, yes. And I’ll admit, I’m very partial to red, and you happen to look magnificent in it. But I like how shocking this conversation is. Normally, people simply agree with whatever I say, placating me. From you attempting to lie to me, suggesting I’m a voyeuristic pervert, to insulting my integrity, I have to say, I’m quite taken by you, Fiona.”
“Wow, Mr. Lochland, you sound like quite a masochist.”
“Oh, I am the absolute worst kind of masochist,” he says with a wide smile. There’s a soft chime that comes from his wrist. He doesn’t check his watch, but he suddenly says, “I’m sorry. It’s time for me to get going.”
“Duty calls?” I ask, keeping my tone even, but panicking inside.
“Indeed, it does.” Gabriel rises and holds out his hand, offering me a handshake. Shit, just a handshake. I hold on to his fingers, attempting to give them a soft squeeze, but there’s nothing in his grip except formal courtesy.
I blew it. I really fucking blew it.
“It was really nice to meet you, Fiona.” Gabriel gestures to the glass cube in front of us. “And thank you for your honesty. Please enjoy your evening, and order any and everything you like. On the house.”
“Thank you,” is all I can muster out before Gabriel steps over the rope and leaves me alone in the little VIP square.
No. Shit! I can’t believe I actually fucked this up. Out of sheer frustration, I grab my martini and down the rest in one gulp before leaning forward to grab a stuffed olive. What a fucking mess.
I don’t know how much time passes as I reflect on the absolute wreckage of my life. I missed my target and jeopardized the mission. I’m brokenhearted at the news about my family, and all I want to do is call Lance. I miss my best friend, except now we’re feuding, and for some reason, every time I’m around him, I shove my foot further down my throat, taking out all my pain and anger on him.
Maybe I should just walk away. Vesper gave me an out. I should’ve just taken it.
“Um, miss?” Celeste is standing behind my chair, an empty tray in her hand, trying to get my attention. I stand, positive she’s attempting to escort me over the ropes and on my way.
“Don’t worry, I’m going.”
“No,” she insists. “Please make yourself comfortable. I’m supposed to take your dinner order before my break. Also, Mr. Lochland wanted me to give you this.”
She holds out her tray. There’s a small phone lying in the center that I didn’t notice before.
“For me?” I ask, hope filling my chest as I grab the phone.
“Yes. And what would you like for dinner? The Dollhouse has a Michelin Star chef on staff. Everything is divine.”
I tap the top of the screen, and the phone lights up.
Unknown Number
It really was a pleasure to meet you, Fiona.
Sorry to leave you in such a hurry.
May I see you again?
Relief washes over me. Mission accomplished. I don’t text back right away, remembering my orders. He likes the chase. Gabriel will get a text tomorrow. Tonight… I’m celebrating the only thing going right for me as of late.
I smile at Celeste, who is still waiting to take my order. “Surprise me.”