Chapter 6
Chapter six
Chase
“Hey Austen, can I call you back later? I’m on my way out.”
“Hot date?” He sighs. “Those were the days.”
“Don’t pretend, Austen, that you’re not blissfully happy and that you’d rather crawl through vomit than navigate New York’s dating scene.” I was the best man at his wedding. I know how gaga he is for his wife.
“If you must know,” I continue, stretching out in the back seat. “I’m heading to Velvet Lounge. Word on the street is that Elliot’s been cozying up to Monarch, and we both know whispers like that usually start at Velvet. Figured it’s about time I paid a visit.”
“Christ, I should’ve known Elliot Hargreaves would worm his way in.” A loud crash is followed by a shriek, then Austen’s voice rises. “Santi, I told you—no rollerblades on the table!”
Austen lets out a weary sigh as world war three plays out in the background. “Look, I’ve got to go.”
I smirk. “Good luck, buddy. See you Monday.” I hang up just as my driver eases to a stop outside Velvet Lounge, the soft glow of the entrance promising an evening of information and, hopefully, a damn good whiskey.
Friday nights usually mean two things to me.
Fine dining followed by fine fucking. But, lately, I’m not in the mood.
Not to mention Elliot, as part of his lifelong quest to be a giant pain in my ass, is determined to steal the Monarch contract from under our noses.
I know for a fact that big players in the Monarch team are regulars here.
The Velvet Lounge is an exclusive members-only gentleman’s club with a door policy that demands a ten-digit bank balance, a title that turns heads, and an ego to match.
It’s the kind of place that gives Elliot Hargreaves a boner.
Dark mahogany stretches as far as the eye can see, the rich scent of leather and expensive cigars thick in the air, mingling seamlessly with the stench of old money.
Here, power moves are made under the veil of low lighting and smooth jazz, where fortunes shift with a firm handshake and a well-aged whiskey.
Navigating through the cluster, I nod occasionally to familiar faces and settle into my usual corner seat, offering a clear view of the room. I spot Monarch’s people and nod in their direction, but I don’t move towards them yet. I play the long game—always.
Lacey, my usual server, is already heading my way, hips swaying with practiced grace. ‘Whiskey?’ she drawls, the word dripping with contrived suggestiveness, as she slides a glass toward me without waiting for a response.
“And a cigar,” I say, loosening my tie. “Something good.”
She leaves, quickly returning with a Montecristo, bending over to light it, ensuring she gives me a generous eyeful of her cleavage.
She’s never subtle about what she wants.
And she wants a lot more, but I’ve got enough distractions outside of here.
Velvet Lounge is where I come to unwind, not add complications.
“You should let me take the edge off for you sometime,” she purrs. Lacey is the best-looking server here, and she knows it, but I just smile, sipping my whiskey.
“I’m good,” I reply, my eyes drifting around the room.
And then I see him. Elliot Hargreaves, coiled around a bar stool like the snake he is. Frankly, it’s a surprise his tongue isn’t already hanging out of Monarch’s ass. He’s talking to the girl behind the bar. I blink twice, just to make sure I’m not imagining it.
Violet.
A black ribbon holds her honey-blonde hair in a high ponytail and she looks too damn tempting in that Velvet Lounge uniform.
The tight satin top clings to her like it’s spray-painted on, paired with a short, black, gym-style pleated skirt and red-hot pants underneath.
Her full lips, painted bright red, draw attention with every movement.
She’s listening intently to whatever bullshit Elliot is spouting, her hands moving with practiced ease as she wipes down the counter, sliding a drink in front of someone without ever breaking eye contact with him.
Never once in my life have I been jealous of Elliot. Until now.
Lacey follows my gaze with a knowing smirk. “Didn’t know you liked them sweet.”
“Is she new?” I ask, ignoring the comment and keeping my tone casual, though my pulse has kicked up a notch.
“Usually, she works weekends only,” Lacey replies, sliding into the booth across from me like she belongs there. “Covering tonight for a friend, apparently. You interested?”
I take another drink, watching the way Violet tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the way she listens to Elliot with that polite, distant smile.
“I don’t mix business with... this.” I wave a hand vaguely, but the words feel hollow even as I say them.
Lacey laughs softly, like she doesn’t believe me for a second. “Could’ve fooled me.”
The longer I watch, the more irritated I get. Hargreaves is leaning in too close, and she’s letting him. Not in a way that means anything, but enough to make me grit my teeth.
I force my eyes away, taking a slow drag from the cigar. “What’s she like?” I ask, keeping my tone light.
Lacey’s watching me with interest now, toying with the edge of a cocktail napkin. “Violet?” she muses. “Smart. Keeps her head down. Doesn’t let guys like Elliot get too close, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
That shouldn’t make me feel better, but it does.
I glance back just in time to see Elliot grab hold of her wrist. I see the unease in her eyes, but she keeps the polished smile on her face as she tries to pull it back.
Elliot doesn’t take the hint and leans over to mumble in her ear.
Hot rage burns my senses, and before I think, I’m out of my seat and right up in Elliot’s face.
He drops her hand the second he sees me.
“Elliot, what a pleasant surprise,” I drawl. “I hope you’re not bothering this lady.”
Elliot turns his slimy smile towards Violet. “I’m not bothering you, am I?”
“No,” she says, a slight hesitation in her tone, her gaze still locked on me like I’m a figment of her imagination.
“Whiskey, please, Violet,” I ask, keeping my laser focus on Elliot. Although he tries to hide it, I can tell the blood-thirst in my eyes is setting him on edge. Violet disappears to prepare my drink, leaving us alone.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize I was playing with your toy,” he sneers, his insipid eyes gleaming like he’s finally found my weakness. I picture my hands around his scrawny neck, squeezing until I wipe that creepy smile from his face.
I don’t dignify his comment with a response. “Why don’t you run along and find someone else to play with before you spend the rest of your life drinking all your meals through a straw.”
He shakes his head, tutting with exaggeration.
“So touchy, Knight, but I forgot. You don’t like to share.
” He slithers down off the stool, his head tilted toward the Monarch team.
“Oh, what a surprise,” he crows, his tone sickly sweet.
“Just the people I wanted to talk to. We’ve been getting along famously.
I think I’ll offer them a drink.” I know I’m revealing a chink in my armor, but I can’t bear this creep even breathing the same air as Violet.
“See you later, Violet,” Elliot simpers. “You’re working this weekend, aren’t you?”
She nods her head, her eyes skipping nervously between me and Elliot. “I’ll be here. You have a nice evening, Elliot.”
She won’t. Violet doesn’t know it yet, but this is her last night here.
“Such a shame you never come on the weekends,” Elliot leers as he moves toward his next target. “You’re missing out.” He punctuates it with a lingering appraisal of Violet’s body that has me clenching my fists.
I’m one second away from punching this cretin in the face.
I hate to admit it, but Violet just made me drop the ball so hard you could hear the echo in China.
In any other circumstance, I would have used the opportunity to approach Monarch while he was busy with Violet, but the second I saw him lay a finger on her, I acted on an impulse I couldn’t control. Something I never do.
“Your whiskey,” Violet says, sliding it toward me, her tone clipped.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I growl, taking a large slug to steady my racing heart.
“I’m working. What does it look like?” She wipes down the counter, a frown creasing her brow. “Why did you have to scare Elliot away? He always pays very generous tips.”
I swallow back the bile at the thought of her having any kind of relationship with him.
“So you’re happy to let him touch you?”
“Why do you care what I do?” She exhales with frustration. “I can look after myself, and if there’s a problem, I’ll speak to my supervisor.” She raises her chin, her green eyes shining with a mixture of confusion and defiance.
Why do I care? It’s a good question I can’t answer.
And now the sharp pain in my gut, knowing I have no control over this woman.
Because you want to control her, a dark, twisted voice rings in my head.
I want her complete submission. In my bed.
Naked. Under me. Her mouth begging for every part of me.
“How do you know him?” I ask, sidestepping her question.
She rolls her eyes with impatience, sarcasm laced in her words. “We go yachting on the weekends. How do you think? From working here.” She reaches down under the bar, retrieving a notebook. “If you must know. I keep notes on all my regulars. I’ve got to earn my tips somehow.”
She flicks through the pages before stopping, tapping her finger against it. “Here we are, Elliot Hargreaves. Likes football, supports the Jets. Avid horse rider. Drinks Cognac. Enjoys fishing...”
“He enjoys fishing?” I snort. “Are you sure?”
“Yep, my notebook never lies.”
“What else does it say about him?”
“Erm...let me see.” Her mouth twitches with a half-smile, her finger sliding down the list until she pauses. “Oh yes, here we are...loves to be spanked hard with a big paddle.”