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Hostility flames in his dark eyes, and I hide my smirk as he stands. Even though he shares the Tate name and the influence that comes with it, Preston doesn’t have a chance against his father. With a muttered farewell, he stalks across the restaurant.
As I turn to watch him go, my attention is caught by the two men seated at the table behind me. I recognize both. There’s the well-dressed and affable Marcus Walker-White, my new partner in Fantasies Nightclub. But my gaze hits the other, with his shaggy dark curls and black-framed glasses: Maximus Steele, of Sandflower Steeles, and my rival in the Tingel Island negotiations.
I give them both a quick nod and turn back to Noam, fighting the urge to glance over at them again. Not that there should be any urge—I’m here to talk business with my mentor, not make eyes at two playboys who are no doubt charging that bottle of Falleto Barolo to their fathers.
I look over at my shoulder at them. Marcus is in mid-sentence, but Maximus still studies me with an expression of admiration. It’s the look of a man attracted to a woman, not a rival in a very lucrative business. Either the man thinks with his dick or he has no clue I’m trying to buy Tingel Island out from under him.
“So the club?” Noam asks again, pulling my attention from the table. “Did they let you invest?”
“They did,” I report. “I firmed it up last month.”
“And you got the seventeen percent, like I said?”
“Of course. They tried to get me down to ten, wanted to compromise at fifteen, but I held firm, just like you said.”
He smiles proudly. “Good girl.”
Those around us see the older man puffed with pride at being out with such a young woman, not to mention a beautiful one. They look at me and assume I’m there for what I can get from an old man, the presents and fancy dinners.
Noam admits he’s proud to be seen with me, and I do want something from him, but it’s not presents.
Although he’s never shied away from giving me those.
I want his business smarts and savvy. I want him to teach me more, to help guide me through the deals and acquisitions as I amass my own fortune.
I have no need of presents from him.
Noam has known me since my early days at the Spider’s Den. He came to see me dance, paid an astronomical amount for me to sit with him for the rest of the night, his possessive hand on my thigh. It was the way he touched me. He became a regular, coming in with work colleagues and clients, and paying enough for me to stay by his side for the entire night.
More than enough.
It became a routine: normally, I had been one of the later dancers to come on, but would get bumped up when Noam came in because management could take a cut of whatever Noam paid me. I would sit beside him in the booth in my tiny skirt and even tinier top as the conversation flowed past.
And I would listen. To everything.
Six months later, I asked a question and Noam took notice.
A week later, he came in by himself. After I danced, he paid the money and sat across from me and started asking me questions.
I knew I was beautiful since people had told me that from the time I was a little girl. I knew I looked good on stage, the ballet training I got before my mother passed giving me an edge over the girls who hopped up on stage and shook their titties without an ounce of finesse or talent.
But no one had ever taken notice of my brains. I knew I was smart, but being treated like I was, that my opinions mattered and my questions were valid, was a heady experience.
Noam started coming more frequently, buying me dinners when I had a night off. He taught me about fine dining and wines. He gave me advice on fashion and what clothes to buy, and instructed me on how to walk with poise and confidence. He introduced me to his friends; of course, they thought Noam bought me for the fun, and no one took me seriously.
They began to when, at twenty-four, I bought the Spider’s Den.
The next year, I bought Pink Gardens, our competition.
I had started an escort service a few years earlier; the other dancers were always being offered money for sex, so I took advantage of it. I organized, named a firm price per hour, used one of the bouncers as muscle, and took ten percent from the girls. In return, I made sure the clients treated them well, paid upfront, and took care of any issues.
Over the years, I added to my stable of girls and increased my commission. At twenty-seven, after taking a computer class that taught coding and how to create websites, I quit working at the club and set up E, an exclusive escort service.
It was prostitution, but it was high-class. And those who worked for the E site always, unlike me, had a choice to join this life. There was no one underaged, never any sex trafficking—in fact, with my reach and knowledge, I helped Interpol break two trafficking rings. There will always be a desire to buy sex, and I made sure those under me who sold it were well taken care of.
I kept buying clubs, and E became worldwide. I curated the most beautiful women—and men—for very powerful and influential clients.
I asked the right questions and took note of their answers. After a few years, the information I had was worth more than the business.
