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He wisely chooses not to question her and points down the long, narrow room to the back.
The strip club is not crowded, nor is it any fancier on the inside. The usual motley crew of aging men are seated around a pink-lit stage on which two tattooed and bored-looking strippers lazily gyrate to the beat of low-budget techno. Why a multi-millionaire like Kara Kon is choosing to hang out here is beyond me, but I also have never claimed to understand the young.
The strippers perk up slightly at the sight of me. With the desperation of tipped workers on a bad shift, each tries to outdo the other in beckoning me to their sections.
It is pretty difficult to embarrass me, and normally this wouldn’t throw me off my game so hard. But the thought of Evie beside me as these strippers make “come hither” gestures my way as they shake their ample tits is definitely far from ideal. I try not to look at them as we make our way down what has to be the longest room on the planet.
“Aw,” Evie says, tugging on my sleeve and forcing my eyes toward the stage. “You’re disappointing them.”
The strippers are making pouty faces. One pretends to dry a tear with a dollar bill.
I can’t help it. I flash a grin down at Evie and say, “The day probably passes faster when they’ve got an attractive customer.”
Evie groans and rolls her eyes. “More like they smelled money the second you set foot in here.”
“Hey,” I say defensively. “There’s more to me than money.”
“Not to them,” she replies. “You can test the theory,” she adds. “After we talk to Kara, let’s see if you can get a free lap dance.”
There’s only one woman in this place who I’d like to see grinding her cute little ass on my cock. The thought of Evie in fishnets, bending over, combined with this sexually charged environment threatens to make me hard. I try desperately to think unsexy thoughts as going into this meeting with an erection straining my suit pants isn’t quite the power move it sounds like it would be.
Kara Kon and her entourage are in a VIP section in the back of the club. The music is significantly quieter here, and there aren’t any strippers hanging around. Small miracles.
A literal giant is standing in front of the velvet ropes with his hands clasped behind him, sunglasses on. He’s four inches taller than me and frowns at the sight of us. The latter I’m used to, the former I’m not. I let Evie do the talking for now.
“Hello, we have an appointment,” she says in the same tone she’d use if she were at the check-in desk of Goldman-Sachs.
The bodyguard eyes us up and down and then turns around. It had been pretty hard to see around him, and when he moves I get my first up-close look at Kara Kon. She’s petite, much smaller than she’d appeared on stage. The rainbow in her long braids is still present, and she’s dressed in neon green and pink, which I can only assume is the height of fashion in a world I’ve never stepped a toe into. She’s talking to a tall man with dreadlocks who’s reclining on the couch next to her and looks up when she notices the bodyguard’s eyes on her.
“They say they know you?” the bodyguard says doubtfully.
Evie takes this moment to say, “Ms. Kon? I’m Evie Davis. We spoke on the phone.”
Kara’s eyes narrow slightly and she says something under her breath to the man next to her. They both look suspicious, and Kara doesn’t rush to welcome us. But then she nods at the bodyguard.
“Let them in, Carl.”
The VIP section immediately takes me back to last night. Everyone in Kara’s posse looks like they’ve just graduated high school. That being said, Kara is twenty-one so maybe I’m just getting old. There are about eight people other than Kara there, and although they’re pretending to be preoccupied, it’s obvious that everyone is watching us.
There isn’t anywhere for us to sit and nobody moves to make any. Standing in the center of the ring of couches feels like being in an arena surrounded by hostile spectators. None of this fazes me; I’ve been in the business world for too long to be intimidated by these kids.
“Thank you for meeting us on such short notice,” Evie says.
Kara Kon ignores Evie. Her gaze is trained on me. “So you’re Nick Madison,” she says. She leans back on the couch and looks me up and down slowly. “You’re cute.”
I could say the same about her. She’s too young to be my type, but I can admit that she’s very striking. The footage I’ve seen hasn’t captured her best feature: large dark eyes that carry a surprisingly perceptive glint and make her look older than her years.
I don’t engage with Kara’s flirt. I doubt it’s more than a opening jab to throw me off my game anyway. Instead, I just say, “Your reputation has preceded you as well, Ms. Kon.”
“Call me Kara,” she says. “And besides, it’s Kara Reynolds when I’m doing business.”
“And we’re doing business here?” I ask mildly. I smoothly step to the side to avoid Evie’s discreet elbow aimed at my stomach. I may not have disagreed with her in my office when she said she’d do the talking, but I have no intention of staying silent. It isn’t in my nature to let anyone else take the lead in a meeting, even someone as skilled as Evie.
“If you don’t like it, you know where the door is,” Kara says casually. She examines a finger hosting a long acrylic nail. “I have men in suits banging on my door all day long. There’ll be another along soon enough.”
I grind my molars. “Not all suits are created equal,” I say. “And I think you agree, otherwise you wouldn’t be meeting me.”
Kara’s eyes find mine again, her face still impassive. “Maybe,” she says. It’s noncommittal. “Question is if that number your girl there sent me is accurate.”
