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Even though we were assigned different roles to play tonight, we had the same uniform. Alexis was working as the VIP host and assigned the waitresses to their respective suites for the evening, making it easier for her to plant Madison—who will be a bottle service waitress—in the right suite. I, on the other hand, was designated as the main floor bartender. Playing the role of a bartender was going to be easy, seeing as I had prior experience during my college years.
While I was living in Nevada and attending school, I needed a job that would fit my class schedule. I ended up getting a waitressing job at a local bar. After a few months, one of the bartenders quit unexpectedly during my shift, so I stepped in to help out during the busy late-night rush. The manager was impressed and decided to move me to the bar permanently. Eventually, I started practicing flair bartending as a hobby to make my shifts more enjoyable. The customers loved the show, and as a result, my tips increased on the nights when I was bartending.
The advantage of having me as a bartender and not waitressing in the VIP Suites with the others is that I would be able to keep an eye on the floor and spike the drinks they needed without anyone knowing where the drinks were coming from and going to.
If anything were to go wrong, the last thing we needed was for any of us to be easy suspects, and by spreading out and having little contact with a single suite of guests, we wouldn’t be the first ones to point fingers at.
While Madison will provide the bottle service needs to our target’s suite, she will come to me for ordered drinks and have one of the other waitresses deliver them on her behalf.
This kind of job has become second nature to us, and we have perfected the art. The hardest part of this evening will be pulling our target out of the club discretely and without alarming the other guests in their suite.
“Alright, ladies. Are we ready?” Alexis called from down the hall. I could hear her pulling out her keys from her handbag.
“What are we doing with our hair?” I asked. I hated styling my hair; I wasn’t particularly good at it, and I always needed help from either Madison or Alexis.
Madison stood up and shrugged. “I’m just going with it like this,” She flipped her lush beach waves over her shoulder. “but knowing you, I’d suggest putting it up; it’s going to get hot behind the bar.” She smiled and exited the room.
That was true. I always got overheated when working behind the bar, and even if I started with my hair down, it always ended up in a messy bun after an hour.
I stood up from my chair and let out a sigh. I turned to the mirror and put my long, dark hair up into my usual messy bun, leaving a few wavy strands loose in the front to add some elegance and style. For my makeup, I opted for a smokey eye and applied clear lip gloss, then took a full look at myself in the mirror.
“Chyler!” Alexis screamed loudly from down the hall. I'm pretty sure I just shattered the last of her patience tonight.
“I’m coming! Chill out, woman.” I dramatically threw up my arms and rolled my eyes as I left the room and followed them both to the elevators of the penthouse.
CHAPTER 4
Atlas
I found myself staring into my closet, trying to decide what to wear. Before leaving the office, Marcus mentioned that The Landing was an upscale nightclub with a strict dress code for men—borderline black tie. The club wanted all the men to look as if they each owned their own yacht. So, there I was, standing in front of my closet, trying to find something appropriate.
After thinking for a while, I decided on black slacks, a black cotton shirt, and a black leather belt. Choosing all-black seemed like the safest option compared to anything else I had in mind. Frankly, I was tempted to just wear what I had on at the office earlier today. I was on the verge of messaging Derek to cancel our plans for tonight.
After getting dressed, I rolled up the cuffs of my shirt to the elbow and checked my appearance in the bathroom mirror. My hair was a little messy from the day, so I took out some pomade from the vanity drawer, rubbed a little on my hands, and styled my hair. I used the remaining pomade on the sides of my head to smooth down any loose strands.
I heard a couple of loud knocks and walked across my apartment to answer the door. Derek was standing there, looking sharp in his dark navy—almost black—suit. Aside from the curls on top, his hair was styled similarly to mine. His dark stubble was neat along his jaw.
He was a handsome man, and it always surprised me that he never found a woman to settle down with. Derek and I weren’t really the type to just fuck around with any woman we came across. Of course, we entertained women occasionally, but we were always looking for the right one.
Our soulmate.
I’m pretty sure he came close to finding her back in DC but then stopped searching when he knew he was going to relocate to Minnesota.
Derek let out a low whistle and raised his brow. “Lookin’ sharp, my friend. Are you ready for tonight?” Yes and no. I was looking forward to going out and drinking with the guys. What I wasn’t looking for was being around prissy, entitled women who expected us to have seven-figure bank accounts.
“Is anyone ever ready to party with Marcus and Dean?” I stepped back, allowing him to enter the unit. I already knew that those two were going to be a bit much tonight. They are party boys through and through. I didn’t need to know them longer than the day to figure that out.
“Fair point. At least you got me tonight, too.” He chuckled. Changing the subject, I needed to get his input on the case we were assigned today, and I wanted to discuss it with him now rather than at the nightclub. I doubted we could have a meaningful conversation there due to the loud music.
“Did you go over the file Conrad gave us today?” I asked as he walked past me and into the kitchen.
“A little; I didn’t get past the profiles of the three suspects.” He shrugged and rested a palm on the counter.
“And what do you think of the profiles?”
“Honestly, they are pretty bare for information, and those photos don’t help us at all. I don’t know where to even begin with this case. These women know exactly what they are doing,” he said, blowing out a long breath. “They’re professionals in their craft, that’s for sure.”
He wasn’t wrong; with our limited information, there wasn’t much direction as to where we should—could—start. Moreover, their professionalism was evident as they knew how to be and remain anonymous.
