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Now, I couldn’t care less.
The bouncer thrusts out an arm as I approach. “Are you on the list?”
“I’m always on the list,” I reply. “Arsen Adamov. I advise you not to make me wait.”
The bouncer looks like he’s seen a ghost. He leaps aside and waves me through, muttering something about “informing Mr. Calcagno of my arrival.”
I breeze through the doors and into the club, bypassing the sweat, sex, and chaos of the main floor in favor of the VIP section.
When I make it to the top of the velvet-clad stairs, a gorgeous brunette with short, spiky hair materializes in front of me. “Mr. Adamov, I’m Annabelle, the hostess for the evening. Don Calcagno?—"
“I take it he knows I’m here?”
“Of course. Don Calcagno knows everything.” Her sequined dress catches the flashing lights from the dance floor. She looks like a silver fish. “He asks that you wait for him at his private table. He’ll be just a few moments.”
In other words, it’ll be at least half an hour. He can’t move against me in a public place like this, but he can force me to wait on him.
The joke is on him. I’ve been to fucking prison. I have no problem waiting.
I order myself a whiskey and pull out my phone. Now that I have a few minutes to myself, my mind wanders to the one place I haven’t let it go all day.
ARSEN:I have an event tonight. I expect you to be ready in an hour. I’ll have a dress sent to the house for you.
Not even a minute later, my phone vibrates. I feel like a horny teenager as I swipe back into my text messages.
LAILA:Yes, Master. Right away, Master. Is there anything else Your Highness desires?
ARSEN:You know, I don’t hate the sound of that.
LAILA:Of course you don’t. Because you’re an ass.
ARSEN:You can count the ways at the event tonight. Don’t wear any underwear.
I don’t realize I’m smiling down at the phone until a leather coaster slides in front of me. I look up and now find myself smiling inadvertently at the hostess.
She places my drink in front of me, bending over far enough to offer me an unrequested view of her cleavage. “Your drink, Mr. Adamov. Compliments of Don Calcagno.”
“Thank you.” My smile withers. “That will be all.”
Her poise falters, like she was hoping I’d take her up on the invitation she’s obviously extending. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
I don’t need anything from her. I turn back to my phone as it buzzes.
LAILA:What event are you dragging me to anyway? A public flogging? Open heart surgery on your enemies, sans anesthesia?
ARSEN:A charity gala. Not as gory as your suggestions, but every bit as painful.
LAILA:Is it a charity for rich men with fragile egos? That must be a cause close to your heart.
ARSEN:A charity gala to fund a wing of St. Francis Memorial, actually.
LAILA:The hospital??
ARSEN:No. The strip club. It’s also close to my heart.
LAILA:You’re hilarious.
ARSEN:This event is important. So I expect you to be on your best behavior tonight.
