My eyes snap to meet his smirking ones. I relax my expression and nod as I step into the car. He presses a button on the panel, and when he steps back, I’m surprised yet again. Two floors up and six floors down.
Where is all this space?
When the elevator opens, I’m led past more doors on the left and right until we reach the end. He reaches the handles and shoves the doors open. I start to follow, then pause when I see another man dressed in a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing tattoos on his well-defined forearms, sitting behind a large oak desk.
“I don’t have all day,” the man booms across the room, dark eyes looking up to meet mine.
My escort releases a dry snort, tossing me a quick look. “And he wonders why people call him terrifying.” He lowers himself into a chair as if it’s just another Thursday around here.
And it’s starting to piss me off that he’s known who I am since the start, but the asshole hasn’t offered so much as a name in return.
I step into the expansive room, surveying privacy glass walls on each side and the dark hardwoods covered with a thick cream rug. Two end tables from the same carved oak sit on either side of a heavy black leather sofa in front of one of the glass walls—windows. On the other side sits a minibar with an assortment of crystal decanters and matching glasses.
Taking slow steps, I approach the desk and sit in one of the nail-head chairs that is positioned in front of the desk. Dark, penetrating eyes assess me as if looking for cracks in the pavement.
I force myself not to squirm under the scrutiny. Seldom do I find myself intimidated, but I’m sweating beneath my coat with nerves as I wait for him to finish his appraisal.
“I’m Dominic Lucchese,” he says after several long seconds. “You’ve met my brother, Will.”
My gaze slides to the man who led me here just in time to catch his smirk at my scowl. “We’ve spoken, but introductions weren’t made.”
“Now you know.” Will shrugs, completely unapologetic.
“You want to work in my club,” Dominic says, and his tone makes my attention snap back to him, feeling like a scolded child with a simple statement. He leans forward on the desk and clasps his hands together in front of him. My lips press together, and I nod. “Why?”
Why does it fucking matter?
That’s what I want to scream because it seems to be a theme in this place. Instead, I choke it back and lift my head a little higher. “I need money just like anyone else, and I’m not qualified to do much beyond dancing and waiting tables. Neither pays much.”
“Why my club?”
“A friend said your dancers make in a week what I make in a year.”
“Why do you need that kind of money?”
“I inherited a debt. If I want to keep a roof over my head, I have to pay it off.”
Those assessing eyes feel like they’re digging into…into my fucking soul. More sweat trickles down my spine.
Jesus, he’s intense.
“Are you a cop?”
I jerk back, stunned because,huh?“A what?” I glance toward his brother, who’s moved to the bar and is grabbing a crystal glass, but not pouring anything, looking annoyed. His gaze flicks to me. It’s quick, but I swear I see a glimmer of pity. Or maybe it’s condolences.
“Are you a fucking cop? FBI, maybe?”
“Uh…no?” I blink, thrown. I don’t mean it to sound like a question, but what does he mean?Am I a cop?What the hell kind of club is this?
“You don’t sound very sure. You wearing a wire?”
I look at Will for a sign that I’m being pranked.
Will exhales hard and scrubs a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ, Dom.” He throws me a look likeWelcome to the circusbefore crossing his arms over his wide chest.
His brother only grunts, never taking his eyes off me.
I shake my head in disbelief, then compose myself. “Mr. Lucchese, I’m not a cop. I’m not wearing a wire. And I’m strangely flattered you think I could be one or that deceptive. Not something I get told often.”
