“That’s just where his office is. You’ll see. It’s straight ahead once you get down the stairs. His door is the red one.” Her eyes dart to my lips then back up to meet my gaze. “It matches your lipstick.”
“Does he expect me to sleep with him?” If his office is downstairs, with all those other rooms, then …
“No.” Scarlet shakes her head. “No. Mr. Cross doesn’t … he keeps his dick off the table.” Her arms cross over her chest as she makes the statement, giving her cleavage an added boost.
“What does he want?”
“I don’t know.” Her answer comes out with less patience than before. Scarlet takes a few steps to the bar and stacks her tray there. She’s always taking inventory of the club, making sure no one needs anything. “He doesn’t usually ask for anyone, but maybe it’s just ’cause you’re new. I’ll watch your tables while you’re down there.”
With her easy tone, I give her a short nod and take in an uneasy breath. Faux courage all the way.
“Okay.”
Time slows down as I open the door, and when I close it, the world that feels like something else is muted and I’m met with only descending stairs and silence. Taking the steps one at a time, I go down the staircase. It’s heavy iron in a spiral shape and my heels seem to wobble with every step. At the bottom is a hallway. Expensive paneling lines the walls. It’s not like a basement. It’s less like a fancy speakeasy that the upstairs resembles and far more like private property. It feels like someplace you’d need a password to get into. A passing thought is haunting. If the devil owned real estate on the East Coast, and a sinner perished, I imagine this could very well be the modern gates of hell. Sconces line the walls, the pattern mimicking the spiral staircase. Every small detail drips of wealth.
I swallow thickly and head toward the dark red door near the end of the hall. My heels click in the quiet hall in a menacing way. The echo mocks my racing heart.
Again I wonder which brother I’ll see. Vaguely, I imagine it’ll be nothing like the dreams I’ve had occasionally for years.
The door is in front of me before I know it and I hesitate, my nerves churning in my gut. I knock as confidently as I can.
“Come in.” His voice is deep, his command firm and my body obeys.
The glass knob is cold as I open the door. The door swings easily, not protesting what feels like a sinful act. My dress has ridden up from walking down the stairs and I tug at the hem as I walk in, thankfully hidden by the door. I take a quick glance down to make sure my hem is in place, then look up to see the man at the desk.
My heart skitters, forgetting its beat when his eyes find mine.
I know him. A chill runs down my skin and time pauses, only for a moment.
It’s the youngest brother, Declan. I’d recognize his eyes anywhere. The curve of his jaw is sharper and lined with a five-o’clock shadow.
He’s no longer an impoverished boy with dark clouds in his eyes.
The man looks more expensive than the office, and this office … Dark wood gleams underneath framed prints of cityscapes, and all the neutral colors work together to highlight the man at his desk. He stands up from his seat, revealing a tall, muscular body in a tailored button-down. He strides slowly around to the front of his desk and leans against it. Heat crawls down the back of my neck. I knew him before, but this isn’t the person I knew. This man is radiating power and control.
He looks me up and down. “It’s quite a short dress.”
“Declan—”
“Most go with Mr. Cross.”
“I’m sorry.” My lips feel oversensitive, almost numb. I can barely move, let alone control the words tumbling from me. Intimidation does not at all do this moment justice.
“Don’t be.” His eyes roam over me, undressing me. “If that’s what you want to call me.”
I flush violently. I’m as red as my dress now. Gathering my composure, I remind myself that I’m working. This is a job. A loud tick reminds me that time continues on. It moves and so should I. “You wanted a drink?”
“No.”
My fingers lace between each other in front of me as I stand just in front of the doorway, the light from the hall still filtering in. Please don’t ask me to close it. That's all I can think. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I were locked in with him.
I question with my tone relatively even, “Is there something I can do for you, then?”
“I’m sure there is.” His fingers toy with something on his desk. A small metal die, I think. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me since I stepped into the room. Everywhere his gaze lands, it burns my skin. “You just started today?”