At least that was what I'd been told, but I think he has better things to do tonight. I nibble on a few cocktail peanuts. My stomach churns with a mixture of anxiety and hunger.
I'd have liked to grab a bite to eat before showing up tonight but being here isn't exactly my choice unless my choice is to live.
I'm in a world of trouble, and I'm about to bring Nikita into my chaos.
Sorry.
He struts in through the back entrance. The front door is too good for him.
The man shines, and while he doesn't have to give even a hint of a smile, he's already caught several ladies' gazes.
Two men are with him, all three of them wear striking suits. They're hot. Dangerous. And I have to steal the keys he's carrying.
This isn't going to be an easy job.
But it's either knock into him and swipe his keys, or go home with him and steal them after a night in the sack.
I prefer the first option. He's a stranger, and if he keeps any company like the men I'm forced to work for, I want no business with him ever again.
I carry my Cosmopolitan across the club and stop, my back to him. He looms over me, and I squeeze in amongst the throes of people dancing and chatting. It's busy enough that I look inconspicuous by myself.
The music blares overhead, and I'd swear it sounds like a live band with the intensity of the beat and the floor vibrating with each pulse.
I'm practically under Nikita's foot, and so when he turns to weave through the club, he's forced to knock into me. I make sure to spill my Cosmopolitan all over myself and douse his shirt.
"Shit! I'm sorry," he apologizes before even landing his eyes on me or seeing the damage. He grumbles and wipes at his shirt.
Most of the drink lands on my white dress, and when he realizes I'm not wearing a bra, he's gnawing on his bottom lip, staring at my breasts for far longer than he ought to be staring.
"Here." He shimmies out of his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. The coat costs more than my entire wardrobe.
"That isn't necessary," I say until I glance down and pretend to act shocked by the realization that he can see through the dress.
"How about we get you taken care of?" he asks and escorts me through the crowd and up a back staircase. A metal sign hangs on the front that reads "No entry."
"Are you sure that we should be up here?" I ask as he unclips the metal chain and lets me pass.
"My office is just upstairs," he says.
I follow him up the staircase, and he leads me to his office. He retrieves his keys from his pocket and unlocks the door, opening it for me to enter.
He flips on the light, and there are one-way glass mirrors that give an ample view of the dance floor and guests down below.
"Do you own the place?" I ask. I wasn't given much information on Nikita, only what I needed to get the job done.
"I run the club, but I don't own it." He doesn't elaborate, and instead, he stalks across the room toward a set of double doors. He opens the door to reveal a closet, retrieves a crisp white dress shirt, and hands it to me.
"This isn't my size," I say. Does he think I'll wear his shirt and nothing else in the club?
"I should think not." He chuckles under his breath and shoves the white shirt into my hands. "Put it on. I can have your clothes cleaned and laundered before you go home."
"Where?" I glance around the room. There's no sign of a laundry room, and the office doesn’t appear as though anyone might be living here. While there is a sofa against the wall near the door, there doesn't seem to be any other living accommodations.
"There's a laundromat two doors down from here. I'll send one of my colleagues to take care of the dress."
I exhale a tiny breath. "That isn't necessary."
"But it is. I'm Nikita," he introduces, wanting to know my name.
"Lucy," I say and blush. I don't bother with a handshake, seeing as I'm gripping his fresh white shirt in my closed grip.
I shouldn't offer up my real name. It'd be better to pretend to be someone I'm not, but remembering a lie is a thousand times harder than speaking the truth. And so, I tell him exactly who I am because it doesn't matter. He won't know that I'm the one stealing his keys. By the end of tonight, he won't even suspect that I could have done anything to betray him.
"Do you have someplace that I can change?" I ask.
He opens a door near the closet and flips on the light. "There's a bathroom through here," he says.
I slip past him for the bathroom and shut the door. I'm crazy, changing out of my dress into just a button-down shirt. What happens if he doesn't bring me back my white dress?
Hopefully, he will, and the shirt is at least the length of my dress.
I shut the door behind myself, lock it, and stare at my reflection in the mirror. What the hell am I doing?
I remove the dress, let it hit the floor with a thud, and slide my arms into the shirt, buttoning up the shiny buttons one at a time. When I'm done and satisfied with how I look, I open the bathroom door and bend down to retrieve the stained and damp dress.
"Are you sure that it's not a problem?" I ask, holding the dress in one hand and my clutch in the other.
"Having your dress freshly laundered? No problem at all. Just wait here," he says and heads out of the office. When the door swings open, there's a blast of music that pounds into the office.
I'd almost forgotten how loud the music had been downstairs.
I can't see the stairwell, but I watch from the one-way glass into the crowd. Nikita shuffles through the patrons and whispers something to another gentleman in a suit, presumably his colleague.
He wasn't part of this arrangement. I don't know his name or anything about him. He takes my dress, and it's difficult to see where he goes with the flashes of light and my attention on Nikita.
Nikita doesn't return right away. I'm not sure why he would, but I'm disappointed. Being alone in his office has its perks, but I doubt there's another set of keys. And what I'm after isn't in his office, it's at his home.
He shuffles behind the bar, and he's mixing drinks.
Is he helping the bartender because it's a busy night?
Another minute later, he's carrying two drinks with him through the crowd. Nikita heads back toward the staircase, and I spin around, folding my arms in front of myself like I hadn't been watching the exchange.
"He'll have it back shortly," Nikita says as he steps into the office. "In the meantime, how about a drink? To make up for the night." He hands me a Cosmopolitan.
I force a smile. "Thank you," I say. He has no idea my night involved trying to get close with him for that set of keys.
"Were you here with friends? Or a boyfriend? Should I let anyone know where you've gone?" Nikita asks.
His question sends a chill down my spine, but I'm not sure why. "Blind date," I say and shrug. "He didn't show."