No time to investigate now. I just need him to shut up and go away. I find a storage room next to the men’s bathroom that’s used for toiletries and cleaning supplies. I push the door wide and use my heel to roll him into the small storage room.
He lands on his side, arms and legs sprawled. Checking my vicinities, I do a quick sweep, then hunch down and rifle through his pocket to look for an ID or phone. I want to know who this Alex creep is, since I was only able to make out his first name on his card.
I feel something….and pull out a silver pocket watch.
It’s old. An antique, maybe. I shrug and drop it into my clutch. Consider it asshole tax. Before I can manage to flip him over to search the other pocket, the restroom door swings open. I push the closet door closed and straighten my top. Smile at the guy who shamelessly checks me out.
I toss a look back at the closet. Dammit. Ultimately, I decide the job’s more important. My target doesn’t need to start asking questions about his missing escort.
As I head into the main lounge, I slow my steps, giving myself time to revise my plan. I have to get Ericson away from the club. Since I can’t have that asshole waking up and crashing our party, it’s best to move the party elsewhere. I search my clutch briefly and dig out the vial. There won’t be another opportunity to spike Ericson’s martini tonight.
The syringe I plunged into Alex’s arm was a very potent backup measure for Ericson, just in case. As I no longer have that, I’m counting on the GHB cocktail in the vial to be enough.
I have to move forward, or abort.
The first part of the plan should’ve been completed already, but I couldn’t slip the drug into Ericson’s drink, not when that guy wouldn’t take his eyes off me. Which makes me wonder again just who the hell he is and what he wants.
I palm the vial as I glide behind the seat and drape an arm around Ericson’s broad shoulders. “I’m getting restless,” I whisper into his ear, my voice seductive.
He sets his martini glass on the divider between seats and touches my arm. “We’ll leave when I’m ready. Try to amuse yourself.”
My shoulders tense. After the altercation, I’m less inclined to maintain my docile façade. I lean against him and press my lips to his neck, all the while keeping my gaze on the others in the lounge. Then I deftly slip my hand over his martini glass and release the contents of the vial.
“All right, baby. I’m ready when you are.” I push away, taking a few seconds to compose myself before I return to my seat
next to him.
Ericson should start to feel the GHB in a few minutes. It’s a strong enough dose that he’ll simply appear inebriated to his friends, but will make him very suggestible. I’ll lead him to his office where I can gain access to his computer and other company systems.
I could bag the whole charade and just break into the building, but I like to keep my jobs on the legal front, for the most part. Saves a headache with police and court proceedings.
I glance at the time on my phone screen, recalling the watch in my purse. During Alex’s lap dance, I noticed his reaction was protective. This object is important to him. While Ericson is observing two of the escorts grinding against each other to the beat of the house music, I slip out the pocket watch and click it open.
It’s a basic watch face with pewter hands. The secondhand ticks away. There’s nothing special about the watch that I can tell, but what do I know about watches or even antiques? I’ll search the Internet later.
Ericson’s head starts to sway, his eyes glassing over. I tuck the watch into my purse and slide his way, run the tips of my fingers along the nape of his neck. He revels in the stimulation, the drug that courses his veins makes every touch heightened, pleasurable.
He reaches over and palms my thigh.
Knowing what I do about this guy, his touch should repulse me, and it does on some surface level. But this is work. Luckily, I don’t have to battle emotions to stay focused on the job. That’s what makes me good at what I do.
“I want you.” I say it loud enough so he can hear me over the music and his drug-induced state. His hand starts to creep upward, and I halt his progression. “Not here. Let’s go.”
After a moment of coaxing him to follow me, we leave the seating area of the VIP lounge. My hand firmly gripped to his, I steer him toward the stairs…where he pulls me to a stop.
He tugs me into an alcove between the VIP section and the balcony. It’s private—too private. This isn’t good.
“I love this hair.” His fingers crawl into my hair and he grips a thick hank, giving it a firm tug.
“Ericson…” I coo his name as he presses me against the wall. “Take me somewhere we can be alone.”
He drops his head to my neck, kissing a sloppy trail along the hammock of my neckline and shoulder. “We are alone,” he insists.
Not wanting to make a scene, I plant my hands on his chest. “More alone,” I stress.
His body goes rigid. His grasp around the back of my neck clamps tight. My thoughts turn to the switchblade I carry in my purse for added protection, and the syringe…that I may have wasted on the wrong man.
His eyes find mine, and there’s a molten anger swirling in those light hues. His fingers burrow into my skin as he wrenches my head back. “Do what I say, bitch.” His free hand tears at the hem of my dress and drags it upward.