Mastered (The Enforcers 1)

“Consider it done,” Silas said, even as he turned and disappeared into the far corner where the darkness concealed another exit from the office.

Drake clenched his jaw. Just another day at the office, only the desperate woman throwing herself at him pissed him off more than Garner defaulting on past-due payments. If he wanted a woman, he never had to look far. He damn sure didn’t need some bitch clinging to him like a burr, expecting him to fall all over himself to take what she so vulgarly offered.

Women didn’t call the shots with him. Ever. If he saw something he wanted, he took it. He was in control. Always. No exceptions. Not a woman. Not anyone. And he planned to keep it that way.

• • •

Evangeline stepped hesitantly from the cab after paying the fare—money given to her by her girls with a look in their eyes that said Don’t even think about refusing—and for a moment she stood there like an idiot, nervously surveying the line that extended down the sidewalk and wrapped around the block.

Then realizing how conspicuous—and out of place—she looked standing there gawking like a moron, she started toward the entryway, where a burly, scary-looking bouncer stood in front of a roped-off area that led to the inside, his huge arms crossed over an even huger chest.

She swallowed nervously as he caught sight of her and obviously saw her intention to walk in. His gaze narrowed and flitted up and down her, his lips thinning. Her back went up, as did her chin. She’d had enough of feeling unworthy and she’d be damned if she was judged and found lacking by a freaking bouncer.

A glance down the sidewalk told her why he was looking at her like she was nuts. Beautiful people stood, waiting for their opportunity to get in. Glitzy, glamorous. Women in expensive dresses, heels, jewelry draped from head to toe, hair that probably cost a fortune to have made up at the stylist. And then there were the men. Polished. Preppy. Rich looking. Some alone, no doubt using Impulse as hunting ground for a pickup and an easy lay. Others were there with their date for the evening, an arm wrapped securely around a gorgeous woman.

She was so jealous that for a moment she couldn’t breathe. What it must be like to be one of those beautiful people. To be able to take their looks and bodies for granted. To be able to get any man they wanted with a snap of their fingers.

She noticed that she’d caught the attention of those at the front of the line. Women openly sneered at her, mocking glances thrown her way as if to tell her, As if you’ll get in.

She turned her attention back to the bouncer, who was now just a body space away, and he stepped forward, speaking before she could say or do anything.

“Quota has been filled tonight,” he said simply. “Sorry, but you’ll have to go elsewhere. Or home,” he added after another sweep of her body.

Her cheeks scorched hot at the judgment in his gaze. He hadn’t even told her that the line formed at the rear. He hadn’t even told her she’d have to wait. He’d dismissed her. Told her she was unwelcome in a place like Impulse, and that just pissed her off.

So she pulled out her trump card, snapping it angrily in front of his face, holding the VIP pass so it was impossible for him not to see.

“I don’t think so,” she hissed between her teeth.

He looked surprised. And then uneasy. Hesitant even. And this was not a man she’d think was ever indecisive. Then she realized he was actually debating refusing her access even though she had the “golden ticket.” A coveted VIP pass that allowed its owner to enter, no questions asked. He would know that someone important in the club had given it to her. He didn’t have to know it hadn’t been given directly to her. No one in their right mind ever gave away a VIP pass to this club, so his only logical conclusion was that it had been given to her personally and she wasn’t about to correct his assumption.

Still, he didn’t look happy at all as he reached down to unlatch the velvet rope that was strung between two metal poles just outside the doorway to the club.

“Have a good time, miss,” he said formally, as he motioned her by.

She glanced at the line from the corner of her eye, drawing smug satisfaction as she saw more than a few mouths drop open. Some expressions were openly outraged. She even heard someone protest that she had gotten in while they were still standing out on the sidewalk waiting.

“VIP pass,” the bouncer rumbled, by way of explanation.

Yep, that pretty much said it all. VIP meant an all-access ticket to everything in the club. Steph had been there before and had brought her up to speed on the club, the layout, so she wouldn’t make a complete fool of herself by not knowing what the hell she was doing once inside.