Page 2 of Serving the Maestro

"Yeah, I knew you'd get into this."

"You ever think that I know it all attitude gets annoying, buddy?” I broke the eye contact and looked back at the stage, watching as the woman lifted her arm, the whip’s lash swaying behind beguilingly until she snapped her wrist.

“It’s not as annoying as the fact that I’m usually right, though.”

Ignoring the smug response, I looked at the table, then at the tall, slim brunette still standing with one hand on the seat closest to me. With a nod, I sat and murmured, “Thanks.”

“Of course, Mr. Dixson.” She circled around to the end of the table, where an unopened bottle of scotch awaited. Once Stephen had settled into his chair, she lifted the bottle. “You’d requested the Thirty-Year Laphroaig Single Malt Scotch, Mr. McVey. Shall I pour?”

Stephen gave her a distracted nod, his attention focused on me.

I was glad when the hostess put two crystal highball glasses in front of us, the peaty aroma of the expensive scotch rising to tease me. I lifted the glass and swirled it, then took a sip as I looked back to the stage.

My body temperature skyrocketed at the display.

The woman tied the nearly nude man to a wooden bar lowered from the ceiling on sturdy chains.

“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice gritty.

Stephen looked toward the stage, a glance that turned into a slower look, his lips curving in a wolfish smile as his lids drooped.

“The second act.” Picking up his glass of scotch, he settled more comfortably into his chair. “Relax a little, Trent. Watch the show. Enjoy. You earned it. Hell, we both earned a little fun. All the hard work you did on the musical score and the haggling I did to get you an audition for the spot.” He finally looked at me, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “We’re celebrating, man. You’re twenty-three, and you’ve already picked up your first nomination for an Academy Award.”

Before I could formulate a response, a shadow fell over the table. Stephen’s eyes flicked up, then he smiled and gestured to the single open seat. “Avery, you’re looking lovely as always.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice husky, almost too soft to be heard in the din. She took the seat and slanted a quick look at me.

Stephen cleared his throat, amusement gleaming in his eyes. “Avery, this is a friend of mine, Trent. We’re here celebrating his birthday.”

“How lovely.” She slid me a second look, a longer one, interest in her eyes. “Is this your first time at our club?”

“Yes.”

She licked her lips, then leaned over to murmur something to Stephen, voice too low for me to hear.

Whatever she said, Stephen’s smug grin returned, and he nodded as she pulled away.

She didn’t get up, though. She turned to me, then, to my surprise, she slid from her chair onto her knees...right next to me. Placing one hand on my knee, she tilted her face up.

“Would you like to join me in one of the club’s private rooms, sir?” she asked the velvety warmth of her voice an aural caress.

The tempting promise in her eyes had my body temperature spiking again. But I had no idea what the fuck she was asking for.

Stephen, the damn know-it-all, apparently read my thoughts loud and clear.

“Avery is a submissive, Trent. If you’re interested, take her up on the invite.” From across the table, Stephen lifted his glass to me in salute.

Judging by his amused smile, he wasn’t surprised when I stood and offered a hand to Avery.

Asshole. I meant it in an affectionate way.

I met the woman’s pretty eyes and said, “Shall we?”

ONE

TRENT

PRESENT DAY

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