Page 8 of Training His Pet

“I don’t,” he said. If he was attempting to hurt her feelings, he’d have to dig a little deeper. No one knew her work. And she was fine with that. She wanted her name to be attached to something bigger than socialite birthday parties before people remembered her.

“You’re the owner?” She decided to change course.

“One of them, yes.” He wasn’t much of a talker. Okay, she could still work with it. She didn’t need his life story; she just needed him to go away.

“If you’ve never seen my articles, how did you know me?” she asked, acutely aware of the door opening behind her and more men walking in and out of the room.

“Your name was on the guest list.” He leaned over, bringing his face closer to hers. Probably so he wouldn’t have to yell over the music. “I approve the list.”

“Right. Of course. I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

He smiled. Not a soft, welcoming smile, but a knowing grin that let her know he knew exactly what she was up to.

“Dax Adams. Head of all things security here. And you’re blocking the door for the private party. You’ll have to move.” He unfolded his arms and gestured for her to get going.

She hadn’t gotten into the room yet!

“This club hasn’t been open long, what... a year?” She shuffled to the side, but not as far away as he clearly wanted her.

His dark eyebrow arched. “Nearly two.”

“I think it would be a great opportunity for you to have an article done on the place.” Straws grasped from every angle.

“Really?” His lips twitched.

“Yes. You cater to some high-end clientele. Maybe a little more publicity could bring in even more?” Considering the line of people practically begging at the front door to be let in, she was really stretching.

“The point here is to be exclusive.” He leaned down again. “And being exclusive wouldn’t work as well if we opened the door and let everyone in.”

“Right.” She pointed her finger at him. She scanned his arm. “That’s an army tattoo.” Pushing his sleeve up to his shoulder, she inspected the detailed tattoo. Inside the intricate designed sleeve of the American flag were three peaked stripes, the image of a skull filled in the stripes making it another piece of work altogether. “Sergeant.” She ran her fingers over the design and looked up at him.

His eyes were wide, staring down at her with surprise. Maybe no one had noticed before. The lighting wasn’t great, but she recognized the rank stripes. She let go of his arm and stepped back.

“You really shouldn’t be around here,” he said again.

“You were in the military, and now you own an exclusive club in Chicago. There’s a story here, I think,” she said with a smile. He had a backstory, and the writer in her wanted to hear it. But first she needed to get information on the Persuccio family.

“Why don’t you come back some other time, and we’ll answer some questions.” He reached behind her and pressed his hand flat against her back, effectively pushing her away from the door.

“Come back?” she asked, watching the private party room get further away from her grasp.

“Yes, back. As in later. Not now. Not tonight.”

She stopped walking and maneuvered out of his grasp. “Okay, we’ll set something up. But I’m not really ready to leave right now.”

His jaw set. He dragged in a deep breath through his nose and looked past her. Either trying collect his patience or come up with a way to effectively eject her from the club.

After a moment, his brows furrowed together. “You need to go. Now,” he said.

“I’m not—”

“I said now.” Dax grabbed the arm of a man who was walking by. “Justin, please take Ms. Erika Devore to the door. She’s leaving for the night. Make sure she gets a cab.”

“I just said—” Her words cut off when he swung his angry glare down at her.

“Leave your card with Justin, and I’ll call to schedule an interview. But right now, you need to go.” He gave Justin another direct order to be sure she got in a cab and rushed past her toward the party room.

She tried to watch him, to see what he was running toward, but Justin blocked her view. Without touching her, he managed to shove her out of the club.

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