Page 519 of Savage Bosses

“She had four more weeks!” Nicole exclaims.

“Yeah, but we knew this was a high-risk pregnancy. She’s at the hospital now. Tried calling me before leaving home, but I didn’t hear my phone ring,” Mitch says nervously.

“We’re going with you,” Nicole announces.

“I’ll call the hotel and have them take our bags downstairs. Should be ready by the time that we arrive,” Greyson adds, pulling out his phone and making the call as he’s talking to us.

“Gentlemen, lady, we’ll meet again soon,” Alessandro says, hugging and kissing Nicole on the cheek and shaking Mitch’s hand. “Congratulazioni!” Alessandro says in a beautiful, thick Italian accent.

I’ve loved hearing him and Marco speak all night though Alessandro’s accent isn’t as thick as his older brother, Marco, is.

We all exchange wishes for a safe flight home and the baby's birth before they leave in their limo. The four of us stand around, and I say, “Well?”

It’s clear that the brothers aren’t comfortable going to a gentleman’s club with me as Marco scratches the back of his neck and Alessandro blushes.

“I uh…need to go over some papers with the lawyers. Promised I’d call later,” Alessandro says.

“Yeah, um…I need to be flying back to Atlanta. Promised Piper I’d be home tonight,” Marco adds.

I smirk and cross my arms, turning to Ambrose. “Your excuse?”

He holds his hands out at his sides, shakes his head and is speechless.

I turn back to the other two men, and they shake my hand before quickly disappearing into their waiting Bentley. It’s not long before they’ve left that Ambrose and I are standing on the sidewalk outside the restaurant as patrons enter and exit.

“Well?” I say, turning back to him.

“You still want to go?” he asks.

“Of course I do.”

After all, women can do the same damn thing men can do, and I refuse to let him catch me slipping or being weak. Being a woman is an honor and a privilege, not a god-damned excuse.

Black leather furniture dominates the space, second only to the large circular stage up front that extends like the bottom of the lowercase “i” to the middle of the club. Black and blue carpet covers the floors. The grey and light blue wallpaper provides a lighter backdrop to the leather seats and shimmers underneath the chandeliers above.

Nicki Minaj’sSuper Freaky Girlpours from the speakers as scantily clad servers in short, blue skirts and glittery, blue nipple tassels come and go throughout the club, delivering and picking up drinks and food.

“What’s the difference between this place and what the DeLucas and Blacks plan to offer?” I ask, sipping my amaretto sour.

“Hardwood floors, crystal chandeliers, full dining experience, and a more polished and elegant atmosphere overall. Including the dancers,” he says, lifting his snifter at one of the dancers working a man at the table across from us.

She gyrates, and her movements are wild and unskilled sexual moves.

“You won’t see jeans, ballcaps and gym shoes in their club.”

“Suits and ties?”

Nodding, he says, “Semi-formal and business casual. This is more an eclectic mix of everyone.”

“I’ll bet the pricing tier will also be different.”

“For sure. Your average Joe won’t be waltzing up into that club.”

“They made it sound like the resort will be for everyone.”

“The resort will. The gentlemen’s club won’t be.”

“And the women’s club?” I ask as disappointment fills me.

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