Page 22 of Bringing Chelsea Home

They stepped into the club’s foyer where another sandwich style board sign welcomed them.In the main room, the lighting was subdued, the music soft and jazzy and most of the tables were full. Young women in very short shorts and off-the-shoulder peasant blouses carried trays with drinks or plates of food. A “no smoking” sign blinked behind the bar and off to one side was a runway style catwalk, the built-in lights turned off.

A pretty young woman in a black sheath, fishnet stockings and peek-a-boo heels, her blonde hair swept up in a French twist came forward. She gave them a wide smile, showing perfect teeth. “Welcome toSapphire’s,”she greeted. “I’m Diedre. May I help you?”

“Mr. Abernathy to see Mr. Clark,” Griff said, producing a card. “This is my associate, Ms. Jones.”

Diedre took the card, squinted at it and then pointed at Patrick who had joined them. “Who’s this? Your muscle?”

“Do we need it?” Griff’s eyes held a hard gleam that should be making her uncomfortable.

It did, because she stepped back and tugged at one of her pendant earrings. “N-no sir,” she stuttered. Transferring her gaze to Patrick, she asked, “You ever say anything, honey?”

“I’m Ricky, Mr. Abernathy’s driver.” Patrick gave her a dazzling smile. “And we can get to know each other over a soda after you tell Mr. Clark he’s here.”

Her features relaxed and she practically melted at his feet. “I can do that.”

She scooted away and was back in seconds. “If you’ll come this way, Mr. Abernathy. As for you-” she pointed a finely manicured finger at Patrick. “I’ll be right back.”

Silas Clark’s office was opulent and overdecorated, the furniture covered in black leather. A chandelier, lights turned low, hung overhead and jade green carpet covered the floor. A musky, almost offensively masculine scent permeated the room and the room’s only occupant sat behind a large, mahogany desk with an oversize desk calendar and laptop. An old-fashioned telephone sat on the desk’s right corner.

Silas Clark’s bleached curly hair was cut short, and he had a sizable gut, but his clothing was as immaculately tailored as Griff’s. His only jewelry was a signet ring on the last finger of his right hand, and he peered at them through oversize seventies style eyeglasses.

He rose and Elaine was surprised to see how short he was. “You’re Abernathy,” he said.

“That’s right,” Griff said. “This is my associate, Ms. Jones.”

Elaine nodded and Clark openly stared at her, his gaze traveling up her legs to the V-neck of her dress in a slow, lascivious examination that made her skin crawl, and she tightened her grip on the clutch purse to keep from throwing it at him.

He finally waved at two club chairs in front of his desk. When they were seated, he said, “Your e-mail said you wanted to hire some exotic dancers from me?”

“I’m not sure if they’re yours, exactly,” Griff began. “But I like a man who can cut to the chase. I’ve heard that theLittle Honeys, a group of exotic dancers, are going to be performing here next week, among other things. I want to hire them for a private party I’m holding for a group of men and want to offer them a night of fine entertainment and companionship.”

Clark frowned. “How’d you hear aboutThe Honeysbeing here?”

“It’s my business to know,” Griff countered. “Abernathy’shas contacts in the adult entertainment industry throughout the country, but especially in the Southeast and Tennessee.”

“I’ve heard of you,” Clark admitted. “Looked at your website. You get around.”

“I go where the business is,” Griff said simply. “Abernathy Entertainment is thinking of expanding into Knoxville in the new year. How’d you get the Little Darlin’s? They’re very popular.”

“I know people too,” Clark sneered. “And I don’t think my employer would appreciate an outside party interfering with their business or me giving it away.”

Griff snapped his fingers and recognizing the cue, Elaine opened her purse and took out an envelope. He took it without looking at her and pulled out a wad of bills. “We can keep this between us,” he said, spreading the bills into a fan. “Two thousand dollars up front, two thousand when they arrive and I meet them, and a final four thousand at the end of the weekend. All for you.”

Behind his glasses, Clark’s eyes were huge. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “Who the hell are these friends of yours?”

“Men with rare and expensive tastes,” Griff purred, slowly laying all twenty of the one hundred dollars bills one by one on Clark’s desk. “And are willing to pay for their tastes and-appetites.”

The last word and its implication hung in the air between them. Clark frowned but his gaze was fixed on the money. “I don’t know,” he said. “My boss–”

Griff snapped his fingers again, and Elaine took another envelope from her purse and passed it over for Griff to take another wad of cash and lay it out bill by bill above the other. “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Clark,” he said, and Elaine admired the grudging note in his voice. “There’s another thousand for you. Do what you must to secure the girls for my friends.”

Clark swallowed, his Adam’s apple bulging against his throat. “Holy shit,” he said again. “All of this for me?”

“We need to see photos of the girls,” Elaine cut in, softly. “Mr. Abernathy’s friends like pretty girls, you know? Young, pretty girls. It’s not unfair to be sure of that. Mr. Abernathy doesn’t want to disappoint his friends.”

“Sure thing,” Clark agreed eagerly. He opened a desk drawer and took out a folder. “Lots of people wanna see hard copies instead of digitals,” he explained, handing Griff the file. “You put too much stuff out on the Internet, someone can hack your files, you know what I mean?”

“I hate hackers,” Griff growled, opening the file. There were several group photos of six very pretty, young women dressed as cheerleaders, cowgirls and in one, wearing the smallest bikinis Elaine had ever seen. There were also six color head shots, with the subjects boasting perfect hair and make-up carefully done, but underneath it, Elaine would bet they were all under eighteen.

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