Page 5 of Hold You Close
As I stumble around the side of the house, I thank God I didn’t tell my father I wanted to turn down the offer from Northwestern. All I want now is to get the hell away from Ian Chase.
The farther the better.
One
Ian
“The line to get in is crazy,” my manager, Drea, says as I’m going over last night’s sales figures. “We’re over capacity as it is.”
“Uh huh,” I say, not looking up from the screen.
I don’t care about the line. I don’t care about people waiting to get into the club, I care about money. Veil is the hottest nightclub in Vegas right now, and I damn sure plan to keep it that way.
“Ian.” She taps the desk.
“Okay, great, what do you want me to do?” I ask.
“I don’t know, but we’re going to get fined again.”
I huff, and lean back in my chair. “Then fix the issue.”
She pulls her long blond hair to the side, leaning forward on my desk so her fake boobs are extra—large. My eyes go there, I can’t help it, they’re in my damn face. “Not going to work,” I tell her, slowly bringing my gaze to her pouty lips. Drea gets what she wants by using her . . . assets . . . to bend men to her will. I’ve seen it in action and it’s impressive, but she’s barking up the wrong tree. I’m a man of principle and honor.
Well, that’s a lie, but I have no interest in shitting where I eat, at least.
“Ugh,” she groans. “You’re the only man in Vegas who won’t sleep with me, or at least do what I want.”
I laugh. “I’m the only smart man you’ve met then,” I challenge.
She’s tried, God knows she has, but I prefer to keep my dipstick out of the lube at work. Now, the patrons, they’re all fair game.
“Or the only man who doesn’t have a brain,” she retorts.
I won’t even dignify that with a response. I’ve learned over the years that Drea needs to be wanted. The only thing I want is for her to be the manager I need. “Do your job, Drea, and deal with it.”
Her lips turn down and I can sense this isn’t going to go my way. “Can you please smooth this over with the cops?” she asks.
I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “The cops are here?”
“That’s how I know it’s a problem,” she tosses back at me.
I get to my feet, irritated that she failed to mention that. The last thing Veil needs is another run-in with the cops. I’ve had enough fines, warnings, and calls to break up fights to last me a lifetime. I also prefer to keep them out of my establishment as much as possible.
“Lead with that next time,” I instruct and stroll out.
The club is alive. Everyone is dancing, drinking, spending their money, and I couldn’t be happier. My parents thought I was nuts for opening the club, but I had a hunch. My sister was the only one who backed me. She was the most vocal about getting my head out of my ass and doing something “real” with my life, and supported me one-hundred percent when I said this is what I wanted to do. My parents hoped that meant becoming an accountant, but after spending almost ten years as a promoter, I knew the ins and outs of the club life. I took the money I’d saved up and bought Veil. The location on the strip is prime, and it paid off.
My sister smiled at my parent’s disapproval, as did I.
As I walk around the club, I say hello to some of the girls who come often. Getting them in the door once is great, but when they come back, that’s a win. I’m definitely winning right now.
“Ian,” my bartender, Toby, calls with his hand out.
“What’s up?”
“You have a call.” He pushes the phone toward me.
No one calls the club for me other than vendors, and it’s eleven-thirty at night, so whoever it is can wait.
