Page 1 of His to Keep
Luke
After six months away, I find Club Wyld exactly the way I remembered it. There’s a comfort in that, despite the exhaustion seeping through me. The dark paneled walls and rich, burgundy tapestries are as familiar to me as the comforts of my own home. Stepping through the front door I see the same dimly lit lounge area, same dark shadows hiding those with secrets to keep. Same thinly veiled depravity humming just under the surface.
It’s good to be back.
I hadn’t planned to come out tonight. After spending the last six months in Asia, culminating in twenty something hours on planes and in airports, I’m well beyond exhausted. The prospect of sleeping in my own bed was the only thing that powered me through the seemingly never-ending travel, and to postpone that reward for a night at the club sounds particularly unbearable.
But I didn’t get to where I am in business without the ability to make sacrifices. So here I am, tired and bleary-eyed, standing in the middle of an ultra-exclusive private sex club, waiting for an associate who isn’t willing to hold off until Monday morning.
“Luke,” a smooth, British voice sounds beside me, and I look over to see Philip Matthews approaching, an ever-present tumbler of whiskey in his hand. “It’s been so long I nearly didn’t recognize you.”
I manage a tired smile. “Am I really that forgettable after only six months?”
“Six months?” He whistles softly. “I take it your business in Hong Kong went well.”
“Of course. I was the one handling it.”
“I always did like that confidence of yours.” He peers a little closer, likely taking in my exhaustion. He certainly won’t detect any note of unruliness in my clothes or appearance. I took the time to change into a fresh suit and shave in the premier lounge at the airport before heading over. In my experience, a hell of a lot of success can be attributed to the image one portrays, and image is something I’ve carefully crafted over the years. A little thing like a traveling across thirteen time zones isn’t going to change that.
“Don’t tell me you came straight from the airport?”
“I did. Donovan Frasier insisted on a meeting tonight.”
Philip winces. “Have you checked your messages, mate? I’m fairly sure I saw him leave about half an hour ago.”
I curse, pulling out my phone. No text messages, no missed calls. I quickly thumb over to my email and see it. An email from my latest PA, informing me of the rain check.
I sigh, shoving the phone away. I’ll have to talk to Wesley about her. Messages with such immediate information should be handled over the phone or through text. The new girl was hired during my absence, and my long time executive secretary, Wesley, has been upbeat about her potential, but maybe he’s wrong about this one. I don’t have time for these kind of mistakes.
“Looks like I made the drive over for nothing.” I clap Philip on the shoulder. “I’ll see you around.”
“Oh, come on. You’re already out. At least have a drink.” He waggles his eyebrows. “I’ve heard the entertainment tonight is something not to be missed.”
I doubt I have it in me to enjoy any of the entertainments provided by Club Wyld, but the thought of a cold glass of beer does sound awfully nice. I follow Philip to the bar, ignoring his jabs when I order my Stella. Philip is a whiskey-or-nothing type of guy and he finds my preference for lowly beer to be a constant source of teasing.
We sit at the bar with our drinks and I bring Philip up to date on the merger I’ve been killing myself for over the last six months. Philip is in finance, while my firm deals primarily with tech, so our business interests don’t often overlap. Still, Philip Matthews is definitely the kind of man it’s worth keeping a connection to—he knows basically everyone, here in Charlotte as well as in Manhattan and London. Access to his extensive contacts has proven to be one of the most beneficial aspects of membership at this club.
That and the availability of kinky sex at the ready, of course.
I’m halfway through my beer when the lights dim, an excited murmur going through the crowd. “The entertainment?” I ask Philip.
He grins wickedly. “You’re going to love this. Just the thing for a man who’s been away for too long.”
A spotlight comes up on the stage in the corner. Tonight the platform is empty, absent of the jazz quartet that usually plays here in the front lounge. A moment later, the reason for the cleared-out space becomes apparent. Andres, the club’s senior host, steps into the spotlight, a parade of more than a dozen women trailing onto the stage behind him.
A dozen, nearly naked women. Each is dressed only in a pair of nude panties and sky-high heels.
Philip shoots me a conspiratorial smirk. “Good to be back, eh?”
I grin back. I suppose there are worse ways to end the day than taking in the current view.
Then Andres steps to the microphone and I realize there’s more to this stunt than a pleasant view. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says. “Welcome to The Draw.”
I raise my eyebrows at Philip. “Is this what I think it is?”
He nods. “Haven’t had one in a while. You picked a good night to come home.”
The Draw is an event I’ve seen hosted at the club only twice. The rareness only adds to the appeal and now that I’m looking around, I note the front lounge is much more crowded than usual. Often, the majority of members would be back behind the steel door by this time of night, enjoying the club’s less publicly acceptable enticements. The crowd makes sense now—no one wants to miss The Draw.
