Page 15 of Devoured
“But that doesn’t seem like the only reason she’s pissed.”
“If youmustknow, she broke my ribs and cut off my hair when we were in the same group home,” she said quickly. The blond shuffled away, then Iris turned towards me, moving on with our conversation. “If you want it to be like one of your clubs,” she gestured around us, “This isn’t the right setup. It’s going to take alotof remodeling to get it into that same aesthetic.”
She was right. The restaurant and the bar could stay, but the stage was unnecessary. A smaller one would do, and the seating arrangement would have to be changed too. More levels to determine status. And the one-on-one private rooms, in the section labeled the Terrariums? That would have to go. I could tear down the walls, making the main club larger instead. The Greenhouse could be used as an employee break room and storage facility.
“You’re right,” I said. I poured another round of shots, and this time, she accepted the offer. “There’s too much work to be done. This place hasn’t made money in a long time,” I sighed, “and it shows.”
She grit her teeth. “If it needs that much work, then why notgiveit to me?”
“Because I like a challenge.”
She wrinkled her nose. “What kind of entertainment will you have?”
“Live music. Maybe a dancer on occasion.”
“And the food?”
“The restaurant is three-star rated, right? That can stay as is.”
“What about the staff? The security? Are you bringing your own? Or can the security we have stay?”
“Both.”
“And the servers. What about us? What do we—”
“What’s your story?” I asked, interrupting her string of questions. I needed to get out of it before she drove me insane. “All of the servers here have a story, right? What’s yours? Why are you attached to this place?”
“I’ve been here since I was a teenager,” she said. “It’s my home.”
Silence drifted between us, the question making her uneasy.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Twenty-nine.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve been twenty-nine for the last three years, haven’t you?” I asked. She lifted her nose. “I had one of my assistants look up your records. Don’t worry, doll,” I laughed. “I’ve got you beat by seven years. Still older.”
“Woohoo. Yay.”
I chuckled at the sarcasm. “There’s no reason to lie about your age.” I lifted the glass and we clinked out shots before taking them. “You’re a pro-dom, right? Being a domme in your thirties is probably more profitable than being in your twenties.”
“Dahlia used to have a rule about age. You can fuck off if you think I’m ashamed of it.”
“No, but you’re using age to stimulate your profits.” I shrugged. “But dommes benefit from age. Wisdom. All of that.”
“Thanks for mansplaining all about pro-domination, jackass. I had no idea you were an expert on all things femdom.”
“Would you have said that if my name was Dahlia and I had tits?”
She stared at me, her mouth open, those dark purple lips against her white teeth. “No.”
“Well, then.” I sat up, putting my hands on the table. “Tell you what. I don’t believe you would be willing to work with me in any capacity. Prove me wrong.” I leaned in closer to her, expecting her to pull away, but she stayed. “Let’s make a bet. If you can convince me of your submission, the club is yours.” I paused, studying her face, but she stayed motionless, putting up her internal defenses. I continued, “And if you don’t, you walk away.”
“Walk away?”
