Page 49 of Devoured
CHAPTER 13
Roland
On weeknights, a small crowd came out to Vanish, but the club was mellow in comparison to the weekends. Still, the DJ blared house music, jumping around in his booth like it was the end of the world. No matter the day of the week, I preferred to unwind in the VIP lounge before working in my office.
Iris came up the stairs, this time in her usual attire; no brown hair dye, no little black dress. She wore black high-waisted shorts that connected with thin garter straps that held up solid black stockings. A long sleeve shirt on top to match. Six inches of her thigh were exposed, showing off the tops of the decaying trees in her tattoos. She was fucking hot.
I adjusted the collar of my button-up shirt, then raised a shot glass. She shook her head, so I tossed it back. The liquid slithered down my throat. It was my fourth of the night; I couldn’t feel it yet.
“What brings you here?” I asked. I pulled her closer, making her sit beside me. Her hand was warm and soft. “It’s quite the drive.”
“I wanted to talk to you about the Dahlia District.”
Ah, the ever-hopeful aspiring owner. I ignored the sinking weight in my chest and nodded. It’s not like she was coming here for me. I knew that.
“What can I help you with?” I asked.
“I need—”
“So what does your perfect club look like?” I asked, cutting her off. We could talk about business all she wanted. “Utopian vision. The dream. Tell me. Let’s hear it.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I thought we already talked about this.”
“I want your day to day,” I clarified. “Tell me, what do you imagine the beginning of the workday at the Dahlia District would look like? The middle? The end?”
She held her breath, her hand itching at her stomach through the shirt. “That’s actually what I came here to talk to you about.”
“Oh?”
“I think it would be best for everyone—” she swallowed hard, “—if you helped get it running.”
I waved a dismissive hand to the side, then poured us both drinks. More vodka, a splash of orange juice on top. I put a hand in my pocket, rubbing a small pill between my fingers. I checked my phone: A text alert from one of the Adler guards telling me that Iris had arrived at Vanish, sent ten minutes ago. Did me a lot of good now.
“Let’s dream for a second,” I said, stowing my phone once again. “Start from the beginning. What time would the club open?”
“Roland?”
“When would the servers get there? Would you continue to call them servers? Or would you skip straight to sex worker?”
“Roland.”
“Or what about the structure of the place? Would you keep the membership requirement—”
“Shut up for a second, Roland! I am asking for your help!” The bartender at the pop-up cart turned his head towards us, then resumed cleaning the bottles. “I’ve been thinking about it,” Iris said, “and I truly think that once I convince you—”
“Ifyou convince me,” I corrected.
“Okay, fine.” She crossed her arms. “IfI convince you, or better yet, if andwhenI convince you, I think it would benefit everyone if you stayed for a while. Helped me figure out the best way to get the club going. Like you said,” she motioned to the side, “You have all of these great questions. And I think together, we might be better equipped to convince the servers to stay.”
We.
Together.
Stay.
I rubbed a hand across my brow. I never stayed long. If it weren’t for the bet I had made with Iris, I would have already been making big changes to the Dahlia District. Training the servers in cocktail waitressing, working reception, in bartending. Got my own security team working with the current one. Started the interior design overhaul. The Dahlia District had an old-fashioned vibe to it; Departure would have none of that. It would be modern, new, young, always changing—
But I hadn’t done any of that yet. I had let it stay the way it was. And now Iris was asking, maybe even begging, for me to stay too.
