Page 23 of Kandi's Crush: A BWWM Sweet Billionaire Romance

“Club Illusion over in the Warehouse District.”

“That wack-ass nightclub?” He downed the rest of his drink in one gulp and reached into his pocket to pull out a pile of bills. “Let’s roll.”

Kandace

Club Illusion was a two-story nightclub in the heart of the Warehouse District. With our VIP passes, we avoided the queue wrapped around the building and walked directly in the club. Fluorescent lights bounced on the walls while the deep bass beat droned. Go-go dancers gyrated on elevated stages to electronic remixes and beautiful people sat draped over chairs and sofas.

The girls and I made our way to our section with the goal to see and be seen. Everything we did was strategic—the slower we walked, the more men would see us. We took our time to navigate through the partygoers dancing and flirting.

A burgundy velvet rope cordoned off the VIP section, and a duo of brawny security guards verified admission. The tall and muscular men both wore black button-downs and matching black slacks. Earpieces similar to what the Secret Service uses were visible in their ears. The younger of the two flashed a wolfish grin and slowly shook his head.

“Mmm-mmm. I love my job.” He directed the comment to no one in particular. “Good evening ladies. Welcome to Club Illusion.”

Ignoring the inappropriate ogle and blatant flirtation, we each flashed a hot pink wristband toward the bouncers and the brawnier of the two released the rope from a gold post. With a look of disinterest, the older man rolled his eyes and nodded upwards toward the stairs.

“The hostess will greet you and escort you to your table. Enjoy your evening.”

With Simone leading the way, we leisurely walked up the stairway.

The section was semi-private and at least twenty degrees cooler than the lower level. The hostess sat us in the section and took our drink orders. Our table sat near the private dance floor and had a perfect view of the dance floor and DJ stand.

Our seats neighbored a group of at least ten guys. Several members fell over themselves trying to get our attention. I assumed that they were there to celebrate a bachelor’s party.

My friends hadn’t sat down. They were too busy exchanging pleasantries with the guys. I stood at the railing and watched the crowded dance floor.

Less than fifteen minutes after we placed our order, two scantily clad bottle girls danced their way over to our booth. One carried a large bottle of Grey Goose which had a sparkler attached to the top. Gold sparks sprayed in the air as Simone and Keely stood and shook their hips along with the servers. The little dance worked because the neighboring bachelor party erupted in whistles and catcalls.

My friends returned to the red tufted benches and continued flirting with the bachelors while I busied myself by making a vodka and club soda accented with lime. I took a small sip, determined to pace myself.

I watched my friends having fun and flirting as I sat on the opposite end of the sofa. Why am I here? I didn’t even feel like myself. I was dressed in someone else’s clothes and wearing a minimum of five layers of makeup on my face. Lounging on the sofa with a pint of Chunky Monkey ice cream along with an entire season of Game of Thrones sounded more appealing.

I’d thought about faking an illness and leaving. I would tell the girls I had tummy troubles and that I called Auntie Marie to pick me up. Instead, my favorite Aunt and I would go to the drive-in burger restaurant for cheeseburgers, french fries, and shakes.

But I ultimately took Chadwick’s advice to appear available and open. I gulped back my drink and bobbed my head to the beat and mouthed along with the feminine moans in the electronic dance song.

Kandi, stop acting so weird and go be with your friends.

After five minutes of sitting alone, I considered walking over to the group and introducing myself. Instead, I pulled out my cell phone and started scrolling through my Snapchat account. I’d taken a few selfies and posted to my timeline when a text message vibrated my phone. It was Chadwick.

Please accept my apologies.

At that precise moment, a bottle girl made her way to our table. Like everything else served at the club, a flaming sparkler topped the bottle, but this time it was a magnum of Veuve Clicquot champagne. I eagerly responded.

*Wow. Did you do this? Where are you?

*I’m at the bar.

I walked over to the banister separating the VIP section from the lower level, skimming the long, mahogany bar for the familiar dark-haired Adonis. Our eyes met, and he raised his cocktail glass in salute. My heart did a small flip when he smiled. I returned his wave and walked to the bench. Natasha, Simone, and Keely changed their focus the bachelor party to the bottle of champagne.

“Chadwick sent over a bottle of champagne!” I exclaimed over the loud music. “He’s at the bar.”

“He’s a class act,” Simone purred. “Kandi Cane, please invite him over. We want to thank him.”

I detected the mischief in her invitation and knew it was less about thanking him for the drinks and more about prying into our working relationship. I sighed and rapidly typed another text.

*Stop by. I want to thank you.

*Unnecessary. Enjoy your evening.

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