The office feels like home. It’s a building that my parents rehabilitated. It’s got a brick façade and looks old. But once you get inside, everything’s modern.
“Hi, Aurora,” my assistant says. “Is there anything you need today?”
“Thanks, Alyssa, I just need some espresso if you’ve got it.”
“Sure thing.”
I don’t make it into the office very often. I spend most of my days worried about Anders and tracking him down.
But things are running pretty smoothly here with our vice-president in place. She’s been here since before my parents died.
The only problem here is that we’re constantly bleeding money. No one knows that the reason is Anders. No one suspects that their jobs are on the line based on his late-night binging.
It wouldn’t do to have them know either. I don’t need panic-stricken employees quitting on me once they find out that we could go under virtually any day.
In my little office, I feel at home. My parents designed it for me, and it’s my favorite place to be.
Modern white accents feature plush surroundings and various seating areas. They wanted Anders and me to run the business one day. Too bad we got to this place so quickly and, instead of having a partner, I have a drug-addicted brother.
I feel like I have too much on my shoulders. I feel like the world is caving in.
If I lose Anders, I will have lost everything.
Immediately I call my financial advisor. He’s admonishing me for spending so much money. If only I could tell him that no, it was Anders. He needs help, and I don’t how to give it to him.
Instead, I go over our various options for investing the money we have to keep the business going. It’s a boring meeting, but at the back of my mind is the feeling of Finn between my legs.
I miss him. I wish he could come in and take care of everything.
For once, I’d like to not have to be the most responsible person in the room.
For once, I’d like to breathe freely and know that everything’s gonna be okay.Chapter 23Jasper
The air is thick with smoke.
Not cigarette smoke. Shit, no.
It’s the artificial stuff, the kind that gives the right mood in a strip club.
You don’t want to see the girls in bright, neon-type lighting. Oh no, it’s got to be just the right kind of fucking light.
Apparently, research has been done into this shit. And according to research, strip clubs need smoke, and lots of it. I do as my manager suggests. He’s a fucking genius and is my right-hand man.
The lighting, the smoke—it’s all very sexy and it makes me a ton of fucking money. Of course, the club has to have the best of the best and the latest in state-of-the-art technology. It pays to stand out, and we do.
My club caters to the elite. It’s not open to the public, and only the people who think they are somebody can join. If you’ve got money, lots of it, then you’re somebody.
We’re here to offer top-of-the-line service to the rich and famous. If you haven’t got money, forget it, you’re not welcome. I don’t believe in charity in the entertainment industry.
For charity, I might make a donation to some worthy cause, but it doesn’t belong in my club.
Fuck, my girls are too valuable to have some deadbeat low-life touching them. They deserve better, and we certainly cater to that. I’ve got the best of the best working for me. My girls are more valuable than most elite athletes.
I keep membership prices steep. You’ve got to be committed and have the bucks behind you if you want to be a member.
Another way we stand out: we offer memberships to both men and women. We’re not an exclusive male club. Fuck, I don’t believe in segregation like that.
Let a woman in, I say, if she’s prepared to pay. I won’t even ask why she’s here.
I’m leaning against the side of the bar and watching the show. We’ve hired a new dancer.
My eyes scan the room. It’s not overly crowded yet. I don’t recognize anyone important.
It’s a good idea to get the girl used to the place when we’re not packed. It can be intimidating to be here dancing when the place is packed.
When it’s that crowded, some of the men—and a few women—try and get onto the stage. Our bouncers have their hands full on those nights.
No doubt about it, the new girl I’m watching has talent. Her upper body bends backwards until her hands touch the floor behind her back. She kicks her right leg up in the air, followed by the left. When she stands again, she’s holding her panties in her right hand.
A lot of the guys near the front are cheering and clapping. For once, I only appreciate the show for the skill involved.