I studied his face. His eyes almost pleaded with me, and I took a deep breath in.
Then, I agreed.
“Okay.”
***
Foxies.
Anyone that knew anything about the Fox family knew that Foxies was their—aptly named—first strip club. It had, at one point, been the most popular strip club in the entire city. Hell, probably the state, if not the entire coast.
Most of how the club had opened was urban legend. Damien’s father had appeared from nowhere with money coming out of his asshole, snapped up the building, and in three months, was a millionaire. Word had it that he had personal knowledge of the abilities of the girls who worked there. And by personal, I meant personal.
My dad had once told me that all the clubs under the business had been scouted and part of an undercover mission to locate brothels in the city, but despite the cops’ best effort, the Fox clubs could never be linked to anything.
What I didn’t know was why Damien had brought me here. What reason did he have? I wasn’t a stripper. Hell, I could barely do the Macarena without falling on my ass. I was the furthest thing from a dancer in existence today.
“Foxies?” I asked him, standing beside him on the sidewalk.
He nodded, not answering me. He pushed open the front door and held it for me to pass through. When I did, I was only mildly surprised to see girls already at poles and men—and a couple women—sitting at the tables by the podiums. Pints of beer were already in front of those customers, and numerous dollar bills already dotted both the straps on the dancer’s legs and the stage on which they danced.
“I’m confused,” I said, leaning into him as we walked through the bar. “Why did you bring me here?”
He touched his hand to my lower back, but this time, I didn’t shake him off. The music was too loud and in-your-face for this early in the day, and I was thankful when he took me out to the back rooms and away from the noise and the men.
He didn’t release me until we were firmly inside the office. “Sit down.” He motioned to a high-back leather chair behind a desk.
I raised an eyebrow, but I took the seat as he’d silently asked me to. I couldn’t think why he’d brought me here, especially to the back rooms—an office, no less. “I have fifteen minutes to get back to work,” I reminded him.
We’d had to take a detour thanks to the idiot who decided to wrap the front of their car around a streetlight.
Dark eyes surveyed me for a moment. “I’ve lost my damn mind.”
“I’d argue you lost it before I ever met you.”
His lips twitched. “I’d argue back you’re the reason I’ve lost it.”
I raised my eyebrow.
“I need your help.” He sighed after a moment of silence. “I have business and marketing plans my father doesn’t agree with.”
Picking up a pen from the desk, I twirled it between my fingers. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I told you, I want your help.” Damien perched on the edge of the desk and looked back at me. “A…what would you do, if you will.”
I stared at him. His expression was flat—his jaw was a little tight, but other than that, his features were schooled into the perfect mask of uncaring, plain simplicity. He gained nothing from telling me this, so why was he?
I didn’t understand this man. Not in the slightest.
“Why are you asking me? Mia is the marketing guru. I’m still remembering to get up with my alarm because nobody else will,” I admitted. It wasn’t exactly willingly, but hey, if he could admit he was having issues in his business, the least I could do was admit I struggled to wake up in the morning.
“You have a Masters in Business.”
“That you said to me just a few days ago doesn’t run a business.”
He held his hands up. “I stand by that. It doesn’t run a business, but you have a theoretical knowledge I might lack.”
Was he admitting I knew more than him? “Are you admitting I know more than you?”
He scowled. “Don’t push it.”
“Fine, fine. You’ll admit it one day.” I paused, enjoying the dark flash of annoyance that danced through his eyes. “Spit it out. You’re wasting time.”
“One of our clubs is on the downward spiral. We have another that has never been one of our better ones, and I believe the staff could be better used in the failing club and others. They’re too good to be stuck in one of the mediocre clubs, and the one that’s losing its draw has staff openings.” Damien paused, undoing a button on his shirt. “He isn’t sure. The club falling down is one of his, not mine, and I think he’s stuck in the years he ran this business.”