Harrison
I’ve never found a deal as challenging as the woman sitting in the passenger seat of my car.
“Leni sent me specs, but I must be reading them wrong. All the industry standards are sold out?”
“Correct.”
“But if you don’t get the best, you’ll lose talent,” she finishes. “DJs won’t want to play.”
“It’ll take another three months to get the standard installed. The cost in lost revenues is too high. Do you know how much a club like that will make every night it’s open?”
“It’ll hold two thousand people. Cover, drinks…” She runs through multiple facets of my business and drops a number at the end that’s startlingly accurate.
I nearly groan.
Listening to her talk business is sexy.
Which is fucked up because we’re talking about how screwed my club is.
“I need to make this work,” I mutter. “I will force my way up the supplier list. Find a pressure point and press on it. Whatever Leni did, I’ll double down.”
“Come on, you didn’t ask me to weigh in because you wanted an audience to how you’ll go all ‘tough guy.’ We need to get creative.”
I glance at her as we stop at a light. “This isn’t MacGyver. I can’t use a roll of duct tape and some toilet paper rolls to make a sound system for a high-end venue.”
“But venues used other setups before this one was available,” she argues. “Hell, you have others in your clubs.”
She runs through them while I listen.
Rae is making it difficult to focus. Tonight, she’s dressed in the heels from earlier, plus ripped jeans that hug every curve of her legs and hips, a black T-shirt, and oversized sunglasses. She could be a student going to class at UCLA, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail that tickles the headrest of the car when she turns to look at me.
I stare out the windshield as I navigate traffic, but all I’m picturing is twisting that hair around my hand while she comes on my cock.
“What about Blaze?”
I blink. “What’s Blaze?”
“The club in Venice Beach. It closed not too long ago, and I heard it’s getting sold off and converted into stores.”
“You think there’s a chance of getting their audio equipment.”
“Has to go somewhere.” She shrugs. “I could ask.”
“Thank you.” I read far too much into the fact that she’s offering.
She’s smart and beautiful. My own damn kryptonite.
It’ll be easier when we get to the exclusive beachfront restaurant. A white linen tablecloth between us will keep me civilized.
When we arrive, there’s no sign of the valet. I curse, and we park half a dozen blocks away.
“It’s fine,” Rae says. “Let’s walk on the beach.”
Most women I’ve dated would have pouted at having to walk, but she sounds as if she prefers it.
“Coming around to the idea of being seen with me?” I murmur as I hold her door.
“There are worse things.”