“And in the basement?”
“An area for people to dance, like at a nightclub.”
“Do the girls live here?”
He shakes his head. “No. They go home at the end of the night.”
I bite my bottom lip. “Can I try the pole?”
He laughs. “Sure. Here, let me show you what to do.”
“You know how to work a pole?”
“I’ve dabbled before.”
He takes me by the hand, leading me to the stairs beside the stage.
“Okay, watch me, and then when you try, I’m going to break it down.”
He shows me a few moves that I can try that won’t hurt my shoulder. He’s actually pretty good. Me, not so much. But I’m having a good time, and that’s what matters. Finally, I lean against the pole, rubbing the back of my thigh, laughing.
“Oh my god. That hurts so much. How do they get up there every night?”
He grins. “Well, they’re getting paid, so that helps.”
“True.” Holding out my arms, I ask, “Can you help me up?”
He does and then surprises me by kissing my cheek.
“What was that for?”
“For being you.” He glances over his shoulder at where his brothers are. “I don’t think any of us have smiled this much in a long time.”
My stomach flutters. “Same here.”
Hand in hand, we make our way to the others.
Atticus says, “Come on. We’ll show you the rest of the club.”
Finn takes great pride in showing me the bar, which is even cleaner up close. The basement is a great place, and I can imagine what it looks like when people are dancing. My favorite part? Atticus’ office. It’s on the second floor, away from the private rooms. He has his own personal balcony that overlooks the main floor. Inside, his scent surrounds me. There’s a large desk with several monitors on it. I bet he looks like the king of the world when he sits there. An image of me on my knees in front of him crosses my mind, and I shift. Holy hotness.
As if sensing my thoughts, he goes around and sits in the large leather chair. He’s a big guy, but looks even bigger with his thighs spread. Jeez. This is not helping me and my vivid imagination right now. I’ve read enough books to know what would happen if I went around the desk. So, like a coward, I sit in one of the chairs facing him.
Oliver goes around the desk and leans over Atticus, typing on the keyboard. It’s fascinating watching him work.
“What are you looking for?”
“Going through security footage to see who drugged Hook last night.” He curses. “One camera has been turned.”
Finn asks, “Which one?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“On it.”
He leaves and Oliver continues typing. I glance at Atticus to find him watching me. Normally, I’d quip something about him being a creeper, but I don’t. Because there’s a heat in his eyes that is calling to me.
Oliver says, “Whoever knocked the camera didn’t know what they were doing, but it’s enough that I can’t see who was with Hook.”