I’m not looking forward to it.
Chapter Two
Bram
One week later
I hate strip clubs. The only reason I’m here is because my newest client is a punk kid who just turned twenty-one and has never been to one. Trust fund kids. I hate them almost as much as I hate strip clubs, but his daddy’s money is going to save my company, so I have to pretend that I’m happy with his choice of entertainment for the evening.
“Do you want a drink?” I look over at the spoiled brat I’m babysitting, Clarence Jackson IV—people call him Jack.
“Hell yeah, bro.” He flashes his billion-dollar smile and walks over to the bar.
Bro. Another entry on the list of things I hate. It’s a new addition—I added it ten minutes after I met Jack.
“His drinks are on me.” I hand the bartender my company credit card before Jack can place his order.
“Let me get…” Jack taps his chin a couple of times. “Vodka! The good shit.”
“You want a drink or a shot?” The bartender glances at the bottles on the top shelf.
“Both, bro! Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.” Jack grins.
“Coming right up.” The bartender and I exchange glances. He shrugs. I do the same.
“I’ll have a whiskey, neat.” I point at the bottle I want.
Jack downs his shot as soon as it is placed on the bar, then grabs his glass. He walks to a table while I wait for my whiskey. When I turn around, I see that he has chosen a table that is as close to the stage as possible. Just fucking fantastic. We’re going to be so close that we will have to throw money at the girls or look like a couple of assholes. It’s a good thing I carry cash.
“This place is lit, yo!” Jack grins at me as I sit down. “Thanks for bringing me.”
“Yeah,” I say as I take a drink of my whiskey.
I miss the days when my life didn’t require me to cater to the whims of assholes with more money than common sense. I never thought I would see the day when I could say I preferred combat over civilian life. So many of those days have passed me by now that I’ve lost count.
“I like her.” Jack’s grin gets wider as a woman who is introduced as Salacious Sandy saunters to the stripper pole. “Do you think it’s one of those places?”
“What do you mean by those places?” I grunt my response at him.
“You know what I mean, bro.” He nudges me. “Can I take her home if I like what I see?”
“I have no fucking idea.” I reach into my pocket and pull out some money so I can tip Jack’s new infatuation; it looks like his only intention is to drool.
“Well, find out for me.” He snatches a couple of bills and tosses them at the stage.
“Yes, sir…” I avoid a disrespectful reply, somehow.
The list of things I hate is getting long, but I think there’s still room to add solicitation to it. I have no intention of asking the owner of this club if the girls on the stage moonlight as prostitutes when their music ends, but I’ll let Jack think that is why I’m leaving the table.
I walk to the bar, make conversation with the bartender, and then disappear out of Jack’s line of sight once I have a fresh drink in my hand. I’ll get another one on my way back to the table. If there’s a god in heaven, he’ll make my current trip to hell as short as possible. There’s no reason for Jack to be in a place like this. If he wants a girl, he’s got the money to get someone a lot better than the ones on the stage.
I know that for a fact.
I’ve had my fair share of girls who chase money without taking their clothes off—professionally, at least.
Maybe Jack is just too young to know better. He certainly wouldn’t be investing in my fucking company if he had as much sense as dollars in his bank account. Then again, he didn’t earn a single one of them. At least I intend to do something good with the check he’s going to write. It’s enough to save my company and keep an awful lot of people from standing in the unemployment line; enough to end the financial woes my company has been under since my best friend decided it was time to cash out.
“Bad news, Jack.” I take a seat at the table across from him. “You can get a lap dance, but that’s about it.”
“Well, that sucks ass.” He folds his arms across his chest like a toddler that’s about to start pouting. “Maybe we should go somewhere else…”
“That’s your call.” I sip my drink and shrug. “If you’re ready to go, so am I.”
“Hold up, this girl’s cute.” He motions to the girl that is walking toward the pole. “Let’s stay a little bit longer.”
I pull out my money, and Jack grabs some of it. He has a lot more to spare than I do, but I’m not going to complain. I motion for one of the waitresses to bring him another drink. If I can get him drunk, my night might end a lot earlier than he intends for it to. He’s barely more than a kid. He might have some tolerance from his college years, but I doubt he knows a damn thing about pacing.
“Thanks, babe.” Jack winks at the waitress and stares at her cleavage as he hands her a tip.
“Wait.” I put my hand on her arm. “He’s supposed to get a shot of vodka with every drink you serve him;
