Page 40 of The Mirage Guild

“And it is going to be fine? That we both work there? I mean, together?” I didn’t know what I was really asking behind all my questions. The alcohol was certainly making my thoughts swirl.

“We work together now and it’s fine,” he countered.

“Right, but now that . . . well, you know,” I said.

“Now that I always want to be inside you?” Max’s voice was low, and I had the strong urge to lean across the console and taste his lips. “I think we’ll be able to figure it out, Isabella.”

If I had stopped drinking before the lemon drop shots, I might have felt more confident about asking Max to come inside, but for now, I needed a large glass of water and my bed. He must have seen the tiredness in my eyes because he came around the side of the car and helped me up the steps.

The pretzel certainly helped me gain a more solid footing. Carbs were always a good idea.

“Are you okay to make it inside?” he asked.

“Yeah, I can, I’ve made this trip far drunker than now,” I said with a chuckle.

“Good night, Isabella,” Max said as I stepped inside the foyer.

EIGHTEEN

MAX

In the whirlwind of preparations for the Mirage Guild’s grand opening a few weeks away, every moment spent with Isabella heightened my anticipation—not just for the club’s launch but for every chance to see her in action. Today, the club was a beehive of activity, every corner buzzing with the final touches that would bring our vision to life. And at the heart of it all was Isabella, her presence electrifying the space with an energy that was both commanding and captivating.

Watching Isabella in her element definitely turned me on. And that was putting it lightly. The crew was gathered at the new club, the Mirage Guild, with blueprints, mood boards, and laptops spread out before them. The scent of freshly brewed coffee, freshly laid carpet, and new coats of paint lingered in the air as murmurs of discussion filled the room.

The transformation of the space had been nothing short of remarkable. Crews had diligently worked around the clock, their efforts concentrated on revitalizing rather than gutting the place entirely. This strategic approach allowed us to maintain the structural integrity of the building while infusing it with a new, vibrant spirit.

The previous, somewhat neglected, nightclub ambiance had completely disappeared and had been replaced by an elegant, circus-inspired aesthetic that managed to be both sensuous and sophisticated. Every surface gleamed with care and attention, reflecting the meticulous planning and hard work that had gone into the refurbishment. It was a stark transformation, one that had taken the space from forgotten and faded to a focal point of intrigue and allure, ready to welcome patrons into its newly imagined embrace.

And there, right in the center of the organized chaos, stood Isabella. Isabella commanded the stage with an energy I’d only seen in her when immersed in event planning. In this domain, she was confident, her usual self-doubt replaced by a commanding presence that directed every aspect of the VIP grand opening. Leaning against a polished wooden pillar, I watched her, admiring the deliberate decisions and spontaneous creativity that flowed from her with unwavering purpose.

Her voice, stronger here than in any other setting, carried throughout the club with clarity and authority, sparking excitement with every word and gesture. As she spoke, a habitual tuck of a curl behind her ear or an excited bounce on her toes revealed glimpses of the softer side I found irresistibly endearing. Watching her, it was clear: this was where Isabella thrived, bringing visions to life with a passion that illuminated her from within.

Natalia leaned over to me, noticing my fixed gaze on Isabella. With a teasing whisper, she remarked, “Lost in thoughts, Mr. Heart-eyes?”

I smirked, my focus momentarily shifting to Natalia. “Can’t help but admire talent when I see it,” I replied smoothly.

Izzy happened to glance our way, catching my intense gaze. Her cheeks flushed a soft pink, but she didn’t look away. I raised an eyebrow suggestively, causing Izzy to break into a soft chuckle before immersing herself back into the discussions.

Liam interjected with some logistics about the stage and talent we might have available the evening of the opening, but my thoughts were elsewhere. Watching Izzy, I was once again reminded of the layers to her—her vulnerabilities juxtaposed against her strengths, her moments of self-doubt shadowed by her unwavering confidence in her craft. And it was this tapestry of contrasts that made me fall for her even more.

I wanted nothing more than to lock everyone out of the room so I could have her attention for myself.

“Okay, I think we can showcase three separate acts on the stage. Let everyone get a feel for the vibes that Mirage can bring.” Isabella was walking around the stage now, counting out steps to measure the space.

The Mirage Guild, set to open with a showcase of sensuality, had Isabella at the helm of organizing an evening unlike any other. I watched, leaning against a pillar, as she orchestrated everything with a fire and focus that seemed to light her from within. Here, away from the doubts that usually haunted her, she was unstoppable—commanding, creative, every bit the leader.

Her enthusiasm was palpable as we discussed the event’s finer points, especially the drinks. “Let’s make the two-drink limit work in our favor,” she suggested, eager to keep the evening refined yet engaging. Her idea for specialty mocktails—a playful addition to complement the night’s performances—showed her knack for blending sophistication with fun. And when she proposed creating a signature drink for the Mirage Guild, her excitement was infectious. “Purple and magical,” she insisted, already visualizing the standout feature of our menu.

After wrapping up with Natalia about entrance plans, Isabella joined me at the bar, her touch sending a familiar jolt through me. Even in the midst of final preparations, our connection remained—a silent thread weaving through the buzz of activity.

As the team disbanded, leaving Isabella and me to close up, our conversation turned personal. Despite the looming exhaustion from endless double shifts, her excitement for the grand opening couldn’t be dimmed. “I can’t wait to see it all come together,” she admitted, and I echoed her sentiment, impressed by her talent and vision.

We debated whether to open the private rooms on the night, each space a reflection of the circus theme, from the Lion’s Den with its opulent twist on BDSM to the Acrobat’s Loft, offering a unique vantage point above the festivities.

As the hustle of preparation settled into a quiet hush and we were left alone amid the dimming lights of the soon-to-be-bustling club, the air between Isabella and me seemed charged with a different kind of anticipation. Her indecision about the private rooms lingered in the space, a symbol of the careful balance she was trying to strike between control and freedom.

“I think giving people the choice could be part of the magic,” I suggested gently, watching as her expression shifted, pondering the idea. “It’s like opening up a world of possibilities for them, letting them explore on their terms. Isn’t that what we’re all about here?”