Page 23 of Keep Him Like Secrets

Even just the memory of it sent another little shiver down my spine.

I needed something, anything that would tamp down the desire that was burning through my system.

“Come on,” I grumbled at my book, “gut someone or carve an eye out or something.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Soren

I usually liked the legalese stage of a project. Knowing things were in the hands of the lawyers allowed me to stop thinking of the business side of things and gave me time to really dive into the project itself.

Because as much as the average person might think that club owners just slapped a coat of paint on a building, ordered liquor, and hired some staff to be able to open, they were mistaken.

Sure, that was all part of it.

But there was a certain amount of research that went into clubs. The success of each one was unique to its surroundings and patrons.

I couldn’t drop a cowboy western club in the middle of the Bronx and expect it to last past the opening month when curiosity alone would fuel sales.

You had to dig deep and figure out what your new neighborhood was like, who in those places was in the right age bracket to go to clubs, and what they liked. Or didn’t like.

That helped determine which DJs you sought for entertainment, how you decorated, and even the cover charge.

That said, I found myself constantly distracted while trying to pore over the research on demographics that I’d had Teresa compile for me.

Because I suddenly wanted the paperwork to be finalized. So I could see Saff again.

“You know what I want?” Teresa asked as she brought me another file—this one full of the statistics on the other bars in the general area in Brooklyn.

“What’s that?”

“A women’s-only bar. You get all pretty, go out with your girlfriends, make a fool of yourself screaming at the top of your lungs to some dramatic ‘90s ballad. And, best part, no men trying to grab your ass or spike your drink.”

“It’s illegal,” I said, flipping open the file.

“What? What’s illegal?”

“Female-only bars. Or male-only bars, for that matter.”

“Why?”

“Gender-based bias.”

“That makes no sense. There are women-only gyms.”

“Because gyms aren’t considered public establishments. The membership fees make them private clubs. Which are allowed to choose their clientele.”

“Huh. You learn something every day. Well, maybe you should open a women’s-only private club then. That just so happens to serve alcohol, have a DJ, and a general, you know, bar-like atmosphere. I’d pay a membership fee. I’d be there every weekend. Got too much testosterone in my house. I’m choking on it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, actually meaning it. There’d been a growing trend of women wanting safe spaces for themselves to have fun without the fear of unwanted advances or spiked drinks.

Though, as far as I knew, there was no evidence that such a club would have long-term success, since a big part of the popularity of bars and clubs had to do with the dynamics of dating life.

It might not be politically correct to say, but men—historically—liked looking at pretty women. And women, by and large, liked getting all pretty in the hopes of finding a partner.

It was biologic.

Even if current statistics said young women had a significantly lower interest in dating than any generation before—especially when compared to men of the same age group—I was hedging my bets on more singles being open to meeting people in person after too many failed years using dating apps.

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