Page 38 of Keep Him Like Secrets

“What?” she asked, a half-laugh escaping her. “I mean… how is that any of your business?”

“Because, in this case, your personal entanglements could impact the deal,” I said, dressing up an HR violation in a three-piece suit.

Saff watched me for a long moment, brows pinched, thinking her next words through carefully. “What kind of mental gymnastics did you have to do there to disguise your nosiness as due diligence?”

“If I didn’t ask, I was going to be up all night thinking about it,” I admitted before I could stop myself.

“Why?”

My gaze cut to hers. “You know why.”

I swiped at my tablet screen, knowing I needed to get back to the task at hand before I admitted something I was going to regret.

“I’m not fucking Bass,” Saff admitted, surprising me.

“You two have a strange dynamic I can’t put my finger on.”

“Bass is opinionated and… and arrogant enough to think he’s in charge, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. That said, he does occasionally save me from making an idiot of myself. So I keep him around.”

Once again, there seemed to be just enough truth in her words to have someone less observant take her at face value. But there was a false note in there that I couldn’t help but pick up on.

“I hate that,” she said, distracting me.

“Why?” I asked, glancing down at the image she was pointing at.

“I can get behind all the neon lights. It’s a classic for a reason. But that ice-blue color is awful. Kind of too bright. Looks like somewhere people are gonna wait to see if they’re going to heaven or hell. No one’s gonna want to get shit-faced while they’re worried about their immortal souls.”

“Fair enough,” I said, swiping the image away. It wasn’t at the top of my list anyway. I’d included it in case she hated everything else. “Any others you don’t care for?”

“This one. The red and black. It just screams cheesy vampire romance book. And don’t get me wrong, I love a cheesy vampire romance book. It’s just the wrong vibe for a club. Besides, I think it needs more seating. This isn’t the mid-aughts, where everyone could club for five hours straight on icepick heels, running on adrenaline and cranberry vodka. The people are tired. They want to sit on occasion.”

“I agree,” I said, nodding. I’d been adding more seating to my clubs over the last two projects I’d worked on. “Let’s try this: whatdoyou like that you see here?”

“I like the purple and blue lighting. And these lights in particular,” she said, pointing toward the circular ones. “I think it’s important that the small details are unique and photographable. Everyone takes pictures and videos everywhere they go now. You want every inch of the place to pass the vibe check.”

“Agreed.”

“But not that,” she said, wiggling a finger at some uneven neon lighting.

“Why not?”

“I’m stone-cold sober, and it’s making me dizzy.”

“Alright,” I said. I personally liked that one, but it was a small compromise.

“Where are the plans for the bathroom?”

“The bathroom?”

“The women’s bathroom, in particular.”

“You care about the women’s bathroom more than the bar?” I asked, swiping over toward the mock-ups for that area.

“I do, and you should too. Do you have any idea how many selfies are going to be taken in there? How many pep talks are going to occur there? How many friendships will be formed, if only for the night? There is nothing more sacred than the women’s bathroom at a club.”

“I suddenly feel like I need to go back and redo the ones at all my other clubs.”

“You probably should. Here, give me that,” she said, ripping the tablet out of my hands and clicking around.

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