Page 6 of Surrender
So, while I should have simply taken her demeaning and uneducated words and thanked the universe for giving me a way out of what was going to probably be stressful, and painful, and possibly embarrassing as hell if I fucked it up, instead, I swallowed back every foul word I was tempted to say to this woman and forced a smile on my face.
One that I’d spent years practicing precisely for people like her.
“I’m so sorry, Margot,” I apologized, hoping it sounded genuine. “Of course I’ll perform. I didn’t realize how much you loved the ballet. I’m sure I can pull a variation out of my memory to help you out tomorrow night.”
Parker wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his chest, squeezing a burst of laughter from the depths of my stomach. “That’s my girl,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of my head while Margot simply stared, seeming to be a lot less excited about this favor I was apparently doing for her. “This is great, right, Mom? I’ve never seen you dance before, and I bet it’s sexy as hell.”
I looked up at him and rolled my eyes. “The ballet isn’t about being sexy, babe,” I corrected, feeling this sudden tingling moving through me. It was something I could only describe as muscle memory—the way my feet instantly moved toward first position, how my shoulders pulled back, and I stood a little taller. “Ballet is meant to move you, to make you feel somekind of emotion, even if you’re unsure how or why or what that emotion is.”
“That’s very poetic,” Margot commented, her tone so dry I was surprised it wasn’t followed with a yawn. My entire body tightened as she reached for Parker, slipping her arm through his and pulling him from my grasp. “Come, Parker, I need you to work with the staging people to let them know how I like to be lit.”
He glanced back at me over his shoulder, a less-than-apologetic smile on his face. “You go explore, babe. I’ll catch up with you soon.”
I stood and watched them disappear down a long hall, somewhat in shock.
Parker always came across as someone who liked to be in charge, but the dynamics had changed the moment we stepped into this place. This was clearly his mother’s world, and here, he wasn’t in charge.
It was strange to see, considering Parker had recently been elected County Prosecutor here in Detroit. He was used to giving orders and getting what he wanted, and honestly, I’d never had a problem with letting him take the lead. Choosing where we went for dinner or what movie we watched never bothered me.
We’d met while he was working on a high-profile organized crime case that crossed multiple jurisdictions. The trial had been held in New York, so he’d spent six months there preparing and another six weeks in court.
Now, though, he was heading back to the job he’d been elected for.
We hadn’t discussed exactly where our relationship would stand after I went back to New York City in a couple of weeks, and he’s stuck here doing one of the state’s most powerful jobs. But as I continued to stand in the entranceway to this amazing, exclusive club, and watch him scurry away at the click of hismother’s fingers, I was starting to wonder if I was going to beall thatheartbroken when I left him behind.
I sucked in a deep breath and squared my shoulders. “This is way too stressful for something that’s not all that serious,” I muttered to myself before catching sight of the bar down the hall. “I’m gonna need a drink for this.”
Chapter Three
BLUE
“When I got home from working here the other night, Missy almost had a fucking asthma attack from the smell of my clothes,” Hawk muttered, wrinkling his nose. “You’d think she’d be used to it. She worked in a strip club for years.”
I huffed out a dry laugh, my eyes continuously sweeping the room. “No kidding. This place smells like the fragrance aisle at Walmart after a pack of preteen girls is done with it.”
Maison Vesey was still fresh, less than six months in business, but already making waves within the upper-class circles of Detroit. On paper, it was an exclusive gentleman’s club with a Gatsby-style flair, but anyone with half a brain knew what was really going on.
The strip club and bar downstairs were more laid back, still exclusive, but for those guys just looking to see tits and head home to their wives.
It was upstairs, which catered to the elite.
You didn’t just walk in off the street. You paid a hefty membership fee, an introduction fee, as they called it, which gave you access to the lounge, private events, and the opportunity to meet and mingle with beautiful women who coincidentally lived in the building.
Anything that happened past that introduction was, according to Maison Vesey’s lawyer, strictly based onmutual chemistry and individual choices.
No one was paying to fuck.
No one was being paid to fuck.
At least, not directly.
Estelle Vesey—the owner—had come to the club with an offerbefore opening the doors. She wanted security in exchange for a percentage of the profit, as opposed to an hourly wage.
She was a smart businesswoman.
By tying us to the success of the place, she made sure we weren’t just guarding her girls. We were guarding our own investment. The more money she made, the more money we made. It kept us all motivated.
And Estelle knew exactly what she was selling.
