Page 24 of The True Garza
Thank you, Mr. Bouncer, for confirming that my makeover is on point. Young and hot? Check and check.
With an elevated confidence, I throw him a wink then turn and sashay into the club.
Pop music thrums all around me, pulling me in like a disco-colored vortex. Long fingers of neon lights slice across gyrating bodies on the dance floor. Sheer Nights is simple but tasteful, with two floors. On the upper floor is an all-white VIP section, with four men in deep discussion. There’s also a skybox, with a guard outside the door.
According to Sacha, that’s where Jamal sits every night. Watching. Missing nothing. Raffi, he told me, is usually either in the VIP section having “meetings” or on the floor making sure the “billionaires” aren’t pussyfooting around.
From down here, I can’t make anyone out, but I don’t look too long. Instead, I make a show of pushing through the throngs, tipping up on my toes and searching. For “Pierre.”
When I find him, I throw my arms around his neck and pull him down for a kiss. He kisses me back for a brief moment, then eases me off him with feigned irritation.
With mock offense, I wave my hands in his face with attitude. But what’s coming out of my mouth is, “You’re a damn good kisser, Allard.”
His mask is of annoyance and inconvenience. “You taste like cinnamon, Bridge.”
I jab a finger in the center of his forehead. “It’s chewing gum.”
“Ah, okay. Raffi is looking. You can storm off now.”
“Got it.” With a huff, I brush past him and stomp to the bar. “A finger of your best whiskey on the rocks, please,” I tell the bearded, man-bun bartender.
He gives me an appreciative once over. “Are you sure? You don’t look like a whiskey kind of girl.”
I brush my hair over my shoulder. “I’m kind of pissed at my boyfriend right now, so I’m trying something new tonight.”
He glances across the club—to Sacha, no doubt. “I saw.”
“Of course. You’re the bartender. You see everything.” I lean over the counter, very much aware that my dress has ridden up and I’m possibly flashing the club. “So, tell me the truth. Is he cheating on me?”
He pops a brow at me as he pours my drink. “Bartenders also keep their jobs by being deaf, blind, and dumb.”
On an eye roll, I take the drink when he slides it across to me. “You are all so annoyingly loyal here.”
I take a sip of the whiskey, then scrunch up my face as I hack out a pretend cough. “Oh, wow, this is strong! Is it too late to change my order?”
He chuckles at me like he thinks I’m cute. “Eighteen dollars.”
I pay up, then take another sip before sliding it back to him. “Thanks. I’m going to make my boyfriend jealous now. Feel free to watch.”
With swaying hips, I walk out to the dance floor. And then I dance. Put on a show that will undoubtedly get attention. I’m not here for Raffi’s attention. I’m here for the boss’s. And getting people’s attention is something I’m good at. I’ve got my own agenda. And by the end of all this, I’ll have killed two birds with one stone.
I dance nonstop for over half an hour before I head back to the bar with a coat of sweat on my skin.
“Wow,” the bartender says, his arms pressed to the counter. “Girl, you are…damn.” His eyes follow as I provocatively slide two fingers down my cleavage to wipe away sweat.
“I think I need something sexier this time,” I tell him.
He starts to reply, but his attention drops to something behind the bar. He picks it up and lifts it to his ear. “Hello? … Yes, sir. … Okay, I understand, sir.”
When he hangs up, he tells me, “It looks like you did more than make your boyfriend jealous out there.”
I twirl a lock of my hair. “What do you mean?”
His gaze flicks to the upper floor so fast I could’ve missed it. “Whatever you want is on the house.”
Perfect.
Later, when Sachaand I have publicly “made up” and left the club together with his arm around me, he asks, once we’re safely in his car, “Where did you learn to dance like that?”
