Page 55 of Billionaire Bachelor
My face heats. “Oh.”
His lips curve, andthe way his eyes darken sends my stomach into a free fall.“You wanna check it out?”
I exhale a quiet laugh and nod.“Sure.”
“He said the shows begin at the top of every even hour.” He pulls his phone out of pocket, checking the time. “Which gives us less than five minutes.”
Holy hell.
I’m about to watch a live sex show in public.Even if Logan secured a semi-private space for us, there are stillhundreds of people just below. My senses are suddenly heightened in anticipation. The low hum of conversations surrounding us, meaningful glances exchanged in the dim glow of a booth, the faint smell of sweat from bodies grinding.
“Shall we?” Logan’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
I arch a brow. “Huh?”
His eyes flick toward the metal staircase. “Upstairs.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
Logan’s mouth tips up in the corner as he takes my hand, effortlessly weaving us through the crowd toward the staircase. A broad-chested bouncer stands guard, arms crossed, his gaze aloof yet somehow also hyperaware.
The man’s dark eyes flick to us as we approach. “I’m sorry, but this level is reserved.”
Logan tilts his phone screen toward the bouncer, showing him a QR code. “Yes, for us.”
The man watches him for a beat, then pulls a small device from his back pocket and opens an app. He holds it up, scans the code on Logan’s phone. After a brief pause, the device emits a soft chime.
“Enjoy your evening, Mr. Edwards,” he says, stepping aside. “If you need anything, scan the code on any table, and a staff member will bring it right up.”
Logan nods. “Appreciate it.”
“Thanks,” I add, offering a small smile as we step past him and ascend the stairs.
“So, this place has personalized entry codes and digital ordering too. Fancy.”
“The steakhouse does as well.” Logan’s hand never leaves my back as we climb the stairs. “I designed the software for them.”
I pause mid-step. “Excuse me?”
His eyes twinkle with amusement. “They needed a system that was universal across all three establishments. Customized access points, concierge services, food and beverage orders, encrypted communication for privacy…” He shrugs. “Pretty basic. A middle schooler probably could’ve done it.”
“Yeah, maybeyouin middle school,” I say. “Mein middle school? Or the general population for that matter? Not so much.”
He laughs. “Get a move on, smartass.”
We reach the top of the stairs, stepping into a small, dark room. It’s intimate…only three booths, spaced far apart for privacy, two plush couches facing each other, and a few pub tables near the half-wall overlooking the crowd below.
Golden track lighting casts a soft glow along the floor, guiding us toward a sleek black table at the center of the room. A silver bucket of ice cradles a bottle, its glass chilled with condensation. Beside it, two delicate flutes wait, untouched.
Logan releases me just long enough to pluck the bottle from the ice and twist the cork free with practiced ease. The soft pop is barely audible over the music pulsing from the dance floor below.
He pours us each a glass, handing one to me before taking a sip of his own.
I taste the bubbly wine, pulling back with a smile. “They actually had this on the menu?”
Blackberry prosecco is my favorite, but I don’t come across it out in the wild too often. Logan likes regular prosecco just fine, but he’s not a big fan of sweetened drinks. The fact that he’s drinking one without complaint right now is extra swoony.
“If they didn’t, they managed to get it when I placed the request.” He lifts a cocky brow.
