Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 65987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
His eyes met mine again, and something in them shifted. A mere flicker of what might have been surprise, or perhaps curiosity, disturbing the icy surface. For a moment, neither of us moved.
The spell broke at the sound of quiet footsteps and the subtle, unmistakable click of metal against metal. A man had appeared at the side of my collision victim, materializing as if from nowhere. He was average in almost every way — height, build, features — yet something about him made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. His gaze scanned me with clinical detachment, like I was a potential threat rather than a clumsy server who couldn't watch where she was going.
The taller man rose smoothly to his feet, handing me my bag with its contents mostly restored. "You should hurry," he said. "Punctuality is valued here."
I scrambled up, clutching my bag, suddenly aware of the power dynamic between us. "Thank you, Mr...?"
"Luca," he supplied, and something in his tone made it clear I should recognize the name. "Dario Luca."
The name hit me like a second collision. The owner. I had just crashed into the owner of The Gray on my first day. The man whose name was whispered in the service industry with equal parts fear and reverence.
"I'm sor— "
"About to be late," the second man cut in, his voice quiet but firm. His hand rested casually near his side, where I now noticed the subtle bulge of what could only be a weapon.
Dario Luca gave a slight nod. "Go. And..." he paused, something unreadable passing across his features, "good luck on your first shift."
I backed away, mumbling another apology, then turned and hurried inside the staff entrance, feeling their gaze at my back the entire way. My skin still tingled where Dario’s fingers had touched mine, and my heart refused to return to its normal rhythm. I had no business even thinking about that man. Not only was he way out of my league, but he was my boss. In a very broad sense. Not like I’d ever see him again, thankfully. I had the distinct feeling I'd just survived something but had no idea what.
The staff entrance was actually at the basement level of the building. The door opened to a narrow hallway with black walls and dim lighting, a stark contrast to the ornate exterior I'd just been admiring. Marcus Longmire, as he'd curtly introduced himself, now walked ahead of me with measured steps, never checking if I followed. I clutched my bag closer, still rattled from my stumble, and hurried to keep pace.
It wasn’t long before the hallway opened up into a larger area, elegantly decorated and welcoming. "The locker room is through there," Marcus said, indicating a door with a slight tilt of his head. "Change quickly. I'll wait."
His voice was flat, like he’d done this same duty several times and was tired of it. I nodded and slipped through the door. Again, the room was tastefully decorated. I found the locker with my name on it and put my stuff inside. Changing into my uniform took only a couple of minutes, even with trembling fingers. The simple black dress with a subtle gold border matched the club's aesthetic. When I emerged, Marcus gave me a single evaluating glance before turning, motioning me to follow.
He led me to the elevator, waiting for me to proceed before stepping in himself and pushing a button. We emerged onto the main floor, and I stopped involuntarily, mouth slightly open. The space was magnificent. What had once been the main banking hall had been transformed into an entertainment venue that somehow honored its original grandeur while creating something entirely new. The ceiling soared twenty feet above us, original crown molding preserved and highlighted with subtle lighting that cast the plasterwork in dramatic relief.
The centerpiece was a sunken dance floor of polished black marble, inlaid with thin lines of gold that caught the light and seemed to pulse with the subtle beats coming through the sound system. Around it, the floor rose in three tiers, each hosting private booths upholstered in deep charcoal velvet. Between each booth stood panels of frosted glass, etched with abstract patterns that shifted subtly as the hidden lighting changed colors.
Mr. Longmire snagged a tablet and handed it to me. “Scan your key card,” he prompted. I had a small card to get into the ordering system I’d been trained on before being scheduled for a shift. I tapped the screen with the card and the device logged me in.
He guided me toward a sweeping staircase that curved up to the second level. "Private dining upstairs."
The second level was even more impressive than the first, if that was possible. A wide corridor with plush carpeting led to a series of heavy wooden doors, each bearing only a small number in brass. Through one partially open door, I glimpsed a room that looked like it belonged in a Victorian gentleman's club with its wood-paneled walls, a long table that could seat twenty, leather chairs so soft they seemed to embrace their occupants.