Page 5

But so should those tiny black shorts showing a quarter of her ass cheeks.

She turns her head, and I study the architecture of her nose in profile, perfectly proportioned on her pretty face.

Her eyes meet mine and I look down at my phone.

I thumb a text to my brother consisting of two words.Fuck this.

He doesn’t answer.

I tell myself he’s just in the elevator, coming down. He’s almost here. I’ll wait just ten more minutes.

Maybe thirty.

I never step foot in this place. I was just going to dip in for a minute. And now this. Damian has been pressing me for days to meet up; I know he wants to know how I’m doing with mychallenge. When he texted me that he was in the office, I told him to meet me here at Velvet Lounge half an hour ago, and now he’s left me waiting.

He must be loving this. Me, wasting my time for him. Waiting on him. Here, of all places. Yes, my family owns Vance Tower and everything in it, including Velvet, the lounge on the mezzanine level. But it’s Damian who oversees our hospitality assets, and I’m not comfortable in Damian’s playgrounds. The posh bars in our luxury hotels, the trendy hotspots, the private clubs. It’s all the same to me.

A nightmare.

The cocktail waitresses wandering by in their skimpy black come-ons.

The wealthy elite who care more about what others think of them than what they think of themselves. The boasting of acquisitions, returns on investment, conquests. All of them desperate for attention, chasing it down with the perfect outfit, the perfect watch, the perfect business deal.

It’s early evening and already the lounge is buzzing, three-quarters full.

Even the music oozes desperation.

I like music.

I don’t like people who try too hard. And this place has the vibe of all my brother’s bars, no matter the range of the patrons’ ages and genders. It’s the sticky, thick-liquid tension of older men with money chasing younger women with beauty, and those women so eager to be chased.

Damian has a habit of humblebragging about how “tiresome” it is that the waitresses here are always flirting with him. It’s such a strenuous life he leads, spending most of his days fending off the advances of beautiful young women.

He’d probably literally die of loneliness if he spent one week in my life.

By the time he finally arrives, the whole place is giving me a headache.

Damian, on the other hand, looks totally at ease as he strolls through the room; the master of his domain. Fine Brioni suit, thick head of dark hair, perfect Patek Philippe watch. He loves this place and everything in it.

Especially the beautiful young women and the money that flows through them.

“I’ve been waiting for almost a fucking hour,” I grouch at him, as soon as he reaches our table. “You’ve been hounding me all week, so here I fucking am.”

“Lucky me,” he says pleasantly.

He’s barely sat down when our waitress is on top of us. Of course, she knows who he is.

“What can I bring you tonight, Mr. Vance?” Her voice is saccharine, eager. She has thick blonde curls and big, pouty lips. Her hip grazes the sleeve of my jacket, leaving floral perfume, as she reaches to set a cocktail napkin in front of my brother, offering him the obnoxious view down her cleavage.

I inch away.

“The bar knows what I like, sweetheart,” he tells her.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” she asks me. It’s the fifth time she’s offered me a drink.

“Just leave us.”

Damian chuckles as soon as she struts away. “Oh, she likes you.”