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Chapter 3

Bennett

"Problems, you say? What kind of problems?" Richie leaned back, his expression neutral, unimpressed.

I set my forearms on the edge of the bar. With my chin, I pointed out Jake, Richie's main bodyguard, the one he'd come in with. "I know he's your guy. He's supposed to be watching your six. But since I got here, he hasn't looked my way once. He doesn't even know you're talking to me. He's too busy eye-fucking that blonde waitress over there. I could be anyone. He doesn't know me. I could have a knife, a gun, something to drop in your drink, and all kinds of bad intentions. He wouldn't know. He doesn't care."

Richie followed my gesture, and I watched the muscles in his jaw tighten as he gave his bodyguard a death glare from twenty paces.

"Besides, I'd say even if he was paying attention, a guy like him couldn't cross that space before I could draw on you and put your lights out."

Richie jerked back to face me. "Are you threatening me, Mr. Starr?"

I held up my hands. "On the contrary, Mr. Dalton. I'm a businessman. I solve problems."

He looked at me and scoffed. "You think I got problems?"

I smiled. "We've all got problems, and right now, I have a huge problem. Is there someplace we can talk in private?"

He turned back to the bar and threw the last finger of his whiskey back. "Let's take a walk, Starr."

A wave of victory flooded through me, setting my senses on red alert. It was like walking a tightrope without a net below. I had no cushion, no escape, and no plan B.

This was it.

I followed his lead, throwing back the rest of my own glass, and then got down from the barstool. "Sure thing, Mr. Dalton."

He flicked an irritated glance over at his bodyguard—who still wasn't looking our way—and then turned back to me and offered a tight-lipped smile. "Call me Richie. We're friends now, am I right?"

"Absolutely. Call me Eric."

Richie clapped me on the shoulder. "All right, Eric. Let's take this discussion somewhere a little quieter. I'm feeling a little exposed here." Richie glanced around and then gave me the once over again, focusing on my watch, "You got time?"

"Sure. Lead the way." I shook my wrist to cover the watch with my jacket sleeve and then followed as Richie cut a path around the dance floor.

Jake, his hulking shadow, finally snapped to attention, tore his eyes off the silicone-loaded beauty, and fell into step, giving me a healthy dose of side-eye as he caught up to Richie. Richie turned and said something to his man, his tone a low growl that mostly got lost in the music. But Jake understood his boss. He shot me a dark look and then slunk away into the shadows like a scolded dog.

Richie didn't miss a step. He continued on his path without batting an eye. The music carried throughout the large club, louder than it had been at the bar area, and I didn't attempt to carry on a conversation. He was taking me deeper into the club. We pushed through another set of doors, and a security guard—at least, I assumed he was security, all black clothes, barrel chest, bald head—waved us through. Inside, Richie slowed his pace and shot me a smile.

"This is my private suite. Reed and Paige hooked me up with my own place because I do a lot of client entertainment here at the club."

I nodded and swept the room, overwhelmed by the sights, sounds, and smells. The lighting in the room was filtered with some kind of red filament that made me feel like I was in a photographic darkroom.

Black furniture, leather from the look of it, filled the room. In the center, two long couches faced each other, a glass coffee table in between, littered with bottles and glasses. I spotted a few power players in the Sanderson group. They were easily identified, though I'd never met any of them. They didn't know me from Adam. But I had the upper hand, knowing their background as well as their connection to Richie.

Three men were in the room, wise guys, and each of them was entertaining a pair of females. Most of whom were topless or damn near. One of the men, Johnny Sanderson, was being straddled by a woman, and I was fairly sure they were fucking right there on the couch.

Richie grinned at me. "All you hoped it would be?"

I feigned a smile, not sure exactly how I felt about any of it. "Definitely."

Before I could find a way to get back on the topic of business, Richie continued into the room. A blonde wearing nothing but a pair of sparkling panties and a silver pastie on each nipple approached us. She flashed a winning smile at Richie and then turned it on me. Her eyes traveled up and down my frame, a glow of delight reflected back at me.

"Who's your friend, Richie?"

Richie chuckled. "Eric, this is Cinnamin. Cinnamin, Eric."

She gave a slight shake of her hips, sending her tits bouncing, and smirked up at me as I watched the mini-show. "You come here to play, Eric?"

I cut a glance at Richie. He inclined his head. "We'll talk business later. Cinnamin, can I get a fresh bourbon? You know what I like."

She nodded. "Of course, Mr. Dalton. And for you, Eric? What can I get for you?" Her sultry tone implied there was more than just expensive booze on the menu.

"Same."

She spun on her spiked heels and sashayed off, her bare ass swinging gently with each step.

"Damn," I groaned, unable to stop myself. I felt like a diabetic in a candy store. I wanted a little bit of everything but knew it was a bad idea and would only lead to trouble.

Richie clapped me on the shoulder again. "I'll see that Cinnamin sets you up. Jake is watching the door. So relax."

I nearly pointed out that Jake wasn't exactly top-notch but left it alone. Richie wanted to party a little. We'll talk shop later. There was no point in pressuring a man like him. He wanted to be in control—to take charge. And I had to follow his lead until I could get some leverage and call a few shots of my own.

Cinnamin appeared with a tray and handed a glass to Richie and me. As soon as she set the tray aside, she returned to Richie, knelt down in front of him, and unzipped his slacks with a skilled hand. My mouth went dry as her hand went under his shorts and started stroking him. When she took him out and wrapped her lips around his cock, I made a quick exit, Richie's chuckle following me as I skittered off to admire the art along the walls.

Shit. What the hell was that? I hadn't seen that coming.

Hell, I didn't want to see that coming.

"Are you Eric?" a velvet voice purred over my shoulder.

I spun around and found myself staring down into a pair of beautiful green eyes that belonged to an equally beautiful woman. She was dressed a little more conservatively than her friend, Cinnamin. However, there wasn't a whole helluva lot left to my imagination under her short, skin-tight green dress. Her long brown hair flowed down her back in soft waves, and her eyes were lined with thick black liner.

"That's me," I answered before casually taking another sip off the top of my bourbon.

The woman smiled. "I'm Elise. Cinnamin told me you were looking for some company."

How much was this gonna cost me? Of course, I was loaded, so I didn't have a problem with call girls, escorts, hookers—whatever the hell was politically correct these days. But I kinda figured, why pay for something when you can get it for free?

"If you want to be alone, we can go to a private room."

Elise was a stunner. She had an hourglass figure that made my blood run hot just thinking about holding onto those hips and fucking her from behind. Grabbing onto a handful of that thick, glossy hair and the sound of my name on her full, devil-red lips. It'd be sweet, for sure, but I wasn't at the club for sex or experimentation. I was here on business.

I cut a glance across the room, and Richie was still…occupied.

Elise followed my eyes. "Mr. Dalton would want you to have a good time." Something about how she said it made me wonder how much she knew about him and his business. It almost felt like she was giving me some kind of subtle hint.

"You think so?" I asked, making sure.

She nodded and then licked her lips slowly with the tip of her tongue. "Yeah. And I would too."

Well, that settled that.

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