Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“Why you’re not trying your best to impress me. Don’t you want to host my party? I’d thought you understood what I needed.”
“I do,” Rafe gritted out.
“Then why aren’t you giving it to me?”
“I thought I had. Aren’t you happy with the presentation? The theme? The budget?”
Prince waved a hand. “Where is the androgynous group I saw when I visited last? I was sure I’d see them here today. I thought you were a smart businessman, but if you can’t even understand how perfect they were, maybe I was wrong.”
Rafe clenched the bottle in his fist until he heard the crunch of plastic. “They no longer work at the club.”
Prince hummed under his breath and met Gigi’s gaze with raised eyebrows. She sat next to Prince, a tablet and pen in hand. “That’s a shame,” Prince said. “Which club have they gone to? Perhaps their new location would be a better fit for my celebration.”
Rafe’s mouth dropped open. He didn’t have the self-control to temper his reactions like usual. “You’re serious?”
“I am.” Like it shouldn’t even be a question.
“They’re just a dance group. We have a dozen dancers. Take your pick.”
Prince’s lips thinned and he shook his head. “A damn shame. I hate being wrong about people, but you had me believing you knew how to deliver hot, fresh, and fierce. All your talk about pushing the boundaries and apparently, you don’t recognize uniqueness when it’s right in front of you.” He lowered his leg like he was about to stand.
“Wait.” Rafe sucked in a breath and moved to the edge of his seat. “I’ll get them back.” He met Prince’s eyes. “Sign with me and you’ll have them.” Whatever he had to do, he’d make sure of it. He was willing to do anything to sign the Prince party because the alternative meant continued servitude or selling shares of his club, and neither of those options were worth thinking about.
“While I admire a man of resolve, not everything is under your control,” Prince said.
“I’ll take that as a challenge.”
Prince tilted his head, studying Rafe. “Watch out, Mr. Marson. There’s a fine line between determination and desperation. The latter puts a bad taste in my mouth.”
Rafe gritted his teeth but stayed silent.
Prince leaned back. “But I like you, so I’ll give you one chance.”
“Okay,” Rafe said. One chance was all he needed.
“We’ll need proof, of course, before any contracts are signed.” This came from Gigi. She scribbled something on her tablet. “A special performance?”
“Great idea. Like an early dress rehearsal.”
“I, uh, I can’t close the club—”
Another wave of Prince’s jeweled hand. “No need. We’ll use the VIP section only. It’ll provide enough privacy for a small group of friends. By the way, what do they call themselves?”
Rafe’s blue Hugo Boss dress shirt morphed into a straitjacket. “The Sassy Boyz,” he said through clenched teeth. If Prince found them before Rafe could get them back, they could potentially blow this for him. He’d have to work fast.
He didn’t even know where to start and he was already dreading Mark’s know-it-all expression when he confessed the details of this meeting.
Oblivious to Rafe’s thoughts, Prince chuckled. “I love it. That’s perfect.” He clapped his hands together in delight. “So apropos, don’t you think? Those boys must be very clever.”
Oh, Prince had no idea.
* * *
“This better be good, I was about to get my dick sucked.”
Rafe cleared his throat and clutched the phone tighter. “Uh, Mr. Becke?”
“It’s Ansel. Who are you?”
“Rafe Marson, the owner of Switch.”
Click.
“Hello?”
No answer.
“Well, hell,” Rafe said to himself, staring at the phone. He couldn’t remember the last time someone hung up on him. He pressed redial but this time Ansel didn’t bother answering.
With a frustrated grunt, Rafe stood and began pacing his office. His head pounded. He pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose and blew out a breath.
How could it all depend on a group of dancers?
On Hopkins.
How had his life come to this?
He’d known convincing them was going to be a pain in the ass, but he hadn’t expected to be ignored.
A knock sounded on his office door before Mark popped his head inside. “Is it safe?”
“No, get out unless you have good news for me.”
Mark came in and shut the door behind him. “No luck yet?”
“He fucking hung up on me.”
Mark actually grinned, the bastard. “Which one?”
“Mr. Becke, he’s the leader, right?” Rafe glanced at the contact sheet which had been attached to their contract. Ansel Becke’s name was at the top of the list.
“Unofficial, but yeah. If you can’t win him over, you’ve got no chance in hell.”
Rafe scowled.
“Good luck?” There was a bit of humor in Mark’s voice which Rafe did not appreciate. At. All.
“Did you come here to gloat?”
“Maybe, a little.”
“Fuck you,” Rafe said without anger, too worn out to be angry at his friend. Especially since Mark was right—he’d let his paranoia get the best of him and now he was paying the price.