Where She Belongs (The Forever Collection Book 1)
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Authors: Dani Wyatt
Tags: #Where She Belongs
Where She Belongs
Copyright © 2016
by Dani Wyatt
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Interior Design and Formatting:
Christine Borgford,
Perfectly Publishable
Cover Credit:
PopKitty
Table of Contents
A NOTE TO MY READERS:
I appreciate every one of you.
This book is dedicated to the virgin inside all of us.
May it feel like the first time, Every time. xoxo
Sordid fun and other dirty shenanigans
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If you like your romance with a side
of rough and a dash of
dang
then step inside,
we’ve got snacks
.
Decker
“I
t was just a handjob.” Claudia rolls her eyes like this is a joke. “That’s barely even anything. I didn’t even kiss him, for chrissake.”
She’s looking everywhere but at me as if avoiding my eyes is going to change the outcome for her. “You know the rules,” I say.
Believe it or not, it hurts me every time this happens. I want to help them all, but in the end, they have to help themselves too. I can’t do it for them.
“I’m
great
at handjobs. I got him off in like
twenty seconds
. I mean,” Claudia attempts to look pitiful, “it’s almost like shaking someone’s hand. Would you fire Allister for shaking hands with one of the guys?”
Allister, my right hand man, pipes up. “Congratulations on your skill set. And no, it is not like shaking hands.” His sarcastic answer doesn’t hide his own disappointment. His voice has always been low, but when he’s disappointed it takes on extra weight, extra gravity. It’s a bit like if a bass drum was suddenly able to speak.
He’s more pissed off this time than usual, and he hates firing girls as much as I do. It’s because he’s the one that talked me into hiring her—even when I expressed my doubts that she would take the opportunity seriously. Looks like I was right, but I don’t take any pleasure in that.
It’s too bright in here. The light and the situation drives ball-peen hammers into my temples and I rub them with my middle finger.
I look at the file open on my desk, then glance around the room. I can’t make an exception for her. The rules are the rules, that’s why we’re all in here. It’s my job to deliver the bad news.
I’m momentarily distracted by the surroundings of my office. They’re far from interesting. White gloss, cool air. Actually, the temperature in here is fine, but it feels cold. My office at the back of the club needs some warming up and organizing. I despise disorder.
The white gloss paint is there because that’s what I like. Clean, pure and without blemish. Neatly stacked pillars of white boxes, labeled with their contents and color coded by unpacking priority, line one wall. My new office furniture was delivered last week—at least it got me out from behind the folding banquet table which had been my temporary desk for a month. The place needs artwork and some other touches, but I just haven’t had the time.
Seems that’s a theme with me because my house looks the same way and I’ve lived there for five years.
I listen as Allister heaves a deep breath in and out.
Allister is my General Manager. He’s also my best friend. If you saw him on the street, you’d probably cross to the other side. But he’s one of the best people I know. Heart of gold and the size of Texas.
He’s shaking his bald head, running a hand back and forth over it while he stares at Claudia. It’s unusual for him to step in, to try to persuade me to take on a girl against my better judgement. But I guess he took pity on her—early twenties, brunette, streetwise attitude. Maybe she reminded him of someone, I don’t know. I didn’t push it.
As for her, she’s glaring back and forth between us like she can’t understand what she’s done wrong. And that is exactly her problem.
But this is my club and I have to work damned hard to keep it.
It’s one in a chain that I own. Monarch night clubs. They are a mash-up of trendy, urban bar with a side order of gentleman’s club. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not seedy at all. I’ve made my name in this industry by keeping the seedy element away and that’s the way I intend it to stay. Which is why I have to be strict with the girls. Today it’s a handjob, tomorrow a blowjob. Once you start down that road there’s no turning back.
I suppose “gentleman’s club” isn’t really the right label. I mean, I do have dancers, but they don’t take their clothes off. They don’t wear a whole lot to begin with, but they also don’t take anything off.
They dance, and they do it well enough that they don’t need to show their bodies. Are they sexy? Yep. Do the men in the clubs wish they were dropping clothing? Of course. But while they work for me it’s not happening.
My clubs have a fine dining area, a dance floor with a bar. Classy, trendy. And then there is the ‘back wall’ as it’s come to be known. The dancers are not center stage, but they are a huge draw. Somehow, I’ve managed to create a club where women and men feel comfortable coming in, but there is still an atmosphere of the upscale gentleman’s club—without the slimy element.
Monarch V is the jewel in my so-called crown of successful nightclubs, and I am obsessed with how everything is presented, from the staff to the decor. But my office could use some warming up. I love what I do, but it’s beginning to wear on me. I’m also an obsessive planner, and my plan is to work another few years, then turn everything over to Allister and see if life has anything else in store for me. I’m not old, but I’m not young either, and as much as growing this business and helping out all these girls has been my reason for getting out of bed every day for a long damn time, there has to be more, I’m just not sure what that ‘more’ is.
It took the better part of a year to get this particular club up to the zoning standards the surrounding high-brow community demanded. But, in the end, it will be worth it. Having a club on this side of town, and in this prime location, will pay off in spades. On weekends, the queue is already lined around the block and we’ve only been live a little over a month.
Guess all the pearls and bowties that live around here are just as eager for a little fun as anyone else. I see the same folks that sat on their pious high horses in the local government planning meetings, the ones who were giving me shit about putting in the club, drinking and whooping it up here every night of the week.
Fucking hypocrites.
But their money is as green as I need it to be, so whatever. Their two-faced bullshit is between them and God.
“So, I’m done?” Claudia juts a hip out and finally settles her vitriol on me. “You’re
firing
me? This is
total
bullshit. One handjob and one joint, that’s all it was. And now you’re firing me? I didn’t even
smoke it here,
for chrissake. You can’t tell me what I can do on my own time. This place is turning into the damn Westlake Baptist Church.”
I’m holding her file in front of me. “Yep, you’re done. The rules are clear. You signed the contract: You go to school. You don’t take drugs, and you don’t drink. You certainly don’t touch the customers. You fucked up.” I close up her file, shaking my head. “I don’t fire people, Claudia, they fire themselves. Get your stuff out of your locker; we’ll send you a month’s pay to give you time to get on your feet. Allister will walk you out. I wish you the best.” I lean back in my chair. My temples are still pounding and my stomach is curling over on itself.
I entwine my fingers as I rest them on my mid-section. My stomach lets out a low rumble, reminding me that once again I’ve put the girls and the club before my own basic human needs.
It’s already one in the morning and I don’t remember eating anything since I’d arrived here at noon.
“You can suck my ass!” Claudia gives me one final single-finger salute before she trudges out the office door, Allister rolling his eyes at me as he walks behind her.
As much as I try, I can’t save them all—that’s what I have to keep reminding myself.
The irony is I don’t even care much for nightclubs. I don’t drink and never went in for strip clubs at all. Just didn’t do a damn thing for me. But, these places evolved after I retired from the Marines. Sixteen years of service and I’m damn proud of it, but it was time to move on. These clubs are the way I make a living—and a very good one at that. And, at the same time, I have some unique rules for my staff and try to give back where I can.