Fox

I know it’s going to be a bad day before I even get out of bed.

Up until three months ago, I had two full-time jobs and I’m not completely accustomed to having so much downtime. I used to work at a high-end restaurant as the day manager and at night I worked at Panic. I quit when I saved enough money—it just became ridiculous to have to live on a handful of hours of sleep a week, yet I find myself doing odd jobs around Panic all the time. I’m not wealthy by any stretch of the imagination. But I’ve done well for myself. I make a very good living at Panic, and I managed to save a lot when I was working the two jobs.

Also, I invested wisely a few years back thanks to my genius brother. But it doesn’t matter how much money I have. I could have millions in the bank and it’s still not enough to keep me sitting at home doing nothing. I’m a fixer. A solver of problems. A man who needs to be working, moving, doing something. My last girlfriend broke up with me because she said I was a workaholic. I call it being driven. Whatever the case may be, I’ve been working since I was fourteen years old and this is the first time in my life I’ve had only one job and it’s making me crazy to have so much free time.

Matt and Nick kicked me out of the club earlier this morning when I was going over the camera footage of an altercation between one of our servers and a customer. The customer said that the server was hitting on his wife, and they got into a heated argument. Nick wanted to fire the server but I wanted to check out the video footage first to see what exactly occurred.

But today’s the anniversary of my brother’s death, and my mind is not where it needs to be. So I push my laptop aside.

I get up and decide I’m not going to hide out and drink my day away this year like I have every year since that horrible night. I’m a grown-ass man and I can control my actions.

I go to my fridge, famished. The only thing I find are two eggs. I need to get groceries. When’s the last time I got groceries?

I crack the eggs, tossing out the yolks, and start to make an egg white omelet. “Shit!” I yell when I realize I’ve burned the eggs. Okay, so the day begins with a terrible breakfast. Maybe all I need to do is get out of the house for a few hours before work.

I opt for a protein shake, then put on my gym clothes and head out for a run. I’m feeling much better after the first mile but it starts pouring and when the lightning gets really bad, I head back home.

It’s only ten in the morning, and I’m already feeling like shit.

I’m not quite sure how I ended up with a bottle of vodka in my hand or how the bottle became halfway empty. I’m not usually a drinker, except today—today I’m a sloppy, going-to-regret-everything-the-next-morning drinker.

I’m sitting on my couch, stewing, bored, and feeling sorry for myself. I grab my phone and start going through my contacts. There are a lot. People give me their numbers all the time. Men and women alike, mostly to get into Panic since I am the wall between the “cool kids” inside and the “others” that never make it in. Yes, there’s a system, and even though Nick and Matt don’t like that shit, they don’t necessarily stop it from happening. Not to say that I don’t let the less attractive inside, they just don’t get in right away. I need the club filled with the beautiful people of Miami. And I need it full of women. Lots and lots of women. Why? Because lots and lots of women attract men. Men with thick wallets. But it’s not as simple as the beautiful get in and the not so beautiful wait outside. I can’t have a line of unattractive people going down the block. So, I pick and choose, working the list: the high rollers, the attractive, the important, the powerful…and I’ve ended up with a pretty fucking impressive contact list. But I know less than ten percent of them. And that just fuels my shitty day. It makes me realize that even now that I’ve finally made something of myself, I’m still alone. Nothing’s really changed. Maybe my father was right. Maybe I really am a loser.

And then I get to the L’s. Lola. Her name looks like a beacon in my phone full of unknowns. And it’s such a pretty name and so easy to read. Just one more thing I like about her. I’ve been waiting for the perfect time to ask her out again. This time I know she’s not going to say no. Not after all the touching and verbal foreplay a few nights ago.

I need to get a photo of her so that I can attach it to her contact info but I can’t be the weird guy who takes sneaky pictures of girls.

Can I just call her and ask her for her photo? Would that be weird? I dial her phone number but it goes straight to voicemail, so then I text, even though I hate texting because it always takes me what feels like an eternity to compose a text.

Can I have a photo of you?

I sit back, drinking more vodka while I stare at my phone like a needy little bitch. Which is more or less how I’m feeling right now. Needy. I’ll never admit it, but I am.

A moment later my phone chimes, and I slowly read her reply. Who’s this?

Well, talk about blows to the ego. How does she not know my number? My self-esteem takes a huge nosedive. I type out ten different things—trying to be funny and witty. I delete all of them and type: Fox.

Almost immediately she answers, Oh. Hi.

Followed up with: Why do you want a photo of me? That’s weird.

Yeah, it is weird. Okay, maybe I didn’t think this through. I should not drink and text. Never mind.

I see the three little dots for a few long moments and it’s driving me crazy. Then finally: Okay?

Shit. I know I’m being strange. I randomly ask her for a photo then I just say never mind without any reason. I run my palm over my face and let out a breath. No wonder she avoids me.

Okay, let me try this again.

What are you doing?

I’m just getting off work.

Work? Have I completely lost track of time? I look at the time on my phone and it’s early. Definitely way too early for this vodka bottle to be this low in fluid. Work? Club’s not open yet. I hope I haven’t misspelled anything.

I work during the day at an animal clinic.

During the day? Damn, she must have gotten home at five in the morning, and it’s now two in the afternoon. What time did you start?

Eight.

I’m surprised. Or impressed. Both.

Let’s grab a burger before work, I text.

I sit there staring at my phone, waiting for a reply. And waiting. And waiting. I don’t even see the little dots. Nothing. I didn’t imagine her insinuation the other night, did I? I was sure she would say yes. I shake my head irritably and toss the phone aside, taking another drink.

A moment later I hear the chime and jump up, looking through the cushions for the phone. Where the hell did it go? And is the couch spinning a bit?

Yes. Burgers sound great.

I’m feeling ten feet tall. How does a woman who has barely said ten words to me in the months I’ve known her have the capacity to make my shitty days better and my good days great just by smiling at me? She is so intriguing and every little tiny crumb of information she drops on my lap—like the fact she has another job—makes me want to know more.

What’s your address? Pick you up at seven, then we can go to work together.

I can meet you. Just let me know where.

Address, Lola. She’s so difficult, fighting me about everything. She prefers a dirty bus over a car ride with me? Yeah right. I’m picking her up even if I have to go through the employee roster to find her address.

I wait, sipping my vodka which is so much better than downing it in gulps like I’ve been doing. I wait some more until finally she texts me her address.

God, she doesn’t have any idea how she’s just made a dark day brighter. Maybe the worst day of the year will actually turn out to be a great day. Thank God I have a few hours before the date to sober up; I grab a bottle of water and start chugging.

Lola

I haven’t had a date in…I can’t even remember. I’m excited and nervous all at the same time.

When you’re alone, orphaned, and poor, you have two choices. You die alone or you put on your big-girl panties and get your shit together. I chose to get my shit together. It wasn’t easy, but I did it and I will never look back. After Gus, I had a few catastrophic dates then I just gave up on men. This is the most effort I’ve put in in a long time and I’m nervous as hell.

Fox seems to be into his looks and sort of self-absorbed, always fussing with his hair and tie and his impeccable suits, but I shouldn’t judge him without getting to know him. Maybe he’s just trying to portray a certain image at work. He is, after all, the face of the club. And he hasn’t been anything but nice to me.

And hot.

And available.

And relentless.

Last night was a long night at the club followed by a long day at the clinic. My days and nights are starting to blend into one another, but for Fox, for a date, for the possibility of sex, I’m going to suck it up. I brew some strong coffee, then hit the shower to get ready.

I’m wearing a short black romper, one that I can wear to Panic later on. It’s a little sexier than what I’d normally wear to work at the club, but I’ve seen what the other bartenders wear and this is still a lot tamer. Maybe it will help get me more tips and turn Fox on. Two birds…

The shorts part of the romper are short and the top is loose but with a cowl-neck that exposes the tops of my small(ish) breasts, which I’ve pushed up with a bra. I apply my makeup a little heavier than normal and tease my hair a bit. I look in the mirror and feel sexy. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this way, and I’m suddenly really excited about this date. I’ve been so focused on saving money and surviving that I haven’t done anything for myself in a long time.

Maybe I’ll seduce him enough for him to overlook all the baggage I carry.

It’s almost seven, so I sit, take a breath, try to relax, and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

I reread the text. Twice. No, I’m not crazy. He did say seven. My leg bobs up and down and I reapply my lipstick three times before I realize the asshole isn’t going to show up.

New hot boss! Helen sends a group text, which distracts me for a second. She’s always sending group texts and I don’t comment often but since we all had breakfast together a few days ago, I’ve been trying to open up a little with the group.

Who? What? I text back, and suddenly I’m bombarded by texts from three other girls from work.

His name is Iggy. Apparently he’s a silent partner or something, Helen explains, followed by more replies in the form of different emojis.

Are you already at work? I ask.

Yes. It was my inventory day. Guy is hot. Get your ass over here, chicks, and help me check him out. The rest of the girls all reply with OMW and I contemplate whether to text Fox but then I’m too pissed off. Fuck him.

On my way too, I text the girls and head to work before I’m late to check out the new boss.

By the time I’ve taken the two buses to Panic, I’m seething. I can’t believe I got stood up. Just like I thought, Fox is a self-absorbed asshole who didn’t even bother to call me. It’s still a bit early and Helen, Gina, and Jane are all huddled together by the VIP bar. Gina spots me first and waves me over. “Looking good!” Jane compliments me.

I look down at myself and smile. It’s hard to keep up with their conversation since they’re all talking at once and giggling. “Oh look, there he is!” Helen points toward the stairs where Nick and Matt are walking with a good-looking guy I’ve never seen before. “Isn’t he hot?” she says dreamily.

“You think everyone’s hot,” Jane retorts, which makes me laugh because it’s true.

“Can’t help it,” Helen says with a shrug as Gina glances at her phone.

“Gotta get to our stations, guys. Let’s hang out again, Lola. You’re always so quiet. We need to loosen you up a bit.”

“Okay, yeah. I’d like that.” I head to my station with Helen. They didn’t treat me differently, in fact they were nice and included me in their conversation. Maybe I need to open myself up a little more.

I chance a glance at the front of the club and I notice, to my surprise, Toro by the door instead of Fox. I’ve never been confrontational, but I’m no wallflower and if cornered, I push back. So, I’m not sure what I’m going to do when I see Fox. I’m leaning toward kneeing him in the balls.

But the club is packed and for the next two hours I don’t even have a chance to think about him as I work the bar. And…my tips are ridiculously good. At least I can thank him for getting me all dolled up. I’m making a killing instead of thinking about being stood up.

Fox

I wake up abruptly, utterly confused.

What time is it? Hell, what day is it?

And my head…fuck it hurts.

With a yawn, I stand up and stretch my arms over my head, then tumble forward tripping over an empty bottle of vodka on the floor. “Shit.” I curse through my cotton mouth.

Work. I need to be at work. I scramble around the room for my phone. It’s nine o’clock.

“Fuck!” I roar. I’ve never been late to work. I look back down at my phone to see that I have three missed calls. Two from Matt and one from Toro. Quickly I send out a text to both of them. I’m sorry. I’m on my way.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I need this job. I can’t get fired. Since I don’t have time, I forgo my daily ritual of getting ready, and instead just wash my face and towel dry my beard. But then I look in the mirror. “Damn it.” I can’t show up late and looking like a slob. So, I jump in the shower and hurriedly wash my hair and when I’m done I quickly tidy up my beard. I really don’t have time to dry my hair, so I tie it back. As fast as I can, I throw on a pair of black slacks and a dark gray shirt and grab a tie on my way out. That’s as good as it’s going to get right now, I think, as I run out my front door and to the car. I’m swerving in and out of traffic, trying to forget about the pain in my skull, and in record time, I’m parking and running into the club, trying to knot my tie as I stumble inside feeling self-conscious about my appearance.

“You’re late,” Toro, the absolutely zero-personality head bouncer, says without so much as a glance at me. He’s standing at the entrance to the club, where I should have been over an hour ago, doing my job.

“I know. Sorry, man. Shit day. I got this.”

Toro holds the velvet rope open for a group of women, then closes it before finally turning to look at me. “What the fuck happened to you?”

I look down at myself. I’m not in my usual tailored suit, but I don’t look like a sack of crap either. “I told you, shit day.”

He stares at me for a moment longer before handing me the clipboard with the VIPs and walking inside. I take a deep breath, trying to tune out all the noise around me and start to do my job. Around midnight, Toro comes back out and we switch. There are other bouncers and security but Toro and I are the ones with the most experience. In a way, I’m second-in-command.

I walk into the club and immediately something hits me.

“Fuck!” I groan out loud.

Lola. Burgers. Date.

“Shit! Fuck! Shit!” Without hesitation, and ignoring everything and everyone around me I go straight to the red bar where she’s usually working. There’s a big group hovering in the corner by the bar, mostly men, and when they part, I see that all their attention is focused on Lola.

At that moment, Toro’s voice comes in through my earpiece. “You’re needed upstairs. Bosses want a word with you.” But I ignore him as I watch Lola.

A surge of jealousy, one that I have absolutely no right to feel, washes over me at seeing Lola surrounded by men. I stand back and watch her work. Something I’ve done many times. Too many for it to be healthy, actually. Men are speaking to her and she looks up and nods at pointed times, smiling and looking aloof.

There’s just something about aloof women and the challenge they pose. Some men are dogs and they love the chase. And then add Lola’s air of mystery to the sexy-as-fuck outfit she’s wearing and you have a crowd of horndogs salivating for the woman I stood up. Yes, I’ll admit I’m one of those dogs, or well, I used to be one of them. Now I just want a fucking chance with Lola. The woman who’ll probably never give me a second chance.

Ouch!

Her shiny black hair goes down to her mid back in soft waves and, even though I can’t see her face, I have a great view of her ass, and it’s actually the most I’ve ever seen of it. She usually dresses in an I-don’t-give-a-shit sort of way, but this outfit says, I did give a shit. I tried. I dressed up. And knowing that it was for me and I stood her up makes me feel infinitely worse. I’m not sure what the hell to do.

If it were any other woman I’d charm her into forgiving me, but with Lola I’m in uncharted territory. “Sorry” feels inadequate. She gave me a chance and I know that took a lot for her. I’m not even sure how I know this, but I do. She’s special. And she deemed me special just by finally saying yes to a date. And I fucked it up.

The men yell something over the music, and she smiles and tucks some hair behind her ear as she continues to pour drinks while working the computerized register. Again, they say something and she just nods and smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

She’s probably thinking of all the ways she wants to kick my ass when she sees me.

I walk closer to the bar but she hasn’t seen me and I can tell she’s really not paying the men any attention as they continue to speak at her.

“Lime, doll,” a guy yells.

Nothing.

“Lime,” another one of the guys says louder but she’s looking down at the register. When he looks like he’s about to get upset, I reach over the bar, grab a few lime slices and hand them to him just as she looks back up. Her brows are furrowed in confusion. “He asked for lime,” I clarify.

“Oh.” She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and glances at the guy. “Sorry.”

“ ’S okay. Loud in here.”

She nods, a small flush shading her face. She turns back to whatever she’s doing at the register as the men walk away.

“Hey,” I yell over the music, but just like with the men, she doesn’t respond. Hell, she doesn’t even flinch. “Lola, hey.”

Nothing.

I reach for her hand. She stiffens and looks up, then scowls and turns her back. I make my way around the bar and get in her face. She’s obviously pissed but I need to apologize.

“I’m so sorry about today.”

She gives me the finger, then turns and gets busy with something else. I hear a few people around us laugh. Wow. I did not see that coming. Maybe she isn’t mousy, after all.

“Please, let me explain.” There is no reaction from her. None at all. And I’m irritated that she’s giving me the silent treatment. But I have to go deal with my bosses, so I’ll have to talk to Lola later when I don’t have to yell over loud booming music.

With a huff of frustration, I turn and walk upstairs where Nick and Matt are waiting for me in Nick’s office. Shit. It must be more serious than I thought. Nick’s behind his desk smoking a cigar, and Matt is in the chair across from him drinking whiskey from a tumbler, looking cool and relaxed.

“You wanted to see me?”

Nick blows out some smoke, then ashes the cigar. “Have a seat.”

I pull the chair next to Matt and sit.

“You okay? You look like shit. We called you earlier.”

Fuck. The one day I don’t have a suit and I look like shit?

“Yeah, I…uh…rough day. I’m sorry I was late, it won’t happen again.”

“But you’re okay? You need to talk or something?” Matt asks.

“Nah, man. I’m good.”

“Okay, if you say so,” Nick says, leaning forward. “We have some news. As you know we recently acquired a new club.”

“Yeah, Duality,” I chime in.

“Yes, exactly. Panic brings a crowd that wants the Miami feel. This place has been around since the eighties and people come here more for nostalgic reasons. They’re hoping to run into a celebrity or just want to say that they’ve been to Panic,” Nick explains.

“But Duality is going to be edgy. It’ll bring in a different crowd. Think kinky Cirque du Soleil. The first floor will be tame. One enormous dance floor. There will be dancers set up all over, as well as fire breathers, jugglers, men on stilts. All for our vanilla crowd. Then on the second floor things change. The music will be sexier, the dancers and guys on stilts will be mostly nude, or rather topless.” I look at him sharply, and he clarifies. “It’s not a strip club. This will be a classy, cabaret kind of experience. No touching, no dollar bills, nothing like that. The servers and bartenders upstairs will also be a little skimpier on the dress code. It’s going to be sexy and sultry but that means we have to be even more careful with security. Not only for the guests but also for the staff.”

“Sounds interesting,” I say. I’ve seen the billboards all around Miami and Miami Beach announcing the opening—but all they say is: DUALITY. A SEXY NEW EXPERIENCE. I did find it mysterious and intriguing, but I just thought it was a tag line. I didn’t realize it was going to actually be a new kind of club.

“What’re your goals, Fox?”

“My goals?” I echo, surprised by the sudden change in topic.

“Yeah. Goals. Career goals.” He pauses a moment to take a puff from his cigar. “We’ve been watching you. You’re always here. You come in early. You’re the last to leave. You’re a hard worker, taken on a lot of initiative.” I’m pleased they’ve noticed.

“Yeah, it’s…” I shrug. “When I do something I like to do it right, I guess. Is that a problem?” I sit back skeptically, my ankle on my knee. What is going on?

“Are you planning on leaving? How long can you keep up the insane hours?”

Shit. Is this because I was late today?

“Today was an off day, but I’ve never been late before and I’m not planning on going anywhere. I want to grow with you guys—work here and maybe at the other club at some point. Help wherever I’m needed. The hours don’t faze me. I’m used to working long hours.”

“I see that. You’re a machine,” Matt says.

“Okay?” I cross my arms and I know I look defensive but it’s because I am. I’m not sure what’s going on.

“Glad to hear you’re all in, Fox,” Nick says as he glances at his brother. “Like I said, we’ve been watching you and you’ve impressed us the hell out of us. We want to offer you the position of head of security at Duality, which means you’ll be on the same level as the general manager in terms of authority.”

“What?”

“You’ll work more hours, but your pay will be double. We’ll be hiring more security for Duality, and we’re also going to be moving some of our more experienced staff over there until things get settled or at least to train the new staff,” Matt adds. “You know me and Nick obviously. But there are two other owners: David, who I’m sure you’ve met, and our silent partner, Iggy. You’ll be introduced to him eventually. We’re all putting a lot of money and time into making this a success and we want you on board.”

I did not see this coming. At all. But I’m sure by the grin on my face and the pride I’m feeling that they know I’m excited at the news.

“So, I take it that’s a yes?” Nick asks.

“Yes. Of course, that’s a yes.” I stand up and shake their hands.

“Great. There will be a soft opening in two weeks, which includes a private party and some special guests and then by the end of the month we hope to have the club totally up and running. All the marketing is in place,” Matt says.

“This’ll be your last weekend here. I want you over there starting Wednesday. Get a feel for the location. Make sure the staff knows what to expect. This is a big job, but we have faith you can handle it. If you need anything, ask us—or Toro. He recommended you for the job and can help you with anything you need.”

“I will. I’m not sure what to say…Thank you. I won’t let you guys down.”

“We’re counting on that,” Nick says as he pours himself a drink. “The staff respects you and you’re always here. Just don’t burn yourself out or they’ll come to hate you. That’s my one piece of advice.”

“Yeah, listen to him,” Matt says. “You weren’t here when Nick was working twenty-four/seven and yelling at everyone who crossed his path. We were losing staff left and right. He was a world-class dick. I quit about a dozen times.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“He never followed through and kept coming back. Like a stray kitten. Couldn’t keep him outta here,” Nick teases and I chuckle.

“No. I meant, what did you do to balance your hours?” It’s always been difficult for me to go home and forget work. Even though the staff likes me and I’m easygoing for the most part, I’m intense and work a lot and expect that from others. I can see how I could overwhelm my staff if I don’t ease up.

“He’s still an overbearing dick. But he’s getting some at home, which makes him more tolerable for the rest of us,” Matt says then hands me some papers. “Here, take this. It’s a list of the employees who’ll be relocating to Duality.” I clench the paper in my hand, my mind racing.

This is it, I think. This is the beginning of everything I’ve ever wanted. I mean, it’s not like I’ve dreamed about being the head bouncer of a club but I have dreamed about being someone important somewhere and this is a great job. People need me and I’m good at this. I wish I could rub it in my father’s face. I’m not stupid, after all. I am valued.

I leave the office elated. What a whirlwind of emotions. The shittiest day of the year turned out to be one helluva fucking great day. Barring the Lola incident, of course.

Unfortunately, the vodka from this morning is still lingering in my system and my head is still pounding. By four in the morning, I am more than ready to go home and climb into bed, even though I’m thrilled by the news about my promotion.

But I still need to talk to Lola.

The club is empty and the lights are on, which always makes the club seem oddly eerie. I’m leaning by the front entrance waiting for her to finish cashing out so that I can have a moment to talk to her. I wait and wait. “Where’s Lola?” I ask Helen as she walks out.

Helen looks over her shoulder and shrugs. “Not sure. She looked hot today though. Killer tips tonight.”

“She left by the back entrance,” Toro chimes in as he begins to turn off the lights to lock up. By the back? She never leaves by the back. Shit, she’s not only ignoring me, she’s making it a point to avoid me.

Fuck.

I royally messed up. I guess my promotion can’t fix this day, after all.