CHAPTER TWO

Shane

Finances didn’t wait, not even for Christmas week. This was why, instead of enjoying the party downstairs, I was up in my office crunching numbers, frustrated with our part-time accountant’s work or lack thereof. The IRS year-end deadline was looming, but instead of making my profit-and-loss statement his priority tonight, he was downstairs partaking in the festivities. Which is probably what I should have been doing. But ironically, as one of the owners of Club Travesty, I had very little time to indulge in the club’s activities.

“Hey, Boss, you coming down?” Heather, my bar manager and long-time loyal employee, came up the stairs. The open loft-like space held both my desk and my best friend’s, in addition to a round table and chairs I used for meetings.

I held my head, wanting the break but not in the mood for celebration. Looking up, I tried not to let the stress show. “Not yet. Everything going all right?”

She nodded. “Yep. Good crowd tonight. Sex rooms are hot. Matter of fact, I might be up for something later if, uh, you are.”

I forced myself to scan Heather, with her bustier lifting her fake boobs and cinching her tiny waist, and tight leather pants encasing her toned legs. Her hair was long and blond, both of which weren’t natural, but it did make her look younger than her thirty-eight birthdays. We’d done acts together over the years, but it had been a while. Mainly because I’d been worried she’d started to catch feelings after the last time. I didn’t do feelings with sex.

Regardless, my cock should have stirred. It didn’t. I blamed the numbers in front of me. “Maybe some other time, honey.” The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her feelings.

“Always happy to take a raincheck. Don’t work too hard now.”

Right. I’d owned the club with my best friend, Max, for nearly ten years, and I did remember when it used to be fun. Of course what two red-blooded males wouldn’t love the idea of running a sex club? But lately it was literally all work and no play. Rubbing my eyes and knowing I still had a long night ahead of me, I stood up from my desk and went through the secure door on my right. There my security team monitored the rooms and the guests on the dozen screens in front of them.

“How’s it going, Ron?” I addressed the head of security and the best man I had on the job.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, Mr. Nelson.” His scrutinizing gaze never left the screens, scanning for any type of breach in either the sex rooms or the party crowd. Anonymity was the most important thing at Club Travesty, something I took very seriously and the reason I had top security.

“Is Max on the bar?”

“Yes, sir. Any chance he gets.”

Not only was Max my best friend from childhood, but he was also my business partner. Whereas I preferred the back office, he enjoyed being in the mix, dealing with personnel and schmoozing. He was the people person. I was not.

Typically, we had a much smaller crowd. But during the holidays, we did two big VIP parties, one to celebrate Christmas and another on New Year’s Eve. This was in addition to the many other services we offered. Private sex rooms for couples who wanted to come in and spice things up, kinky BDSM rooms in the basement, and a newer service I’d added a few years ago which focused on the woman. This included everything from sexual confidence counselors to the “boyfriend experience,” where lonely women could come in to gain mojo.

I was just about to step out and back to the books when Ron honed in on something.

“Focus in on camera four,” he instructed Alan, his junior security guy.

I wasn’t sure what he was looking at until I spotted her. Pink hair that was obviously fake, tight petite body in a silver, curve-hugging dress, and thigh-high boots that were sexy as hell. “What’s she holding?”

“Shit. I think it’s a camera.” He spoke into the intercom, reaching every security guard via their inconspicuous earpieces. “I’ve got a possible breach. Pink hair, silver dress, black boots. In front of room number four.”

Photos were a definite violation of club policy. “Run her credentials,” I instructed.

“Yes, sir. You want us to confiscate the device and escort her out?”

That would be the easiest thing to do. But I wanted answers first. “No, bring her up here. Proceed discreetly.”