Page 16 of Creole Kingpin
One of my eyebrows shoots up. “Do you think it’s going to help me fly under the radar or something?” The question is more rhetorical than anything, because it doesn’t seem to matter what I do. Everyone knows who I am wherever I go.
“Club rules,” he says evenly, a reminder that I’m not part of the management anymore.
“Mine’s inside.” I have a locked cupboard in the ladies’ dressing room, which contains all sorts of interesting things.
“Enjoy your evening, ma’am,” Gerard says with a nod of approval.
The door sweeps open, and he gestures for me to enter. I step inside, barely noticing the shimmering crystal of the new chandelier or the throbbing bass beat of the music coming from upstairs. I don’t turn and stare at the gold gilt covering the sconces on the walls or the art hanging between them.
That’s not what I’m here for.
I head straight to the manager’s office, turning three corners and clipping down a hallway. The door is closed, so I knock twice and wait.
The knob turns, and the door swings open a foot.
“Can I help— Oh, Magnolia. It’s so good to see you. I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” Paige, the club’s manager, says to me.
“Unscheduled visit. Business, not pleasure, darling,” I tell her with a smile. “Is Desiree around?”
Paige nods. “Yes. I saw her on the monitors in the bar. Everything okay?”
“Everything’s always okay in my world,” I say, lying to her with a smile that hides everything I’m thinking and feeling.
“Good to hear. Also, good to see you. Enjoy your night.”
I turn up the wattage of my smile. “You too, Paige. You too.”
Thankful that I don’t have to scour the entire club to track down Desiree, I pop into the ladies’ dressing room, put on my mask, and take the back stairs up to the second floor. The large and stately room that houses the bar is the hub of all activity in the club. This is where most members’ nights start and end.
It doesn’t take me long to find Desiree. A small crowd of men surround her, no doubt dying to get the madam into bed. Like me after I took the reins of the house, Desiree doesn’t take clients unless she feels so inclined. And it hasn’t hurt business in the least. Exclusivity means big dollars in this world.
Rather than burst into her circle and have to talk to any of the men drooling over her, I belly up to the bar and lay my small clutch on the long expanse of wood.
“What can I get for you, Ms. Maison?”
“Three fingers of Seven Sinners. Neat.” I shake my head at Paul and chuckle, vindicated. “I told Gerard it didn’t matter if I wore a mask, and you just proved me right.”
Paul’s smile beams behind his half mask as he reaches for the bottle of whiskey. “He should know you’re unforgettable.”
The compliment is sweet, but the last thing I want to do is encourage Paul in any way. He’s nearly thirty, but still way too innocent for a woman like me.
Oh, and what kind of manisright for you?Ho-It-All is back and hitting me with a question I’d do better not to contemplate.
As Paul pours the whiskey, I think about the answer.
A man who has some miles on him. Jaded. Scarred with battle wounds. Someone who is ready to ride off into the sunset and live a different life. Clean and brand new.
I stop short on that thought.
Ride off into the sunset? Really, Mags? Now you sound like a girl who believes in fairy tales and happily-ever-afters, and we know that’s a waste of time.
“Here you go, Ms. Maison,” Paul says as he slides the whiskey toward me.
As my hand curls around the glass, I open my mouth to thank him, but Desiree slips onto the bar stool next to me.
“Hey, boo.”
I glance to my side. “Desi. You look good.”
