Page 27 of The Associate
He had learned why mixing business with anything resembling personal pleasure was a catastrophic mistake. A line crossed once was too easy to cross a second time.
He rested his hand on the cool steel of the railing and forced his gaze to follow the scene below. The ropework was clean, the silence between the pair steady, but his own concentration drifted. The club’s lighting, the music, the familiar scent; none of its usual anchors shifted the low irritation that had taken root in his chest.
Not with Samuel. With himself.
Interest, of any kind beyond the professional, was a liability. Attachment, however minor, was danger. That a single, shakenbreath could follow him here, into his most private sanctuary, was unacceptable.
Gael exhaled a slow, controlled breath, his eyes fixed blankly on the pair below.
He turned away from the mezzanine rail, making his way down the polished stone steps into the main lounge. The space opened around him in gradients of shadow and amber light, the rise and fall of a cello concerto blending with the low murmur of conversation. A cluster of familiar figures waited at the Owner’s table; a semicircle of dark wood under a pool of low, golden light.
Landen noticed him first.
“Well, look at that,” his friend drawled, his body stretched comfortably across his chair. “He’s actually alive, gentlemen. We can call off the search party.”
A quiet ripple of amusement passed through the table before Gael reached his seat.
Adrian didn’t turn his head, just gave one crisp, military nod, his posture rigid. “Evening.”
Sebastian was halfway through a stack of reports. He flicked his gaze up, his eyes cool and sharp. “You’re late. Uncharacteristically so.”
Across from them, Jaden rested his elbows on the table, his fingers interlaced, his expression unnervingly still. “Gael only shows up here on week day when he’s genuinely irritated. So something must have happened.”
Gael sat in the empty chair at the head of the semicircle, giving them nothing.
Landen leaned back with a slow, foxlike smile. “Work? Or is it one of your underpaid associates being particularly idiotic this week?”
Gael didn’t answer, which was answer enough.
Adrian took a measured sip of his drink; single malt, neat. “He’s not here to talk about quarterly figures.”
Sebastian set down his stack of papers, aligning the edges. “He’s here because his head won’t shut up long enough for him to do anything useful at home. The club is his reset button. Currently malfunctioning.”
Gael shot him a flat, warning look. “I’m here because I needed some fresh air.”
Jaden raised a single, skeptical brow. “You came to a BDSM club for air?”
“It’s better than the recycled office ventilation,” Gael muttered.
Landen laughed, a soft, knowing sound. “That’s dire. Even for you.”
Gael’s eyes drifted back toward the main floor, trying for a second time to let the sight center him. A young submissive knelt silently beside a leather-padded bench, head bowed. Their posture was off; too much weight on one knee, the opposite shoulder collapsed.
Something in Gael’s jaw clicked. A flicker of tension.
Landen caught it. “That bad?”
“Sloppy form,” Gael stated, his voice devoid of inflection.
Jaden followed his gaze. “He’s new, Gael. Tonight is his third training session.”
“That shouldn’t matter,” Gael replied, the edge in his tone unmistakable. “Fundamentals are non-negotiable. If you can’t hold a basic kneeling position, you have no business being on the floor.”
Adrian lowered his glass with a soft clink. “Not everyone learns at the same speed. Some require patience.”
Sebastian hummed, a low, thoughtful sound. “But Gael doesn’t do patience. He operates on immediate correction. It’s his methodology.”
Landen’s smirk widened. “And teaches that way, too. Brutally efficient.”
