Hard Bargain: a Billionaire Suspense Romance (City Sinners Book 3)

by Kenna Shaw Reed

  “So how about we go down to the floor and pick up a couple of women who don’t work for you.”

  “Not tonight, mate. Not tonight.”

  Not that I needed explaining to my friends who’d never believe me, but I’d stopped picking up randoms at The Club months ago. About the same time, I’d run into Katie and her friends at one of my nightclubs. Still wearing their uniform of black bustier, latex bootie shorts and thigh high boots, the women were hit on from all directions. Men, women, no one could resist the alure of Katie’s group.

  Helpless, I had to stand by and watch some gym-junkie dude pull Katie aside for one-on-one dancing. Hips grinding and his hand moving closer to her hips. With a sixth sense that I’d never understand or forget, she’d looked up and seen me watching. I had no fucking right to be jealous, but when she came over, eyes ablaze with a passion and desire I knew only too well, I didn’t back away.

  “I don’t work here!” she’d yelled over the music.

  “I know.” My hips wanted to sway with hers. I wanted to grind her into the nearest wall. Instead, I remained stoic. The perfect vision of boss-man surveying his club.

  “So, right now you’re not my boss.”

  “I know.”

  “Then dance with me. Save me from making a mistake.”

  Katie Elias hadn’t asked for a future. Not even a whole night.

  She’d asked me to dance and for one endless song after another, I put my morals and good sense on hold.

  One night.

  I’d allowed myself, and us, one night of dancing, flirting and conversation that our eyes would never betray. Before sending her home with my driver while I locked myself away in the office to deal with paperwork.

  We’d never spoken of it again. Even when I went through security footage and checked visitor logs for my clubs, I never saw her or her name. I made sure she got all the shifts at The Club she wanted. The biggest tips came in the early hours. I was doing her a favor, and if she didn’t have time to go clubbing, her loss was my gain.

  I, Ibrahim Mercia, didn’t date.

  Even if I did, the poor woman would have to somehow meet the approval of my beloved Lebanese mother. Where the hell was I going to find a woman traditional enough to share my family values and modern enough to be a fucking wildcat in bed?

  “You’re not in the mood to pull a woman out of her boredom?” Lachlan joked, reminding me that he was still here. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

  “I’m focused on this project. No time for female distractions.”

  Until now, I hadn’t realized that since the night dancing with Katie, there’d been no woman in my bed, my office or even in my own private viewing room. Not for a night and not even for a quickie. Looking around at the papers and folders, sketches and building plans strewn around this room, I couldn’t hide the truth. Even my private viewing room had become a place for business, not for fucking.

  The chills didn’t come from the air conditioning.

  I still wore my silk shirt and three thousand dollar imported suit.

  No, the shivers were having agreed to a flawed negotiation in the spur of the moment. Under pressure of Garrison and his onlookers, trying to hide my anger at how they’d responded to Katie and Chelle, I’d allowed myself to be bullied into a fucked-up deal.

  I knew it.

  Lachlan knew it.

  Darius would feed my balls back to me, if he knew it.

  And Katie? I could never risk her finding out.

  “How sure are you of your numbers?”

  “Now you ask?”

  “How sure?” Lachlan asked again. “Do you want me to drop by tomorrow and we can go through them again?”

  “I’m sure,” I said, before realizing this wasn’t the time to hold onto either my ego or pride. “But I’ll buy breakfast if you bring the calculator.

  As much as I craved this deal, I’d never have risked Chelle or Katie if there’d been any doubt.

  Katie

  That was weird, I thought, leaving Ibby and his business associate alone in the room. Earlier, when I’d escorted the six men to the room, I’d felt like stepping into a scene from a mobster movie. Then, when Chelle helped me wheel in refreshments, the vibe had been intense. Ibby didn’t flash me his normal smile and Chelle resented the hell out of the handsy strangers.

  I’d hoped that after Steve escorted the guests from The Club, Ibby would be back to his usual swagger. Instead, he seemed, sad.

  “Things okay upstairs?” Chelle asked from her station at the front desk. We were still expecting a bachelor party and as newly promoted night manager, Chelle liked to greet them personally and lay down the rules.

  “Mr. Ibrahim’s guests have left and he’s just staring out the window.”

  “Probably looking for his next acquisition,” Chelle laughed to my blushing discomfort. My friend knew my weakness and reminded me almost every shift not to do anything stupid. I couldn’t risk either my job or reputation. We’d both seen what happened to women who hooked up with the boss or other managers. They became fair game for other male staff, and usually ended up leaving to where their sins couldn’t find them.

  Men walked away unscathed.

  Women, not so much. We hated society’s rules, but as a gender, we were all helpless to change.

  “Maybe he’s just thinking about the meeting. It went longer than he expected.” Not that I counted minutes or seconds where Ibby was concerned.

  “Oh, come on. You’ve seen him in action. He watches the room from up there, finds his target. Within half an hour she’s up there with him and a couple of hours later she’s leaving with a smile on her face.”

  “He hasn’t done that in a while.”

  “Maybe not, but something big is going down and men like Ibby need to release their stress somehow.”

  “Is this where we sign in?” The arrival of twenty men saved me from replying. I’d seen their type before. Late twenties or early thirties. All full of bravado and swagger, not wanting anyone to see their nerves. The Club wasn’t a normal nightclub and wasn’t for the faint-hearted.

  “Evening, gentlemen,” Chelle threw them her million-dollar smile. “I understand we are helping you celebrate your last night of freedom. Welcome to The Club.”

  As I tried to back away gracefully, return to my tables and hopefully a few large tips, Chelle caught me, “Katie, how about you take these gentlemen up to Mr. Patera’s private room, start them off with a round of drinks and explain the rules. It’s more quiet upstairs than me having to shout over the music.”

  My friend saw my raised eyebrow before giving me our signal, raised pinky finger. She’d help look after my tables, I’d help look after this group and we’d share the tips. Men found it hard to resist one of us, but with both of us working together, the beers would upgrade to spirits, food would be ordered, the guests would be happy, and their tips would pay our rent.

  “Certainly, gentlemen can you please sign in?” I hid my shock better than his friends when the groom showed his membership card. He might be a member, but not a regular if neither Chelle nor I recognized him.

  One by one I checked the identification. The Club was Sydney’s favorite venues for consenting adults because we took security as seriously as we took sex.

  “This way, please.” With the happy groom leading his friends, I escorted the group past one couple grinding away in the corridor. The woman with her back against the wall and legs wrapped around her partner’s waist hardly gave me a nod. Yes, I understood. We could always count on one exhibitionist couple to try and intimidate newbies.

  “Is it always like this?” One of the group asked, and when the groom didn’t answer, I chuckled.

  “Look as much as you want, but touching is by invitation only.”

  With my personal security guard, Steve, following closely behind, I made sure to use my body for full effect as we walked up the spiral staircase. Knowing the impact my tight black shorts would have on the guys, and my tips.<
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  My heels clicked on the polished concrete as we made our way past Ibby’s private room, towards the room used by the other co-owner. Darius Patera might be a happily married man, but that didn’t mean he and his wife didn’t still come out every month or so to act like a horny couple in love.

  Throwing open the door, I was quickly forgotten as twenty fit and horny men fought for prime position at the window.

  “Welcome to The Club. We have very few rules, but they are strictly enforced by my friend, Steve.” I nodded to the burly man whose heart was as big as his arms. “No photography. We could ask everyone to hand over their phones, but self-monitoring works better. If a guest sees another guest with a phone, we have procedures in place, and you will be dealt with.”

  I allowed the message to sink in while Steve offered a lockable box, just in case the men couldn’t trust themselves.

  “You can touch all you want—do whatever you want—with whomever you want.”

  I waited for the gawfs and back slaps to cease. Seriously, newbies seemed to lose brain cells once the blood flowed to their cocks.

  “I can’t stress the next rule enough. Whatever you do, it must be consensual and legal. Again, for the privacy and courtesy of our members, if a guest complains, you will be taken aside, and security footage viewed. There are no blind spots in this venue or the laneways outside. If Steve here thinks you’ve acted in a non-consensual manner, you will be dealt with.”

  “What if she wants it rough?” The best man asked as his friends nodded their support. “Women want to be convinced of what’s good for them.”

  A slight of my hand kept Steve in place. Yes, we’d keep an eye on this one, but we’d give him a chance to have his attitude adjusted.

  “Honey,” my voice dripped with soft sarcasm. “Most men that come here know how to make a woman want them. The women who come here don’t need additional convincing.” I stared him down until he got my message. Good, I softened, “We don’t judge - rough or vanilla—it’s up to our guests. If you want to indulge further, we have rooms for hire kitted out with all the toys you could possibly play with.”

  “Fuckin’ A!” The best man lead another round of fist pumping high-fives.

  “But, gentlemen. Believe me when I tell you, that consensual is taken seriously here. Go too far, and you will be dealt with. Touch me or any of the other hostesses, and Steve will have a personal chat.”

  “How much to take you to one of the rooms? You know, my last fuck of freedom and all.” The groom’s swagger seemed bigger than his intention. Now I recognized the look, he wanted his friends to think he’d fuck a hostess but trusted I wouldn’t agree. He was nothing more than a faithful puppy who didn’t want his friends to know just how far he’d been pussy whipped by love.

  “Katie is not for hire!”

  I jumped as Ibby’s voice thundered from the doorway behind me. Turning, I saw he’d discarded his dark blue suit jacket, his white shirt now comfortable unbuttoned from the top. Teasing me with the faintest promise of dark hairs against his tanned chest.

  It didn’t matter if I hadn’t seen him for minutes or days, Ibby’s first impression never failed to take away my breath.

  “We have a list of escorts that are happy to join you at The Club. Tell Katie your preferences and she’ll make a couple of calls. But let me be clear, my girls are here to make your party a success, but not for your satisfaction.”

  “Mr. Ibrahim, sir!” Finding my voice, I needed to bring back a positive energy to the room. “Gentlemen, this is one of the co-owners of The Club. You might have seen him at one of his other nightclubs.”

  “You own CandyShop in the city! Fucking hell!” The best man couldn’t shake Ibby’s hand quickly enough. “Your places are dope. Seriously, dope. I love CandyCane in Brisvegas.”

  “Glad you enjoy them. Don’t do anything here tonight that will have you banned in all my venues.” Ibby’s eyes were colder than his words. “Katie will look after you, and Steve will make sure there’s no trouble.”

  “Mr. Ibrahim, sir, these gorgeous guys are just looking for a good night to celebrate the first bachelor taking the plunge of matrimony. I’m sure they will find a thousand ways of having fun without upsetting the staff or other customers.”

  Back off and let me do my job if only he could read my eyes and fake smile. Turning back to the groom, “Gentlemen, I’m sure Mr. Ibrahim would want you to have your first round of drinks on him before we go back down to the main floor. I understand you are paying for this room for any private entertainment, but we also have a large booth downstairs set aside for your party.”

  “Allow me to help,” Ibby joined me at Darius’ well stocked bar as I gathered glasses and bottles of beer.

  “I think you’ve done enough. He’s harmless. He had no intention of making a serious play.”

  “How do you know.”

  “I know men. He wanted his friends to respect his game. I could have let him down gently without making him feel like a small dick.”

  “I did that?”

  “Yes, you did.” Now I could give Ibby a genuine smile. After all, it wasn’t every day my fantasy came to my unneeded rescue. “But this first round of drinks is going to cost both of us.”

  “How so, I mean, I know that I’m shouting, thanks to your offer.”

  “Because the first round of tips is always the most generous and if they aren’t paying, I’m not getting tips.”

  “I’ll make it up to you.” Ibby had to squeeze closer to me as other staff joined us. Twenty guys couldn’t be expected to get their own drinks. Not when the window still held their attention.

  “Gonna take me dancing again?” I chanced to flirt. “Or just fill my tip jar with gold?”

  “Fuck it, Katie. Whatever they tip you tonight, I’ll double it. Okay?”

  Wow. The girls fought over bachelor parties because of the tips. A bunch of rich guys all looking to outdo themselves in front of their friends and any women who attached themselves to the group. A normal week of tips paid my rent.

  Nights like tonight, sharing my tables with a bachelor party, went straight towards saving for a house. The Australian dream of a quarter acre block somewhere in the suburbs where I could have a vegetable garden. Prove to my parents how wrong they’d been to kick me out of home.

  Ibby offered to double tonight’s tips! I could have kissed him, but it wouldn’t have just been out of gratitude.

  “Thank you, you’re forgiven.” Instead of kisses, I hoped my smile was reward enough. “Now can you help me offer around these drinks, or is it beneath the nightclub king to help out his staff!”

  “On that, we need to talk about formalizing what you are to The Club.” Ibby picked up the fully laden tray with ease. “I—I—mean—we’ve all noticed how much you’ve stepped up. Not just with the groups but also mentoring staff and stuff. How about we talk about making you assistant manager.”

  “Oh.”

  Even though it had been my goal, I’d expected the offer to come from Darius or Chelle. Never from Ibby.

  “Ibby, I didn’t expect—”

  “Let me go back in, eat humble pie in front of your guests and then we can talk about it later. I’ll clear it with Darius and backdate the pay to tonight. Okay?”

  “I still get double my tips for this group?” The promotion was very welcome, but I’d already mentally saved my tips for tonight.

  “I keep my promises.”

  True to his word, Ibby charmed my group, even giving them a free pass to CandyFloss’ Saturday night party. Only Ibrahim Mercia could have competing clubs within two blocks of each other. CandyShop was for regular punters, CandyFloss was usually invitation only. A free pass was social credit on steroids.

  By the time I led the boys down to the main floor, the bachelor held legendary status for bringing his party here; the party had been discovered by a group of regular girls who knew how to have fun; and I had a new job.

  My heart raced as fast as my hopes
soared. Whether he admitted it or not, Ibby had started noticing me as a woman. I knew it when he went all alpha male, blocking me from dancing with anyone else at CandyShop.

  Now, he’d started seeing me as a woman with a brain.

  Maybe, just maybe, one day Ibrahim Mercia might see me as his partner?

  Regret

  Ibby

  “We need to talk.”

  Fuck.

  Darius Patera didn’t bother with niceties, dragging me towards the office we shared at The Club before I’d even done my usual walk around and greeted staff. The handsome fucker strode through life with an ease most people thought came with generations of wealth. Nope, just the right brains at the right time.

  Sometimes he confused me as being staff, instead of his fifty-fifty partner in The Club. Usually, when he did, I deserved pulling into line.

  “Ibrahim, I mean, now!”

  Shit.

  The only reason I’d even dropped by was to make sure that Garrison or his goons hadn’t decided to become The Club members. I wouldn’t have put it past Garrison to consider Katie and Chelle as his private property and stake his claim in person.

  The asshole had been spending enough bloody time in my nightclubs. Even though my managers were clued up and treated Garrison like a VIP with private booths, Garrison went out of his way to push his weight around. Treating my staff as his personal serfs and my clubs as if they were opened for his pleasure.

  I couldn’t imagine a world where Darius would accept that level of involvement here.

  Who was I kidding? Weeks after making the worst decision of my life, I spent every fucking waking hour trying to make sure the arrangement with Garrison didn’t flow back onto The Club.

  “Sure, mate,” I kept my tone light until I knew what Darius knew. “Last time I checked the books they look good. Chelle is doing an amazing job, Janet has the night shift covered and promoting Katie seems to have worked out.”

  “I’m hearing rumors.” Darius closed the door with careful force. I’d be less worried if he slammed it shut.