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

by Kenna Shaw Reed

“Why not?”

  “It’s easier if people think I’ve hired you to do promotions.”

  “Then, Dee and I want fifteen percent of the door takings, plus free food and drinks all night.”

  “Make it twenty percent and you have a deal.”

  Katie: 20% door ++

  Dee: On it. CU midnight in police blues

  To Chelle’s credit, or maybe with Ibby’s encouragement, my shift ended well before midnight. Giving me enough time to freshen up clothes, hair and makeup. Documenting each step on social media which was lighting up. Apparently, half of Sydney wanted to live vicariously through us, while the other half wanted to see us in person. Up close and in person.

  By the time I met Dee out the front of CandyShop, the line to get inside was woven around the block and random strangers were counting down until midnight.

  “This is insane!” Dee’s kisses didn’t come close enough to ruin makeup. “The guys will be pulling up in a limo soon. If there’s a dry panty after they make their entrance, we should issue refunds.”

  “I feel like getting into a little trouble tonight!” I yelled out to the crowd who responded in full voice. So, I yelled out again, “I can’t hear you! I’m not afraid of trouble, what about you?”

  “Are you sure about this?” Dee nervously whispered behind a photographic smile.

  “Absolutely, and we couldn’t buy this sort of press.” Remembering what our twenty percent could buy, I pulled Dee to pose for the gaggle of media photographers being kept behind a rope by the well-built, Dimitri who remembered me from the other night.

  “Would you look at this man!” I called to the crowd before adding, “What would it take for you to let me get cuffed to you?”

  “For Mr. Mercia never to find out. Come on in ladies and guests.”

  What on earth did that mean? Had Ibby put out an instruction that I was off-limits to his staff? He wouldn’t issue those orders unless—

  “Katie, Dee, thank you for joining our party,” Ibby greeted us in the foyer, his pearly whites and shining eyes. A changed man from the photos taken only hours ago.

  “Don’t you mean, thank you for creating the party,” Dee smirked. “Whatever. The pleasure will be ours once the boys arrive and we get them on the dancefloor to do their thing.”

  “You’re going to dance with the strippers?”

  “I thought if you give us the same table as before, the guys can do their thing for Katie and I. Believe me, every woman in the place is gonna want them.” Dee could barely control her enthusiasm.

  “I guess I’ll take a raincheck on the dancefloor,” Ibby whispered, his lips brushing my cheek. What if I’d turned quick enough to catch them? Too late.

  “The night is young and I’m ready for fun,” I quipped as Dimitri gradually allowed small groups through to have photos taken. Social media had worked a treat and all the revelers had gone to extreme lengths to fit the police fetish theme. After all, we’d been clear about the rule: no theme dress, no photos.

  “Boss, Luther and his crew are outside. The Redbacks are on their way.” Dimitri and another muscle tried to pull Ibby aside. His hand never left the small of my back. A sign? I sighed, it was impossible to tell and I’d lost my touch with this man.

  “Get the paying customers who fit the dress standard inside and as soon as we’re full, close the doors. I’ll call the police and get them to do a few patrols. After last night, they owe me one.”

  “Are we okay?” Dee asked in between fan snaps.

  “Absolutely, we can trust them. And think of how much media we’ll get out of it!”

  Ibby

  “Gentlemen, what can I do for you tonight?”

  Rather than wait for Luther to come to me, I left the safety of my security detail and club to greet Luther as if we were regular business associates. Truthfully, no security detail would protect me from the twenty or so revving motorcycles on my footpath.

  If the police fetish theme wasn’t enough to draw attention, these guys would have me and my clubs plastered all over the online press within an hour.

  “Heard you were having a party.”

  “Police fetish. Hoping to bring back the crowds so your envelopes become full again.”

  “Not allowing us inside—seems a bit rude.”

  “Mate,” I looked around. No sign of either the Redbacks or police. Damn. “The point of the theme is for everyone to come in costume and have some fun. Leave their real selves outside and in the daylight.”

  “Still—”

  For the first time, ever, I interrupted, “Luther, I would have warned you, but my promotions manager came up with the idea at the last minute. All the promo was up on social media and word of mouth.”

  “You didn’t think to call me?”

  “Luther, I love you like a brother, but would you really have swapped your patch for a police uniform just to come to my club?”

  “The Redbacks wanted to meet here tonight.”

  “Perhaps you can go somewhere more private.”

  “We like it here.”

  “Not tonight. As friends, I’m asking you to take it somewhere else for the night.”

  Two police cars pulled alongside as thirty Redback rode past and kept riding. We waited until the noise died down. Shit.

  “You call the cops on me?” Luther growled, taking a step forward while I held my ground. Luther needed to save face and nothing I could or would do was gonna change the outcome. I might as well stand and take my beating like a man.

  “I called them on myself. Last night burned a few bridges, so I wanted them to come, check out the place without needing a raid. Even join in the fun. I think they call it community policing or something.”

  At least under pressure I could still think on my feet. Having the great idea an hour ago would have been better, but still it might be enough.

  “Guys,” Luther called to his crew, without breaking his stare. “Seems the Redbacks have stood us up. Back to the clubhouse for some decent music.”

  With a firm handshake, he handed me back my balls, “Never liked this DJ shit. You really should get live bands playing here.”

  “Luther, get your shit sorted with the Redbacks and let’s have a conversation about my new venture. Cafe by day, nightclub by night and lazy Sundays with live bands.”

  “Need investment?”

  “Clean or laundered?”

  “My missus has a family trust and she’s always looking for real investments.”

  Finally, a light at the end of my dark tunnel.

  Of course, Luther would hide clean money with his wife. A woman who would never leave him and would rather die than steal.

  “Luther, I mean it. We’ve done business a long time. Get the shit sorted, let me get the cash flow happening again and then we’ll talk.”

  Blinded by Denial

  Ibby

  For a day that started fucked up because of what happened at CandyShop, it ended with me dreaming of the police fetish theme night, at CandyShop.

  “Come on, old man,” Katie had laughingly pulled me down to the dancefloor.

  “Who are you calling, old?” Only I felt it around her. So young, and in her own way, sweetly innocent with a body for sin. My sin or sins. Past, present and future.

  “Anyone who looks like you but dresses, like you!” she bantered, seductively removing my leather jacket. “This can stay, but the black shirt has to go.”

  “You want me topless?” I’d flirted, hands itching to grab her hips. Shit. Tonight, I’d need to stay sober or spend the rest of my life regretting it.

  “You have no idea how I want you, or in how many ways,” she whispered as two buttons lost their lives. The crowd around us cheered as my shirt got removed and tossed over to her table.

  To hell with rules.

  “Don’t threaten what you aren’t prepared to deliver.” My natural flirting came back with lines normally reserved for women who’d have an expiration date of one night.

  “
Well, that’s up to you! Come on, lover.”

  Within seconds, she’d pushed our way through to the middle of the dancefloor. Surrounded by grinding bodies of all sexes and ages. Dressing up seemed to unleash everyone’s inhibitions. “C’mon, Ibrahim. Show me if you’re man enough!”

  Man enough for what!

  Fuck, the way her body moved in the latex version of a police uniform, it hurt to even stand. My cock could almost scream out the number of months and days since it had been relieved the way nature intended.

  “Ibrahim?” Her hands caressed her breasts, slowly down to her groin and up again. “Are you man enough?”

  To hell with it.

  I grabbed her tightly until even her top couldn’t hide the pebbling of her nipples against my chest. If she wanted this, I was gonna give her a show and a half. A song later and with ease, I spun her hips around until they were attached to mine and I could grind my cock in between her cheeks. Anonymous in a crowd of revelers.

  I’d never needed pill or powder to feel alive. The touch of a good woman—or several bad ones—had always been my preferred high. With Katie’s laughter and smile, my hands followed their own path. Her waist, hips, even finding her bellybutton until she doubled over in giggles. Good to know her sensitive and ticklish spots. Then pressed against her legs, my fingers playing with the edge of her short skirt hem as her moans became music to my ears.

  Song after song we’d let our bodies do the talking. No conversation, no reservation and definitely no inhibition. Katie used my sweat to trace pictures on my chest, and I drew the same on her ass. The party atmosphere was wild and with minimal intervention from Garrison’s goons.

  “Katie, sorry!” Dee interrupted us as the DJ took a break. “I need you out the front to do more photos and stuff. Everyone’s asking for the cute blonde one.”

  “Well, she’s definitely got the cuteness factor.” The moment to take our moment to the next level was lost. Dee needed Katie, and I needed to remember my place. Boss-man, club-owner. Not regular party goer who could stake his claim with any girl.

  “Thanks for the dance, old man.” Katie had found me after most of the guests had been poured into cabs. I wanted to trademark her simper and freeze her smile.

  “My car’s waiting for you out the back. It will drop you, Dee and any of your friends home.”

  “Thanks.” All I got was a kiss blown from her fingertips to my heart.

  “All good, boss?” Nothing escaped Dimitri’s attention.

  “Nothing a cold shower wouldn’t fix.”

  At least I’d dreamt about all the ways the night could have and should have ended.

  All good things must come to an end, and reality hit less than a week later.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Ibby, but Mr. Templeton has—”

  “Ibby, I don’t know what you want to do but Mr. Templeton has—”

  “Mr. Mercia. We can’t continue to make money whilst Garrison Templeton—”

  I’d taken my eyes off my existing clubs to focus on my new project and the world went to shit.

  Garrison had made his presence felt not just in my Sydney nightclubs, but across the country. Not one had been spared from his intimidation or bullshit antics.

  I’d tried to recut the project schedule. Trim off weeks and costs. Get my concept venue open and turning over cash early.

  I’d hoped for a miracle.

  Only, when Katie started calling in sick at The Club, the full extent of Garrison’s sick play became apparent.

  “What the hell is happening with takings?” I’d asked Janet, the shift manager. If I didn’t tackle this head-on, then Darius would. Out of the two of us, I was usually the nice one. “I mean, I can understand a couple of nights, but this has been happening for a week.”

  Truthfully, with all the other shit going on, I needed The Club to be the cash cow it always had been.

  “It doesn’t help when my best staff don’t turn up. I’ve got replacements, but they’re new and are still getting the hang of upselling.”

  “Who isn’t turning up?” Shit. “Is someone making it play for our staff?”

  Competition for good staff tended to be fierce across the hospitality sector, and it wouldn’t be the first time a new adult club tried set up by poaching our staff. When a place invested as much in training as Darius and I did, staff were highly sought after and could command above average salaries.

  “Look it’s not my place to talk out of school,” Janet said with more hesitation than she normally showed. “But if you don’t pull Mr. Garrison into line then I’m sure Katie and Chelle won’t be the only girls that don’t want to come in to work.”

  “What’s he been doing?”

  “Best you ask the girls.”

  “I will, but what have you seen?”

  “Like I said, not my place and you’d be better off asking them.”

  In every discussion, I’d been clear. The Club was off-limits. To the Kingsmen, to the Redbacks and to Garrison. In any case, there was no reason for Garrison to stir things up at The Club; not when his goons were set up in each of my nightclubs.

  Lachlan didn’t need to remind me what a stupid decision it had been to take Garrison’s line of credit. A bloody cushy deal that seemed too good to be true, with a hidden cost being paid by everyone around me. I’d long given up wanting a do-over, but until I either found a new source of funding or paid down the debts, Garrison’s presence and influence seemed to be a fact of life.

  Shit.

  “Katie, call me.”

  “Katie, it’s Ibby. It’s not about the night at CandyShop, unless you want to talk about it. I need to talk to you about The Club.”

  “Katie, please call me. It’s Ibby.”

  To avoid the dreaded stalker tag, I at least left an hour gap between messages.

  Even if she didn’t want to return my call as the man who ground against her on the dancefloor, or as the client who’d established her commercial value as an influencer, surely she should return my call and talk to her boss?

  “Katie, damn it, I’m worried about you. Call me.”

  Katie

  Most men, I could handle.

  After reaching puberty at thirteen, I’d dealt with wolf whistles and cat calls from grown men. Wearing my high school uniform didn’t stop them. In fact, I got more whistles walking home from school than I ever did going to the shops.

  By the time I was fifteen, male teachers offered to pay me special attention, only stopping after I started dating the fiercest footballer in high school.

  There were a thousand was of letting a man down gently, but it only took hurt pride or who for declarations of love to turn into accusations of being a stuck up, frigid bitch, or worse.

  Janet: Are we going to see you today? At least give me a couple of shifts this week. Turnover is down. If you want to prove your worth, you have.

  Katie: I think so.

  Janet: I told the boss about your admirers.

  Shit. Unless Janet was talking about Darius, then hell could be about to be unleashed.

  Katie: you didn’t have to. I can handle them.

  Yeah, right. Not. The only way I could prove to Mr. Garrison and friends they couldn’t intimidate me, or their presence didn’t turn my legs to jelly, would be by going into work.

  Janet: Either come to work, return Mr. Ibrahim’s calls or admit you’ve found a new job. Either way, I need to fill shifts and I’m running out of patience.

  “Hi.”

  I didn’t expect Ibby to answer on the first ring but with his single word, gentle greeting, I wanted to cry. More than that, I could imagine him rolling towards me on our shared pillow. I could imagine his voice being the first sound I heard every morning. And the last at night.

  “I heard you were looking for me?” Yoga breaths in and out. Even if I ignored his half a dozen voice mails, I still fell asleep with memories of being pressed against his bare chest.

  “I heard you’ve been on the missing list at The C
lub.”

  “Yeah, well—” my voice trailed off. I shouldn’t have called until I knew what to say. There was nothing he could do, after all it was Ibby’s friends who were the problem. All handsy and with such intense stares that Chelle and I had started to feel like animals in a cage. On display for Garrison’s personal amusement.

  Yes, we were hostesses and a certain amount of male attention was expected. It paid our bills.

  Most men knew the fine line between admiration and creep. Only I thought Garrison and his goons knew the line and purposefully crossed it. Daring Chelle or I to call them out. But then what?

  “Look,” Ibby’s voice became overshadowed by the music. “Just a sec,” he shouted before I heard a door close and the lyrics became a distant thud thud.

  I didn’t have to close my eyes to picture him at CandyShop, black fitted shirt with rolled up sleeves, black jeans and tussled fringe which always made him look like he’d rolled out of bed.

  “Mr. Ibrahim, I’m fine.” I wasn’t, and his formal name should have been the dead giveaway.

  “This isn’t a conversation we should be having over the phone.”

  “I’m fine,” I protested again.

  “Then let me see your eyes when you say it. Coffee or lunch?”

  “I’m working.”

  Most of me wanted him to leave it alone, but a small part held onto the fact he cared enough to keep calling. Then again, if he cared so much, why didn’t he at least kiss me when we had a moment? I’d felt his need, surely, he must have known mine?

  “Good, then I’ll see you at The Club and we can go up to my room to talk.”

  “No!”

  The word came out as a scream. The thought of going to The Club had been enough to trigger full body panic attacks. Things had been bad enough after Garrison had seen Ibby and I together at CandyShop. If Garrison or his friends saw me go upstairs to Ibby’s private viewing room without a business reason, there’d be even more pressure to cave in. Take Garrison’s money for an afternoon’s private discussion.

  I couldn’t.

  Wouldn’t.

  Not ever.