Chapter 19: Eyes on Me: Part 2 – Chapter 18

Garrett “You look refreshed,” Emerson announces as I waltz into the boardroom on my first day back to Salacious after five days at the lake. He stands from his chair and greets me with a half-hug, half-pat on the back.

“Thanks. I feel refreshed,” I reply.

“Good. The tan looks good on you.” His eyes linger on my face for a moment with a mischievous expression painting his features.

I squint my eyes at him. “What’s that look for?”

As we take our seats around the table, with a smile, he replies, “You know what it’s for.”

Ah, Mia. Of course. Why did I have to tell him everything? I hate the way he’s looking at me right now. Like I’m one second away from being blissfully attached like he is.

Bad news, I’m not.

“For the record, I didn’t fuck my sister,” I say.

At that very moment, Hunter walks in, his dark curly hair catching my attention and the sharp blue suit he always wears.

Right as he hears my announcement, regarding the non-sister fucking, he laughs. “Well, that’s good to hear.”

“He means his stepsister,” Emerson adds.

“Oh, that’s only a little creepy then.”

Emerson looks back at me. “What happened? Why didn’t you?”

Why didn’t I? Did he miss the part about her being my stepsister? How about her being thirteen years younger than me and someone I’ve known longer than is socially acceptable. “Well, let’s see,” I say. “Mostly because she’s a .”

Emerson’s eyebrows pinch inward in confusion. “Mia?”

Exactly the response I was expecting. No one would take one look at my gorgeous stepsister and think for a second that that girl was cut out for celibacy. She’s adventurous, beautiful, and outwardly sexual in a way I didn’t notice until this week.

“Yes.”

“Isn’t she like…twenty-three?” Emerson asks.

“And drop-dead gorgeous,” Hunter adds.

“Yes and yes.”

Emerson is still deep in thought, holding his chin in his hand as he stares at me. “But wait…what does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m thirty-six,” I say with a fair amount of shock in my voice. How can he even ask that? “I have no business popping anyone’s cherry at my age.”

Hunter joins in the conversation, sitting across from me at the table with Emerson at the head. “I’m confused. Is something going on between you and Mia? When did this happen?”

Inwardly, I groan. I really don’t need the whole company getting involved. I left the lake yesterday, and Mia and I had fun, but we’re done. We spent the week doing exactly what I said we would—playing. No sex. A little fun. And no regrets. It was the first time my dick was touched by a woman in way too goddamn long. No strings, no complaints. And now, we can both return to our lives like nothing happened.

Except that we still talk almost hourly as Drake and Mia—instead of Garrett and Mia—and she keeps hinting at us meeting in person. That’s a hole I’ve dug for myself that I don’t want to face right now. Because I still can’t quite get the taste of her lips out of my mouth, and when she finds out I’m Drake, and that I’ve been lying to her this whole time, I’m going to lose her twice.

“It’s complicated,” I grumble, rubbing my forehead between my fingers. “She’s a camgirl and I happened to see her online and might have joined under a fake name and watched her a couple times. Next thing I know, we’re doing everything but fucking.”

“And you came clean about the fake profile?” Emerson asks with a hopeful expression on his face.

I give him a one-word response. “Ha.”

He lets out a disappointed sigh, and it kills me. Emerson Grant is the last person you want to disappoint. “Garrett,” he replies, my name sounding like a punishment.

“This is why we didn’t have sex. I don’t need to feel any more like a piece of shit for what I’ve done already. Taking her virginity would be the icing on the cake.”

Emerson is sending me a stern look. “I don’t like when you do that,” he mutters.

“Do what?”

“Call yourself a piece of shit when you’re clearly not.”

Well, that was…unexpected. Am I supposed to apologize for that? Like Emerson Grant has ever known what it was like to feel like a piece of shit. Even when he was banging his son’s ex, he probably didn’t beat himself up, feeling like the world’s worst dad.

Okay, he kind of did, but that was a single incident. I highly doubt my perfect best friend knows what low self-esteem even feels like.

We need a change in subject. “How’s the club?” I ask.

The way his face screws up into a pained expression has my heart dropping. “Well, numbers are steady. But the hall has been a little lackluster lately.”

Fuck. “What? Why?”

“Last week, we had three rooms filled at once and only four spectators in the hall.”

Fuck, fuck. Groaning again, I slide my face into my hands. I should have known I’d come back to a mountain of work. I never should have left.

“I think we need to start vetting who we let take the rooms,” Emerson adds.

Immediately, my brain shifts into idea mode. We can fix this. It’s not a lost cause. “I’ll get back some of my regulars. We can get a group in there. They love that.” My gaze slides over to Hunter, who looks personally affronted as if I’m specifically asking him to partake in a gang bang.

“Why are you looking at me?”

“Talk to Drake,” I say. “He’ll do it. Room fee waived, of course.”

Speak of the fucking devil himself, Drake walks into the room.

“Talk to Drake about what?” he asks with a sly smile on his handsome face.

“Jesus,” Emerson groans. Drake isn’t an owner of the club, but he is head of the construction crew responsible for building it, which means he has a free lifetime membership, which he uses to its full potential. And he tends to find himself at our meetings, more often than not, which is not something Emerson particularly likes. He doesn’t Drake exactly, but it’s clear Drake’s flippancy and nonchalance when it comes to the club and life in general has always irked Emerson. Not to mention, Drake doesn’t hold back with his flirting, and if Emerson so much as catches him glancing in Charlotte’s direction, he turns murderous.

And speak of the devil again, Emerson’s girlfriend-slash-secretary, Charlotte, walks in with Maggie. They take the last two seats around the table while Drake stares at me, waiting to hear what I brought up his name for.

“Drake, if we could get you a room in V-hall, do you think you could gather up a little group to put on a show?”

Now that gets everyone’s attention. Chitchat suddenly comes to an end as everyone watches him for his response. His eyes light up with excitement.

“Just girls or guys too?”

My eyes get a little wider. Well, that’s not something I knew about Drake, but I guess you learn new things about people every day.

“Whatever you want,” I reply.

“Cool. I’m down,” he says casually, as if he didn’t just accept an invitation to publicly fuck a group of people while in a workday business meeting.

When I glance in Hunter’s direction, I notice his jaw has tightened and his nostrils flare. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he doesn’t love this idea very much.

Too bad for him because I’m elated. This will be great for the voyeur hall. “See?” I say in triumph, looking at the boss man at the end of the table.

He looks less than impressed. “We need more than groups and regulars. We need professionals.”

My brow furrows. “Like what, porn stars?” This is the first time he’s ever brought up hiring professional performers for the club. It was never about the entertainment. It was always about the people and their experience.

“Yeah. Or…camgirls?”

And with that, my blood runs cold.

“No,” I bark, pointing a finger at him. “I know what you’re thinking and I’m saying absolutely not.”

Emerson is fucking relentless, though. “We could really use her perspective, Garrett. She could help us with the hall.”

I force a long inhale, willing myself to calm down. “No. My stepsister thinks I run a nightclub. She’s not stepping foot into Salacious. Ever.”

He exhales. “Okay, I understand. But that’s not all.”

Oh, great. “What?” I ask.

“VIP had a negative intake month,” he says, and my heart falls again.

“Down fourteen, up twelve,” Maggie adds. I feel all eyes in the room on me as I take in this information. This is my territory. Keeping people happy and keeping them coming—literally and figuratively. But obviously, I’m failing.

“Don’t panic,” Emerson replies, noticing my souring mood. “We just need new, enticing ideas to bring people in. They can have sex at home, but we need to give them a reason to do it here.”

Hunter interjects, “I have the BDSM demonstrations scheduled for next quarter. A shibari showcase and an impact play workshop.”

“Good,” Emerson replies with a nod. “People want to try it. They just don’t know how. What else?”

“We need an event. A big event,” I say, knowing that that’s the simplest answer. The auctions do well, but we need something fresh. Something different. Something so magnetic and sexy and tempting, prospective members can’t say no to. Something with a following or fan base we can utilize.

And I hate that my mind has settled on this idea because, technically, Emerson already brought it up. But he’s right. If we bring in performers, it could be the boost the club needs. We’re at the three-month mark, and it’s a make-or-break period for new clubs. We can either establish a solid foundation or we can crumble under the pressure.

“What do you have in mind?” Emerson asks, like he can see my wheels turning.

“You’re right,” I mutter. “If we brought in camgirls and porn stars, they could advertise to their fans. Put on a live show. It would bring in a huge crowd.”

“I like it,” he replies.

“It would have to be invitation-only. Cap attendance and offer them a free month of membership for attending the event with optional VIP upgrade.”

When I glance up at him again, he looks pleased.

“We’re going to need more than the hall, though. It can’t handle a crowd. Drake, could you set up a temporary structure in the main hall?”

“Like a theater?” he asks.

I sigh. Is this crazy? It feels crazy. Would they even do it? Perform up on stage, doing…what they do?

“Yeah, like a theater.”

He nods, jotting down some notes on his paper as he and Hunter discuss some more ideas for the space. Pulling back from the conversation, I try to calm my nerves from knowing the club is suffering. My anxiety can’t grab onto the idea that we’re going under or I’ll be a mess. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Emerson watching Charlotte as she scribbles notes on her notepad.

“You getting all this?” he asks, placing his hand on her knee under the table.

She glances up and gazes into his eyes with a warm expression full of love. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl,” he whispers, before pulling her close and pressing his lips against her forehead.

I glance away, noticing the new ache in my chest from watching them. Before I left for the lake, I thought Emerson was crazy for giving in to this relationship so willingly, for being vulnerable and opening up his heart to possible damage down the line, not to mention the overall stress of having another person to please and keep happy.

But then I think about how easy things were between me and Mia over the past week. How easily we laughed or even when we were tormenting each other, how there was still something satisfying there.

Pulling out my phone, I quickly send her a message.

This is insane and I’m going to pay for this later, I know that. But pretending to be someone else makes typing these things a little easier. Like I can convince myself that none of it is actually real. I can tell Mia how much she means to me as Drake. It’s not like that’s how I really feel. Right?