by Harper Sloan
Just the thought of Owen and Evan is enough to lighten a little of the dark mood that has followed me around since the dream that woke me up way too fucking early this morning.
"Don't be a punk, Nate."
I laugh, making sure to write down where I was in my coding before I drop the pen next to my log sheet and turn to where my father is now sulking.
"What's up?"
"Not what's up with me, Nate. What's up with you?"
"Yeah, not following you. Old age making you go nuts already?" I lift my hand and point at the top of my head. "A lot more gray in there these days. You're starting to lose the whole salt and pepper look and become more salt only."
He shakes his head, not falling for my taunt, and pushes off where he had been leaning against one of the large floor-to-ceiling columns that hold our storage drive systems, or what I like to call 'mother ships.' He might ignore it, but I watch as he rubs a hand over his head while pulling one of the chairs around the hub monitors. I bite back the laugh as the few streaks of gray shine in the light of my computer screen when he pulls his seat toward my desk, settling his six-foot-six frame down with a grunt. I have to force my silence when the urge to take a jab at his struggled grunt when he sat hits my mind.
"Your mother is worried. When she's worried, she isn't happy. And, Nate, I hate it when she isn't happy."
And ... there went the playful mood.
"Why do you automatically assume that I'm the reason she is worried?"
"Because she's been like this since she found out you've been working yourself to the ground here, showing up before the sun, and then staying at that club until who knows when at night."
At the mention of that club, I feel my temper rise. It doesn't help that he still can't seem to mask his disapproval when it comes up. It's been a constant fight between my father and me since I bought that club.
"I'm fine. It's taking longer to finish the renovations, which is the only reason I'm there late. I don't know why she's worried. I'm a grown man, Dad."
He laughs, his deep booming chuckles breaking through the silence harshly. "Grown in age, maybe."
I flip him off, brushing off how annoyed I get when people assume that I'm not mature simply because I enjoy joking around. Especially since I've done nothing to substantiate that assumption. Sure, I like having fun and living the kind of life where laughter comes easy, but that doesn't mean I don't have a brain in my head.
He slaps my hand away, still laughing. "She won't ever stop worrying about you, son, and a mother knows when her kids are hurting."
Not liking how serious this little chat has turned, I can feel my hackles rising. "Well, this kid is just fine. Just stressed with getting everything finished over at that club," I snap.
"Nathaniel," he starts, and I take a deep breath so I don't blow up on him. One thing I've learned the hard way is no one blows up on Axel Reid without being burned in the process.
"Honestly, Dad, I'm fine. Stressed a little, but that's normal since I'm in the middle of trying to get shit finished with Dirty Dog, you know that club, and keep up with shit here. I promised you when I bought the place that I would stay on here so you wouldn't feel the weight of my absence. I'm allowed to feel stretched a little thin."
"You wouldn't feel that way if you wouldn't have bought that place."
"With all due respect, I'm trying really hard to remember you're my parent and that you're coming from a good place. I'm old enough to know what I want with my life. Too old to sit on my ass and not go after what I want, and what I want doesn't involve me sitting in this room for the rest of my life."
He's silent, his green eyes bright, while he processes his words. Finally, he lets out a long breath. "I'm sorry, Nate. It's just hard for me not to be concerned that you're throwing away a fuck load of money on that place. Club Carnal's been closed for a long time and that place needed a lot more work than what it's worth. I just hate to think that you're setting yourself up for failure."
"Well, shit. Once again, thanks for the vote of confidence."
"I don't mean it like that, Nate. I'm just worried. You've been so closemouthed about this whole club thing. This is new for us, and we're allowed to be concerned. Your sister always had a clear path, no guessing games, so we're just trying to figure it out with you."
"Did you think that maybe that's because I've been looking forward to showing it off a little? Fuck! This is getting so old; the constant assumption that I'm going to fuck it all up because I'm not as driven as Dani."
"That's not what I mean, and you know it."
I do, which sucks, but I can't help but get pissed that we always seem to have this fight. "I'm sorry. What can I tell you so that you can stop worrying that I'm going to go off the deep end and end up homeless?"
"Don't be a smartass."
Throwing my hands up, I lean back in my chair and scowl at him, measuring my words so that maybe, hopefully, he will get it. "How's this," I start. "I've saved up enough money to buy the old club outright as well as the two units that were on either side. I've been able to get all of the renovations finished on the budget that I set, without having to get a loan, and I did that by being hands-on and doing most of the work myself. My business plan is solid. Regardless of the fact that I didn't actually finish school to get my degree, I did remember the shit I learned. I've already hired a complete staff as well as worked out a plan to ensure that if I don't start turning an immediate profit, I'll be fine. I have entertainment booked so far in advance I could sit on my ass and drink at the bar instead of actually work once I open. All permits and licenses are in my possession and the interest for opening night was so heavy that I've had to sell tickets, and those sold out in four minutes and sixteen seconds. You think that's enough to stop worrying about me? I'm already in the black on Dirty Dog and the doors aren't even open."
I know I've shocked him because, by the time I finish talking, his mouth is wide open. Yeah, guess there wasn't too much faith in his little boy, after all.
"You're in the black?"
Taking another calming breath, I relax in my seat. "I've saved every dime I've ever gotten or made for almost twenty-eight years. Aside from buying my truck and the house, I haven't touched a dime. Further, when my trust was released, I didn't touch that either. Instead, I invested all of that and it grew. It grew a lot. Everything I've ever had or made has been building for this, Dad. Just because I didn't talk about my future dreams like Dani didn't mean I didn't have them."
He doesn't speak, but I can see the pride in his eyes. As good as it is to finally see, it's annoying that I had to prove myself in order to have it.
"I'm not sure what to say, son."
"How about start with I'm sorry and end with how you're going to let Mom know she can stop losing sleep."
"Smartass." He laughs, easing some of the tension in the room. "I'm sorry, Nate. I worry about you just as your mom does, and that's never going to change. We don't compare you to your sister, but it's hard for us not to have concerns when you two are traveling on completely different roads."
"One of these days, you're going to realize that I like being on my own road."
He laughs again. "You always have, son, always have."
AFTER MY TALK WITH MY dad, I finished what I needed to on the case I was working there. It's a simple, well ... not-so-simple hack and monitor of a large corporation out of Atlanta that suspects one of their chief financial operators to be laundering money. Tedious but easy, since the owner had given me full access to their secure network, camera systems, as well as the cameras in the CFO's penthouse paid for by the company. It's taken me spending two months deep in cyberspace, but I've finally uncovered almost all of the fucker's dirty secrets.
Maddox hadn't come in by the time I finished up, and I needed to get over to Dirty Dog, so I saved my shit and left. I avoided stopping by my dad's office. Instead, I pulled out my phone to call Shane--my soon-to-be club manager--in order to be too busy to talk to anyone I passe
d.
"Headed to Dirty, want to meet me there?" I ask when he picks up.
"Already there." And he disconnects.
I laugh to myself and toss my phone over on the passenger seat of my truck before pulling myself in.
Shane's been a damn good friend since we met during my short attendance at the University of Georgia. I say short because I was more interested in partying than I was going to class. How we met was unconventional, at best, but he's been around for almost a decade and proven his loyalty to me more than once.
By the time I make the half-hour drive to what used to be Club Carnal, I'm about to come out of my skin with excitement about today. When I told my dad I had enough entertainment booked, I wasn't kidding, but a large part of that is because about seventy-five percent of that entertainment is in-house.
Dirty Dog is, in a sense, my play on Coyote Ugly. Only, because I know where the money is from experience, we won't have smoking hot chicks dancing on the bar. We've split the old club into two sections, which is the main reason I bought both surrounding units and knocked down some walls.
The entrance is on the side now, going into the first building on the side of the old club. When you walk in, there is now a large 'holding area.' Our hope is that we're so popular that there will always be a line, but by creating the holding area, no one will ever have to stand in the elements. It was a bitch getting that set up with fire codes and all, but we eventually decided that unit would stay intact with just a single black door added inside to lead to Dirty Dog. Our way of saying fuck you to building code and the fire marshal's rules; even if we're the most popular club in the southeast, the holding area will never fuck with the club's max out capacity since it's a large area in its own right.
Once through the door separating the two, you hit the sanctuary. In the center of the room is a large square bar with a thick wooden finish built to withhold the heavy bodies spotlighted throughout the night.
When I first decided to play off Coyote Ugly, Shane was the first to jump on board. All I told him was that we would have dudes dancing and not chicks. That was enough for him. When I told Cohen about it, his first assumption was that Shane was gay, but he couldn't be further from the truth.
It's simple really. Girls flock to clubs. Girls love seeing men who know how to work their bodies. When the girls get one look at the talent at Dirty, it won't be long until they're going to be rushing us. Any man with a brain would be able to look past anything when you basically guarantee massive amounts of horny women. Which, if everything goes as planned, will be the reason that we don't just succeed in having a successful club but we fly through the top of all the popular ones around.
I shouldn't have been shocked with Cohen's concerns about Dirty. Unlike my dad, he didn't voice them because he doubted me; he just couldn't see the big picture like I could. To him, he thought we would turn into a gay club with little success because we aren't exactly a town with a need for one. I wasn't going to let him know the reason why I was so sure we had this.
The idea for this place came to me back in college when it became crystal clear that sex, men dancing, and booze were all you needed to build an empire on a party life. No one knows about the six months I worked at a strip club out of pure boredom and a sex drive that was borderline sex addiction levels bad. Pussy just fell in my lap when I danced at the club in Athens.
Since Shane had spent the last five years stripping, continuing well after I left town, he knew more than anyone the untapped market I was about to break into. Women loved men. Plain and simple. They went stupid over half-naked ones, and when you threw in some carefully placed hip thrusts, well ... you might as well be a fucking god.
And that's where Dirty Dog turned from just a small, fleeting dream to what is already turning out to be the next best thing to hit the South.
I pull up behind the bar and park next to Shane's BMW. The smile on my face grows as I walk from my truck and through the back of the building. I really should stop calling it a bar because this place is a monster too big for such a small word. We're so much more than just a bar. We're a nightclub formed with the bar atmosphere in mind. I guess the reason I always fall back on calling it 'the bar' is because each of the five bars that fill up the vast space work to form the whole basis to our appeal.
The old converted warehouse used to be on its last leg, but almost a year after buying it, the transformation is like night and day. The hallway that the back door feeds into leads to our storage units, coolers, and locker rooms for staff, as well as the large break room for some downtime between shifts. I even went as far as to add a gym so that the guys wouldn't have to keep paying for memberships elsewhere. After all, our bodies are the main attraction here.
The center of the main room for Dirty holds the central and biggest bar. Each side of the building has two smaller, but no less impressive, ones with a huge open area between all of them for dancing. One back corner holds the DJ booth, stage, and electrical area for all the music. Then you have the second-level VIP area that runs the whole length above the holding area. Two staircases lead to that level with ten separate VIP areas.
My office takes up the other side building, running half the length, and the other half houses the gym. The only thing you can see from where I'm standing in the main room is a wall of black windows that runs from each side flanked by stairs like on the VIP end. Under that area, we have one more bar in the center surrounded by multiple booths and such.
After taking in all that is Dirty Dog, I walk farther into the main room to find Shane talking to six of the bartenders I had hired. I give a nod to Travis and Garrett, the Hanks brothers who used to dance with Shane. Brent, Logan, and Matt are standing behind them, and I get the same greeting back from them.
Denton, the sixth to round out our main bartenders, is already on top of the bar with his shirt off, showing them what he wants them to do. He's taken on the role of resident dance coordinator, a job both Shane and myself were happy to pass on to him.
We lucked out picking up Denton. Not only does he have the look that will guarantee him being a crowd favorite with his background in modeling, but he also recently tried out for the show So You Think You Can Dance. He didn't make it to the very end, but he got far enough to be our own little celebrity here at Dirty.
"You plan on just standing there, Dent? Or are you going to show us how it's done?" I deadpan, only to laugh when he flips me off.
"Have you decided how you want the first showcase to go?" Shane asks when I drop down onto one of the barstools he had pulled over from one of the tables scattered around the room. I look the few feet that separate us from where Denton is now standing with his hands on his hips.
"Fuck yeah, I did," I say with a smile. Just thinking about the ingenious idea I had around not only the first spotlight, but also what will be the signature drink. "How do you feel about lollipops, gentlemen?" I ask.
"What the hell are you talking about, Nate?" Denton calls down before bending at the waist and sitting on the edge of the wooden bar top.
"Lollipops, how do you like them?" I ask, again.
Seven sets of eyes just blink at me, clearly not following my train of thought. Nothing new there.
"Fine." I sigh with fake exasperation. "How about I show you what I'm talking about?"
"Might be a good idea since you lost us when you started talking about candy," Shane jokes, earning a laugh from the others.
"Where is everyone else?" I ask, getting up and walking across the large open space toward the platform in the corner where the DJ booth and sound system are set up.
"All the girls are in the holding room finishing up their uniform fittings with Hilary. She was finishing up the last I went in there, though, so you should be good."
I give Shane a nod while looking through the extensive list of songs we have on our playlist software--another program I created. Finding the song I need, I set the timer before turning up the volume, making sure to engage all the speakers and sub
woofers before making my way behind the main bar.
"Do me a favor, Trav, and go get the girls. Get off my bar, Dent."
I look up and see Shane's mouth form a smile knowing where I'm going with this. None of these guys, besides him, have ever seen me dance. I don't give a shit how big of a dancer Denton is, either. He's about to learn just how to make a girl melt in seconds.
Making sure I have what I need: coconut rum, clear apple juice, and one of the thousands of cotton candy flavor lollipops I ordered in bulk, it takes me no time to get the drink measured out, sugar around the rim, and the lollipop wrapper off. I check my watch to see how much time I have left before the song will start then drop the candy into the glass so just the stick is popping out and push it forward.
The girls start walking in just as I rest my hands on the bar top. A few of them are new faces that I haven't gotten to know as well as the others. I look over and let my gaze hit all twenty faces of our floor girls, stopping when I see the one that will work for what I need.
"Come here, Julie," I demand. One blond brow goes up, but she doesn't miss a beat, and just when she steps up to the bar, the first notes of Framing Henley's "Lollipop" blasts through the room. Some of the girls jump but not Julie. She takes the glass sitting on the bar, then pulls out the lollipop and lifts it to her red stained lips.
The second she finishes the last drop and places the lollipop into her mouth, I use both hands still resting on the bar to push my body up and leap onto the sleek wooden surface.
Then I get the reaction I want.
I have only a second to appreciate the way the uniform of choice--black shorts that might as well be a pair of those sexy boy short underwear chicks wear and a black corset--fits her body before looking around her to make sure I have everyone else's attention.
My eyes settle back on Julie just in time to see her own widen as she steps back slightly, wobbling on her tall-as-fuck blood-red heels, another Dirty Dog requirement.
I grab the bar that hangs down from the ceiling above the bar, parallel with each length of wood and pull myself up, using one of the rotating hooks to spin myself in a quick but powerful circle before slamming my feet back down on the wood.
