The bass from the main floor of The Velvet Vault continued to vibrate through the soles of Jake's shoes as the clock on the mezzanine wall pushed past two in the morning. Around the booth, empty crystal tumblers and three drained bottles of champagne cluttered the low table.
Leon was sitting back with his arm slung over the leather backrest, flashing a wide grin at the two girls beside him. "I'm telling you, Monaco in July is an amateur's trap," Leon boasted, taking a sip of champagne. "If you aren't chartering a private mega-yacht with a dedicated helipad out of Saint-Tropez, you're basically just standing in line with the tourists."
The two girls laughed, leaning in closer. "And I suppose you have a helipad waiting for you?" one of them teased, twirling a strand of hair.
"Let's just say my family doesn't do commercial ferries," Leon winked, pouring them both another glass.
