Athena's POV:
As we drew within a few feet of the entrance, my heart sank. There was a security checkpoint. Guards were systematically searching the women's bags—women dressed in gowns so short that even a sudden movement would expose them.
The guards didn't bother with the men, but they were being incredibly thorough with the ladies. My grip on my purse tightened, and I came to a dead stop. Mr. Anderson's assistant realized I wasn't behind him and turned around with a deep frown.
"Miss Athena," Smith called out from beside me. I wondered why they were still lingering behind me instead of just going inside.
I cleared my throat and turned to him. He simply gestured toward the entrance. "After you."
I shifted my eyes to Damon. His expression was unreadable. I'm usually good at figuring out what men are thinking just by looking at them, but this man was a blank wall. My fingers cramped around my bag, and I saw his gaze drop to my hands, then to the guards who had just finished searching the group ahead of us.
To my surprise, a faint smirk touched his lips. Did he already figure out why I had frozen?
"Hurry up. Don't waste these gentlemen's time," Mr. Anderson's assistant snapped. I felt a surge of panic. If they searched me, they would find the pepper spray and the recording device. I couldn't go in there without my protection, but I couldn't turn back now either.
"Hmm," I nodded, walking slowly toward the check entrance. The guards locked eyes with me, but then they immediately bowed their heads to greet Damon and Smith, who were walking right behind me.
"Let's see the purse," one of the guards said, holding out a hand. I glanced at the assistant. He had been so impatient a moment ago; couldn't he tell them we were in a rush? But it was club policy, and I doubted he had the power to change it. Smith had the power, certainly, but he just stood there watching me.
I stepped to the side, trying to create distance. "Sorry for being in your way all this time," I said to Damon and Smith. I wasn't actually blocking them, but I hoped they would take the hint and keep moving.
Smith glanced at his friend, and they started to walk past. I felt a flicker of hope that he might tell the guards to let me through, but he didn't.
"Hand over the purse, quickly," the assistant grumbled. I pulled the strap off my shoulder and started to hand it to the guard. He was just about to grab it when a voice cut through the noise.
"Athena."
My head snapped up. Damon had stopped halfway through the main door. Now, everyone in the area was staring at him. "Hurry up," he added. My brows furrowed in confusion. What was he doing?
"Oh... sorry, Miss," the guard said suddenly, pulling his hand back and bowing. I raised an eyebrow, completely baffled. Even the assistant looked shocked. I didn't stop to ask questions; I pulled my purse back to my chest and hurried past the security. I stopped in front of Damon. Smith was holding the door open for them, looking at his friend with a curious, questioning expression.
Damon's eyes stayed on my face. Unlike almost every other man I've met, his gaze didn't wander down to my body. "Why are you here?" he asked.
I cleared my throat, sensing the assistant stepping up behind me. Did Damon want to know if I was just another girl hired to entertain rich men while their wives were at home? I wasn't, but that was none of his business.
"Thanks," I said softly. I knew he suspected I had something in my bag and that I needed a way in. He helped me today, and I would find a way to return the favor. I hated being in debt to a man.
"If you'll excuse me," I added, ignoring his question. His jaw tightened. I walked through the door Smith was holding, the assistant trailing right behind me.
"You're familiar with Mr. Royal?" the assistant asked. I ignored him. He wasn't worth a response, especially after he'd treated me like trash a minute ago.
I scanned the room. It was a massive club with a long bar at the far end and C-shaped couches lining the walls. Women in tiny red doll dresses moved through the crowd serving drinks. In the gaming area, men were gathered around a snooker table or watching a football game on a giant screen.
I felt those familiar, hungry gazes falling on me again. I followed the assistant past the men, keeping my eyes forward. We walked past the snooker tables to a set of glass doors. When we pushed them open, we entered a private lounge that looked like an upscale dance club. There was a stage where girls performed in lingerie, surrounded by men on leather sofas.
In the center sat the man I hated—the disgusting man who had thrown a tantrum because I threw his thousand dollars back at him. He was smiling at the dancers, his expensive suit unable to hide his chubby frame.
"There. Go on," the assistant said, giving me a small nudge before turning to leave. I gripped my purse, forced myself to look calm, and walked toward Mr. Anderson.
When he saw me, a loud laugh broke from his lips. "Athena... my pretty Athena!" he shouted over the music. The volume of his voice drew several eyes our way. He patted the spot right next to him on the sofa.
I walked over but sat at the very far end of the couch. He was crazy if he thought I was going to sit anywhere near his arms. He seemed to find my resistance funny; he had laughed just like that when I slapped him. He had promised to destroy my building, and he was following through.
His eyes traveled slowly down my body. "You aren't even naked like those ladies on stage, yet you have every man in here staring at you instead." He rubbed his mustache and giggled. "They must be jealous of me."
I looked over at the men who had been watching the dancers; they were indeed staring at me. I felt sick. Am I really viewed that way even when I'm dressed modestly?
"I'm here now. Can we talk and come to a fair agreement?" I asked, turning back to him. I slipped my hand into my purse and pressed the "record" button. The music was slow, so our voices should be clear. I pulled out a lipstick to make my movements look natural, applied a layer to my lips, and tucked it back into the bag. When I turned back, he was looking at me with pure, disgusting desire.
"I bought my club with clean money. It isn't on government land, so why did I get a notice saying it's going to be demolished?"
He just shrugged and pointed to the wine bottle on the table. "Pour me a drink."
My teeth gritted as I reached for the bottle. My heart skipped a beat when the door opened again. Damon walked in, followed by Smith and a few other men. My pulse hammered. Why were they here? Of all the places in this club, why did they have to walk into this room?