Damon's POV:
When I decided to sit back and see what kind of game she was playing by walking into a gentleman's club alone, I definitely hadn't expected her to shove Mr. Anderson, assault the guards with what I assumed was pepper spray, and vanish from the room in under ten seconds.
"Damn... that girl is like lightning," one of my friends hissed, his voice thick with amusement. He'd spent the last hour talking trash about her looks, and I had half a mind to slam his head into the glass table just to shut him up.
Across the table, Smith's gaze was locked on me. I felt my fists clench as I stood up. "Get your guards in order," I scoffed at him before turning on my heel. I strolled past the old man, who was still red-faced and cursing about being pushed by a girl, and approached the huddle of security gathered in front of the ladies' changing room.
"Mr. Royal," one of the guards panted, scurrying toward me. "The girl took the elevator up and somehow blocked it from returning. We'll need to head upstairs to retrieve her."
I let out a dry chuckle, did they expect me to give them access to get there? How long did she really think she could hold that elevator?
The floor above us was the Jeffery family's private club. It was officially closed today, but there was a service elevator that linked it directly to this floor. If she was up there, she was essentially cornered in a narrow corridor. Her only way out was to come back down, yet by blocking the elevator, she'd effectively trapped herself.
"Get your men and return to your posts. I'll handle it," I commanded.
"But, sir—"
"I said I'll handle it," I snarled. He nodded frantically and signaled for his men to disperse.
I walked out to the main lobby, stepped into the primary elevator, and pressed my thumb against the black biometric sensor embedded in the platinum panel. It scanned my prints, confirmed my clearance, and began its smooth ascent.
I wondered what she was doing up there. Was she panicking? Suffocating in the silence? And why the hell would she walk in there just to piss off a man like Anderson? When I'd first seen her in the elevator earlier, I'd hoped she was just dropping off a package and leaving. As it turned out, she was the package—a delivery intended for Mr. Anderson.
That old man brought a new plaything into the club every time he showed up. Was she really into guys that old?
The elevator dinged, and I stepped out into the quiet, dim corridor of the upper club. I flipped the light switches, illuminating the plush, empty space. This floor only saw real action when the Jefferys hosted a private event. Smith and I usually used this place for work; he'd man the bar while I cracked codes on my laptop.
My eyes landed on the small service door at the far end. The architect should have put a staircase behind those doors instead of an elevator, but I suppose he'd designed the whole place with Athena in mind.
If there were stairs, she would have been caught instantly. At the other end of that door was nothing but a dead-end hallway. I gripped the handle and pushed it open, letting the light from the club seep into the cramped space. There, huddled in the shadows, was the black-haired lady.
She stood her ground, her pepper spray gripped tightly in front of her like a weapon of war. Even when she realized it was me, she didn't lower her guard. My gaze shifted to the elevator doors behind her; she had jammed one of her high heels into the track, causing the sensor to malfunction. Clever. Now I understood why the car couldn't descend.
"Come inside," I said softly. I turned and walked back into the club, giving her the space to follow once she decided it was safe.
I walked over to the bar, grabbed a bottle, and poured myself a finger of whiskey. I poured a glass of water for her as well. It felt like an eternity passed before I finally heard the soft, hesitant rhythm of her footsteps entering the room. Her eyes darted around the club, scanning for threats, and I noticed her shoulders drop an inch when she realized there was no ambush waiting for her.
This girl was truly something else.
"Water." I picked up the glass and held it out. Her lips looked parched, likely from the adrenaline and the frantic sprint. She eyed the glass as if I were handing her a cup of hemlock.
"I'm not thirsty," she clipped.
Liar.
I raised the glass to my own lips, took a long sip to prove it was clean, and set it down on a nearby table. I pulled out a barstool and sat.
"Um... are you going to stop me if I try to leave?" she asked.
I chuckled at her bluntness and took a sip of my whiskey, shaking my head. She let out a long sigh of visible relief and started moving toward the exit.
"Be careful on your way down. Those guards are more than a little pissed off," I added. I wasn't entirely sure why I felt the need to warn her, but the words were enough to make her freeze. She stopped in her tracks and slowly walked back toward me.
"Are you helping me?"
Wasn't it obvious? I could have left her rotting in that narrow hallway to learn the hard way that blocking an elevator works both ways. Those men downstairs would have been perfectly happy to wait her out.
"You're Nana's friend," I said, offering the only justification that might make sense to her.
That seemed to do the trick. She finally pulled out the stool across from me and sat down, her purse still clutched to her chest like a shield. She kept glancing at the water—the glass I'd already drank from to show her it wasn't drugged—but she still wouldn't touch it.
"You've helped me twice today. I promise to return the favor," she said, looking up at me. Her perfectly shaped eyebrows were creased in thought before they finally began to relax. Her lips were bare, or perhaps she wore a gloss so subtle I couldn't tell in this light.
"You want to return the favor?" I asked, leaning back with an amused smirk. She nodded with total seriousness.
"Of course. And as soon as possible."
The mere thought of being indebted to me clearly terrified her. Hell, she was even afraid of drinking water I'd already tasted. Did she think I had a drug that only affected women?
"Then accept my invitation," I said, taking another sip of whiskey while keeping my eyes locked on hers.
At first, she looked confused. Then, her brows shot up as the realization hit her. She let out a short, disbelieving chuckle.
"Of course," she said, her eyes sweeping over the empty club. "Is there some music? Let's just get this over with now."