Empire of Lies - Whitney G. Page 0,17

you to stop trying to fit into the old version of yourself and change.”

“No,” I said, feeling a lump rising in my throat. “It’s just time for me to get off the phone with you…”

I ended the call before she could say another word, before she could infect me with another drop of her unwanted truth serum. I clicked on her name, prepared to send her an angry text, but she beat me to it.

Gillian: I love you, Mer, and I just want what’s best for you. No judgment, ever. (If you see that guy again, I would like to know how he rates on your cock scale.)

“I’m ready to take you in now, Miss.” The bouncer stepped in front of me, holding out a pretty black pouch. “You’ll need to give me your cell phone first, though.”

“What?”

“No cell phones allowed inside.” He shrugged. “It’s the number one rule, since we have so many high-profile guests who don’t want their pictures taken.”

“Well, I’ll just keep my phone in my purse.”

“That’s fine,” he said, crossing his arms. “You can also just stand out here.”

“I’m waiting on someone to get here. I’m sure he’ll need to text me at some point, right?”

“No.” He grabbed my phone from my hands, then he tossed it into the pouch before scanning it and handing it off to another staffer. “If your date paid for a VIP table at this club, he’s going to show up. Trust me. You can pick it up on your way out.” He walked over to the entry doors, and motioned for me to follow him.

I obliged and the moment I walked through them, my jaw dropped to the floor. Every inch of the hallway was glowing in silver and orange lights, and digital flames were dancing under my feet. At the far end, I could see flashing red lights from the main part of the club.

The bouncer led me onto a glass elevator, and we rode it up three floors. When we stepped off, I felt as if I was in a completely different world. I blinked a few times, taking several seconds to process things as I followed his lead.

I noticed tons of celebrities sitting around plush red and black booths—smoking cigars and tossing back champagne with ease.

“Here you are,” the bouncer said, stopping in front of a shiny black booth and table. “The waitress will come up in a few minutes to accommodate you. Welcome to Fahrenheit 900 and Happy New Year.” He walked away, and I moved to the balcony—looking down at the dance floor below.

It was covered in flames, and they lapped against every inch of the walls, giving the effect of hell. The bar extended across the entire right side of the club, and hostesses waded through the crowd with their trays held high, offering champagne and shots.

On the main stage, the DJ spun hits on a table that featured oversized devil horns, and on the smaller stages, two exotic dancers dressed in shimmering gold, twirled on poles—completely in sync with each other.

I need to capture all of this…

I looked over my shoulder to make sure that no one was watching. Then I pulled out the smaller cell phone that I often snuck into the private runway shows. I held it low and snapped a few pictures of the club. I managed to take eight shots before I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder.

“Okay, Miss,” a deep voice said. “It’s time for you to fucking leave now.”

“What?” I spun around and found myself face to face with a different, much scarier looking bouncer. “What did I do?”

“Cell phones are not allowed in our club.” He narrowed his eyes at me before redirecting his gaze to my cell. “We tell everyone that at the door and we don’t make any exceptions.”

“I’ll just put it away now, then,” I said. “Where is the pouch thing?”

“It’s too late for that.” He reached for my hand, and I stepped back.

“Ramon!” He called over his shoulder, and another muscular bouncer entered the booth. “Are you going to make this harder on yourself, Miss Thatchwood?”

“No…” I followed them out of the booth, then to the elevator. I tried to plead my case, promised not to take another picture, but my words fell on deaf ears. One bouncer had his hand around my wrist, and the other was standing in front of me, shielding the other guests from my unforgivable faux pas.

The elevator doors glided open, and the man who’d owned