Entranced (The ROGUES Billionaire #1) - Tracie Delaney Page 0,1
to spend most of my time traveling The Triangle, as I’d nicknamed it: New York, London, Paris. I owned luxury homes in each location, my favorite destination changing in line with my mood. Over the years, I’d gained a reputation as a workaholic, the theory being that my poor upbringing drove me to chase an even greater bank balance, despite the fact that the interest I earned in a year would comfortably keep me for the rest of my life.
That belief was wrong.
It was distraction I sought. The work gave me a shot at diverting my attention away from her. The woman who could bring my whole world crashing down.
“Let’s get a drink.” I pointed my chin at the crowded bar.
“You don’t want to find Tanaka?” Elliot asked, referring to the manager of this establishment.
Manager… for now.
Assessing staff performance was one of the primary tasks I carried out when I made a business purchase, and given what I’d seen so far, Hiroto Tanaka wasn’t exactly making a good first impression: dirty, uncleared tables, customers without a drink, a bad bar offering. Barely legal girls offering far more than a sexy dance for sweaty, overweight men puffing away on a cigar, their leering gazes roving slowly over too much exposed skin.
A man snorting coke off a woman’s exposed breasts drew my attention. Yep, this place needed an overhaul of its clientele if it was to truly fulfil its potential—and my vision—as the club in Tokyo for men to hang out, drink quality alcohol, and watch attractive women dance. The location couldn’t be better, but its current setup wouldn’t do. The Poles Apart brand oozed class, hence the name, and by the time my team had finished, this place would, too.
“Not yet,” I said, answering Elliot’s earlier question regarding Tanaka.
We weaved through the crowds and located a space at the end of the bar. I held up my hand to the bartender.
“Two iced waters,” I said.
The bartender slapped down a couple of napkins and snorted a laugh. “Living it up, huh, my man? Come on. Let yourself go. This is the place.”
I stared pointedly at the Aussie surfer dude, my gaze cold, unwavering. He was probably working here to fund the next leg of his trip around the world, a way to stave off adulthood for a little while longer, yet by my reckoning, he was closer to thirty than twenty.
He broke first and turned away muttering, probably something about what an asshole he thought I was.
Buddy, you have no idea.
The bartender slammed two glasses of water on the bar and moved on to the next waiting customer.
“Lots to do,” Elliot said, his gaze drifting around the club.
I sipped my water. “Exactly as I like it.”
I cast my eyes along the bar, assessing the type of customer my new club presently attracted. Middle-aged men, dissatisfied with their lives, dipping into their meager retirement funds for a moment of oblivion.
Not the dynamic I intended to create at all. I was after the new money, nouveau riche like myself, young men who would think nothing of dropping a hundred grand on a single night, who’d pay ten G’s for a bottle of wine without blinking.
“Bartender is skimming,” I said, drawing Elliot’s attention away from the room and back to me.
His brows formed a deep V, his eyes narrowing into barely there slits. “You sure?”
“Positive. Payment for every third customer gets passed to his counterpart at the other end of the bar.”
Elliot sensibly kept his eyes on me, knowing any suspicious behavior might tip-off the bartender before I played my hand. And that would be such a shame.
“You wanted to buy this place,” he deadpanned.
I smirked. “You know me. I like a challenge.”
A scuffle broke out a few feet in front of us, an argument over one of the girls. One of the men punched the other, and he fell backward onto the table. The wood splintered, gave way, and broken glass littered the floor.
I watched with veiled interest as the security team launched into action—too late in my opinion. Good security identified and resolved issues before they got out of hand. This bunch of assholes seemed more interested in creating war than engendering peace.
The offenders were dragged off, their vocal protests fading into the ether. The girl in question dusted herself down, huffed at a tear in her panty hose, then stomped off.
“Is it too late to ask for a refund?” Elliot broke into a shit-eating grin.
“Nothing here I haven’t seen before. Remember Budapest?”