was my high-end patrons. Every liquor was top shelf. No well shit. The entire club was designed in sleek black, white, and chrome. There was no jukebox, no band, or DJ. Like every elevator on the planet, it was equipped with surround sound that played nothing but instrumental jazz, classical, or easy listening. The Diamond was where you came to shake hands on million-dollar deals. It’s where the waitresses were dressed classy, and you never got the wrong idea. The Diamond was one big boardroom with music, alcohol, and appetizers. No one under an eight-figure salary had any business in there.
The Emerald was my nightlife crowd. Unlike The Diamond, it had a jukebox for day drinking and usually a DJ for nighttime partying. It boasted of an emerald green bar that sparkled. It was like looking at the goddamn Emerald City. However, the rest of the club was decorated in blacks and greys with the bar being the only splash of color. It was your typical Friday/Saturday night club. It’s where you picked up women you hope to date and where you gathered with friends to drink the week away. It sold every liquor you could think of and had a small kitchen for finger foods to help with sobering a motherfucker up.
The Ruby catered to women. It was an ode to my sister and to all sisters, mothers, aunts, and daughters everywhere. It was where women could go and have a drink safely and without the worry that some douchebag was going to hit on them. It was a true spot for girls’ night. It was a safe spot to just have a drink or unwind. It had a full kitchen, and a decent menu. You could even order family dinners in case you didn’t want to cook when you got home. Now, that’s not to say men didn’t frequent The Ruby, because they did, and if a woman approached them? Well, so be it. The Ruby’s defining characteristic was that if you absolutely did not want to be bothered, you sat at the red tables. The rest of the tables were fair game, although there were way more red tables and not.
Now, it stood to reason that, if I had a safe place for women to drink and relax, I had a safe place for men to do the same, and that was The Sapphire.
However, The Sapphire catered to men in more ways than one. There was no prostitution taking place in the club, but hookups were aplenty at The Sapphire. There were only two reasons you came to this club, the eye candy (whether it be female or male) and the promise of sex at the end of the night. The Sapphire was decorated in a multitude of blue hues and the lighting was bright enough that you could look your prey in the face and see what you were getting, but also low enough that if a woman wanted to spread her legs for a finger or two, that was also possible.
There were no strippers or waitresses dressed in lingerie. The staff was tastefully dressed in The Sapphire uniform, but while bare flesh was covered up, the outfits were tailored to accentuate whatever your best quality was. The liquor was top shelf or any drink of your choosing and, when you paid your tab, condoms were available with your receipt, if in need.
And, right now, I was in need of a pair of lips wrapped around my cock.
First though, the door to my office slamming behind me was to buy me time to get my fucking head on straight.
After Robbie slapped me and I stormed out of the apartment, I had gone back to mine. But the need to go back to Frankie and Nix’s to strangle the fuck out of her was so strong, I knew I needed to get out of the building and as far away from her as possible. After struggling for about fifteen minutes, I had gone downstairs to my car and taken off without my guard. And what a fucking surprise to see Robbie parked on the side of the street a block away. I should have kept driving.
I should have kept fucking driving, but I hadn’t.
Like a goddamn masochist, I had parked my car on the opposite side of the street and approached her car. She had been so deep in thought, she hadn’t seen or heard me until I was dragging her out of the car she borrowed.