I take a drink in response. "The VIPs are realty sharks. Nothing unusual."
She frowns, glancing towards the lounge door.
"Fuckers. Well hey, take it easy the rest of the night, eh? You've been working your ass off all week, you could use a little unwinding."
That gets a smirk from me. "Yeah? And do what, sit at home worrying about this place?"
Natalie rolls her eyes. "I dunno, but I know who might have a few ideas."
"Oh? Who's that?"
"The stud who walked in while I was pouring your drink and hasn't taken his eyes off you since."
I flutter my eyes as I process what she just said, and before I can say "Wait—!" Natalie moves off to see to another patron, a wicked smirk on her face.
I turn my eyes towards the club entrance to brace myself for whoever she was talking about.
There are at least half a dozen men making their way into the club, but that's normal at this time of night. But amid the douches in popped collars tracking in the smell of too much cologne, there's one figure towering over the rest, and the dark blue eyes that catch my gaze tell me he's the one Natalie meant.
My heart jumped in my chest, but not because I was taken by the looks of the stranger. I turn my head before getting a better look at him beyond his tight-fitting gray suit and a teal tie.
For all I know, he could be a friend of one of the jerks in the lounge showing up late to the party. In fact, I decide that's exactly what he is.
I shoot Natalie a rueful look, to which she rolls her eyes with a playful smirk before I down the rest of my drink and spin around on the barstool to get up and make my way onto the dance floor, the clicking of my heels muffled by the music.
I don't flirt with patrons.
Natalie would tease me about it all the time, egging me on to "Live a little, Katy! You own a nightclub, that's basically a free pass on all the ass in town!"
But that's the point, I remind myself as I start dancing with some of the patrons, putting a fake smile on my face while the drunken crowd is cheering the DJ on.
I'm the club owner.
In case something goes down, I need to be on my toes all the time. What the businessman in the lounge said offhandedly about the local mob put a rancid, all-too-familiar taste in my mouth.
I can't afford to let my guard down in this kind of business. And that means no doing shots with the hot celebs that pass through my little club every blue moon.
The crowd gives me some cover for a while — the rich, young crowd is here in force tonight. Some of the wealthiest young adults in Brighton Beach are grinding against each other, right here on my dance floor.
A few semi-familiar faces try to get my attention as I pass by them, but I can hardly tell what's coming from whom, even as I try to listen for potential trouble.
"Oh my God, Katy, where did you get this eurotrash DJ? Love it!"
"Katy! The guy in the purple shirt is a scout for that modeling agency, help me get his number!"
"You would not believe what went down at the game tonight, did you see it?!"
There it was.
I shout a few distracted replies as I sneak off the dance floor and ease myself down onto one of the couches lining the walls, just as the music starts to die down enough that I can hear myself think.
Where there were big, excited, drunken crowds this time of year, big sports games were usually responsible. I don't keep up with them, but I know games usually mean three things:
One happy crowd, one angry crowd, and a lot of bets on both side. Only one of those is good for my club, and I don't like those odds.
Although, I have to admit, even as I'm texting the bouncers to keep an eye out, I can't help but glance around the room and think I've lucked out and gotten the winning team's afterparty. All I see are giddy faces tonight, for a change.
But then my eyes pan across a familiar face in a gray suit heading my way, and I curse, lowering my eyes to my phone and twirling my hair nervously. Why did I have to leave the crowd?
I can feel him getting closer, and just as I lift my head to tell him I'm very busy and can't talk right now thank-you-very-much, I yelp as I realize he's already towering over me.
"Heart-shaped face and eyes like the sea? I think you outshine your own club."
His voice is deep, and it carries over the now-dull music with natural authority — there's a faint accent in it I can't place, but it only makes the attention he commands all the more soothing.
His jaw is chiseled, outlining a clean-shaven face that's only marred by the crease of his dimples as he gives an easy smile with full lips. His nose is straight but wide, offsetting soft eyes that are as soothing yet commanding as his voice. His short, light brown hair is clean-cut, making the imposing figure look like a statue come to life.
Up close, I realize that his tight-fitting suit is covering a powerful physique, even as he leans casually against the side of the couch I'm sitting on, arms folded like he's as relaxed as ever. I can just barely make out the edges of what might be a tattoo on his forearm, something without any immediate significance to me.