Three and a Half Weeks(30)
“Okay, Mr. Blackmon. You’re the boss. I’ll give Mr. Buchanan the good news right now. I guess I’ll see you this weekend?”
“I’ll be there.”
Before going in to the office, he visits the gym on the lobby floor to get in some exercise, wanting to burn off some negative energy. As usual the receptionist—Stephanie, is it?—tries her damnedest to engage him in conversation. He smiles politely and keeps going.
Thinking about Ella’s reaction when her lawyer tells her he dropped the suit makes him grin. She’ll certainly be happy and relieved… but will she also feel disappointed that she won’t see him again? At this point he really doesn’t know worth a damn. For a man adroit at reading people as easily as others read the newspaper, Ian can’t begin to assess what is going on in that little minx’s head—and that is probably part and parcel of her allure for him.
Since his defeat last night, he’d made a few decisions. Probably the most important one is that he would now begin to move on, starting immediately. He was planning on going to the club Saturday night and playing with one of the subs there—he is not cut out to be a monk, for God’s sake. Getting laid will surely improve his disposition. He was looking forward to being in that atmosphere again, with like-minded people—he and Jackson would go there after the Tae Kwon Do tournament at the dojo.
Rubbing his face, Ian leans back in his chair and stares into space. His back aches from sitting all day, despite the fact that he’d dropped a small fortune on the ergonomic chair in his office. I have to get out of here, he thinks. He’d been spending ten-hour stints at work nearly every day since his firm acquired a failing solar panel manufacturer that he and his team were trying to prop up—make it solvent and then hopefully profitable. It was a lot more work than they’d bargained for when they purchased the damn company.
He’d go to the club tonight—this time definitely. It had been three weeks since he’d dropped the lawsuit against Ariel and he hadn’t heard from her, not a peep. He’d planned on going to the club weeks ago but then business picked up to a frenetic pace and he was just too tired to do anything other than some exercise and plopping on the sofa, using the remnants of his energy to hold up a glass of wine and a remote control. Yes, he’d been too tired to go to the club—it had nothing to do with hoping Ella would contact him. Nothing at all.
No, he was looking forward to going out tonight and spending some time with a warm and willing woman. Checking his watch, he realizes it’s already seven. Time enough to go home, shower and change, and make it to the private club before all the available women are spoken for. He clears off his desk and picks himself up out of the chair, a physical and mental effort at this point.
“Ian, about time you showed your ugly mug around here.”
He had just walked into the main room of the club and Jackson was threading his way to him through the throng of people. “Finally. Are you drinking this evening or planning to play?”
Looking around at who was already in the room, he nods in approval. “Play, I think. Anyone new and interesting tonight?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I did see a pretty redhead I haven’t seen here before. I went to the restroom, though, and couldn’t find her when I returned. Maybe she went downstairs.” His bright eyes continually scan the room.
The club lighting is dim, the music pulsing so loudly and so heavy on the bass, it resonates inside the body. All the elements of the club—the dark, the rhythm of the bass, the scent of sweat and pheromones—combine to evoke the cradle of humanity, the primacy of the jungle and all things primal. It gets the heart pumping ferociously, and adrenaline surging through veins. There’s a dance floor and a huge circular bar on the first floor. All the action takes place in the dungeon that begins in the rear rooms and spills down to a floor below. Because the club is private, everyone pretty much knows everyone else, at least by nodding acquaintance, and new people are allowed to join based only on recommendation by longstanding members or by satisfying a lengthy application process. The annual membership fees are hefty enough to keep out all but the most determined and well-heeled patrons, as well. Privacy and discretion come at a premium.
Club members are allowed to bring guests, however, so around the bar there are usually fresh faces. Guests don’t generally wander too far afield their first night there and aren’t allowed in some restricted areas of the club.
“Ian!” A pretty dark-haired woman runs up to him, leaping into his arms.