The Billionaire's Secret Page 4

  The City Grille was an old San Francisco institution with dark paneling, leather booths, and strong cocktails. I walked past the hostess stand to meet my attorney, Hugh Bartlett, for dinner.

  “Hugh, good to see you.” I clapped him on the back. He was a great guy, and had represented my firm and me for years.

  “You, too. It’s been awhile. Where does the time go?”

  “I have no idea. It’s been a couple months since the last deal you helped us with. Seems like last week.”

  Hugh waved the waiter over. “What’re you drinking? I’m quite happy here with my Maker’s Mark.”

  “Same please,” I said to the waiter.

  “Hey,” Hugh said, “I hope you don’t mind, but my daughter may join us at some point. Her office is just around the corner.”

  “That’d be great.”

  “She just graduated from college and is working for the newspaper,” Hugh explained.

  “No kidding. That must be fun.”

  “Well, I’m not sure how much fun it is. They pay her shit, so she’s stuck living at home, at least for the time being.” He shook his head.

  “Oh, I remember those days,” I said. “I don’t know what’s worse—being broke in college or being broke after college thanks to your shitty first job.”

  While we caught up on business, a couple women at the bar made no secret of their interest in us. They had a world-worn look with bleached hair, spray tans, and overly Botoxed foreheads. They weren’t really my type, but they sure looked friendly.

  “Sweetie!” Hugh jumped up from his chair to greet the woman who must have been his daughter. She was freaking gorgeous, with long, swingy, almost-black hair, deep blue eyes, and the lush lips of a young woman. The resemblance to her father was easy to see.

  “Saffi, this is Varden Gallagher. Varden, my daughter, Saffi.” Hugh beamed as she extended her hand.

  I found myself smiling, too. I hadn’t seen anything this sweet and young in far too long, and as she settled in, I noted her rocking body. Maybe it was the whole package—her bright smile, tight jeans, and low-cut halter, but she was cute as hell.

  Her father took notice of her outfit, too. “Are you going somewhere after dinner? Because I know you didn’t go to work like that.”

  She smiled, dimples jumping into action. Damn, she was cute.

  “You are correct, Dad. I did not dress like this for work.” She laughed and shook her head.

  “So where are you off to?” Hugh asked.

  “Oh, meeting friends,” she said a little too quickly.

  Meeting friends, my ass.

  Her answer might have fooled her dad, but I saw right through it. She probably had a booty call somewhere with some young bastard who wouldn’t realize how lucky he was. But the jerk would wake up in a few years and find he was too old to get hotties any longer. Unless he was loaded. With the right amount of money, a guy could have anything.

  While Hugh and Saffi bantered, my attention drifted back to the ladies at the bar, who had not stopped staring, not even once Saffi joined us. They couldn’t know she was Hugh’s daughter, nor did they seem to give a damn.

  “Varden, I understand you’re one of my dad’s clients,” Saffi said.

  “Varden? Varden, you with us?” Hugh asked.

  “What? Oh sorry, so sorry. I was distracted for a moment. Yes, Saffi, my hedge fund firm has been working with your dad since the day we opened. I’d say we make a pretty awesome team.” I lifted my glass.

  “Cheers to that,” Hugh added. We clinked glasses and sucked down the last of our bourbon.

  Over our meals, Saffi chattered about her job, which seemed like a good gig even thought the poor kid couldn’t afford her own place. That would seriously suck. But Hugh was a cool guy and probably wouldn’t have an issue with his daughter running around town like you’re supposed to do when you’re in your twenties. I smiled, thinking back to those days. I’d gotten a lot of pussy then, but being in my mid-thirties really hadn’t slowed me much. Except for that problem of late. I could get it up. Just not off.

  Saffi lamented the lousy assignments the paper was giving her.

  “You know, sometimes people assume you can’t be smart when you’re as pretty as you are,” I offered.

  Oops. If looks could kill. The scowl she sent me reverberated through the restaurant.

  Christ. Shoulda kept my mouth shut.

  “Yeah, Varden, thank you. That’s super helpful,” she snapped.

  “Saffi, I’m sure Varden did not mean to insult you,” Hugh said. “As much as we’d like to believe otherwise, people come with all kinds of preconceived notions and prejudices.”

  She put her hand on her dad’s arm. “I know. Let’s change the subject.” She threw me serious stink eye.

  I’ll be damned.

  But she was a smart kid and knew better than to get into it with one of her father’s clients. After all, we were the folks who paid for her college tuition and her dad’s trips to the south of France every summer.

  Saffi gathered her wrap and purse. “Dad, I hate to eat and run. But I gotta get going. Thank you for dinner.” She bent to kiss his cheek. “Nice meeting you, Varden,” she said with an extended hand.

  Her grip was firm but warm.

  Hugh stood to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Be careful out there, baby. It’s a wild city.”

  “I know, Dad. I’m always careful. Love you.”

  I discreetly watched her small, round ass bounce out of the restaurant. It’d be nice to get to know her better, but that might not be the smartest idea. Even though my twitching cock said otherwise.

  “What a great girl. You must be really happy with her,” I told Hugh.

  “Definitely. Her mom passed when she was only a kid. It’s been just the two of us since then. I’d say she turned out all right.” His smile said it all.

  “Hugh, you see those two ladies at the bar? I think they wouldn’t mind having a drink or two with us. Whaddya think?”

  Hugh glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, I don’t know. I have to do some work for a client meeting first thing tomorrow. Can I get a rain check?” He stood.

  I stood, too, grasping his hand. “Absolutely. We’ll do it soon.”

  With Hugh gone, I headed to the bar to make some new friends. “Ladies. What can I get you to drink?”

  My phone rang on the drive home.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Mr. Varden Gallagher?”

  “Yes, it is. Who’s this?”

  “The San Francisco Police Department. Your brother, Beaumont, asked us to call you.”

  Shit. What was he up to now?

  “Mr. Gallagher, your brother’s been arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “He was in a fight but is okay. Do you want to come bail him out?”

  “Yes. Yes, I will. I’ll head over right now. Thank you.”

  I whipped the car around to head for the county jail on Seventh Street. The sad thing was, I’d been there so many times to pick up Beau that I actually knew where to find the best street parking.

  I headed straight for the information window. It was always where they had you start.

  “I’m here for my brother, Beau Gallagher.”

  The clerk couldn’t have looked more bored she as she clicked on her keyboard. She handed me some papers and directed me to another window to post bail.

  After waiting twenty minutes for my number to be called, I approached the payment window.

  “You’re bailing your brother out? What a nice guy.”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  The truth was, I’d been bailing my brother out for a long time, whether it was saving his ass in fights when we were kids, sending him to rehab, or getting him out of jail. The two of us had come a long way from our humble beginnings, but Beau always hovered inches away from slipping into the same alcoholic despair that had ruined our dad’s life. And nearly ruined ours.

 
They escorted Beau to the waiting area. The shame on his face was so painful I looked down at my own feet.

  “Var. Thanks, bro,” Beau said in a quiet voice.

  I put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all good, Beau. Ready to roll?”

  “Yeah. Let’s get the hell out of this shithole.”

  The drive to my place was silent. I didn’t need to ask Beau if he wanted to crash at my place for the night—it was what we did when he’d fucked up. He’d come home with me for a day or two and then go back to his own place, clean up, and commit to staying sober until it all went down again.

  “Beau, do you mind if I go out for a while?” I asked after he was settled into the guest room.

  “Nah, go for it. I’ll watch some TV and crash after I clean up.”

  “I’ll see you in the morning then?”

  “Sure. And Var?”

  “Yeah?”

  Beau avoided my gaze, busying himself with the bed sheets. “Um. Thanks.”

  I nodded. After I’d pulled the apartment door shut, I took a deep breath and headed out for the evening’s second act. Time to let off some steam.

  Chapter 8

  Saffi

  I had to admit, I was scared shitless about my next destination of the evening—the mysterious Club Silk. Not to mention, a little titillated by Dad’s hot friend. What was the guy’s name? Oh, right. Varden. He was gorgeous, no doubt, with thick, messy hair, a perfectly chiseled face, and dark, dark eyes. And he’d worn some of the most beautiful clothing I’d ever seen on a man. Certainly nicer than anything I ever saw at the paper.

  But I knew his type. Hot, rich, man-whore. No thanks. And commenting on my appearance? What the hell?

  It didn’t matter. I’d never see him again.

  Unless Dad invited him to the firm holiday party…

  I got in my car and leaned back on the headrest, eyes closed. With a deep breath, I turned on the ignition.

  Let’s get this party started.

  The instructions for accessing the club had come in a text message toward the end of dinner with Dad and Varden. My phone had buzzed, and for a second I was afraid Varden had spotted it. I casually glanced at the message while they discussed some sort of new industry regulations.

  I was to arrive at Club Silk and ask for Miss M. The message said the building’s street address would not be visible, and to give myself extra time to identify it by looking at the addresses to the right and left. There would be no asking for identification since the club was all about protecting its members’ privacy, but I’d have to verbally agree to follow a few, simple rules.

  I was to text back with the first initial of my last name.

  Sounded easy enough.

  I arrived with time to spare and parked a half block away so I could watch other guests come and go. The club was in the old Dog Patch district of the city, which mostly consisted of run-down warehouses and factories, tech startups, and the occasional house inhabited by hipster squatters.

  I checked my makeup again and took some deep breaths to calm my nerves. I would not let this opportunity slip through my fingers. How many other chances like this would I get at the paper?

  What’s the worst that could happen, anyway? They’d figure out who I was and kick me out? That would suck, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Who knew, maybe there’d be a story in that.

  At two minutes past the hour—I didn’t want to look desperate—I climbed out of my Honda Civic. I crossed the street to the club, and discreetly read the buildings’ street numbers while strolling.

  The club’s front door was large, black, and non-descript. The only indication that there was life on the other side was a peephole, and a small, illuminated doorbell. I fluffed my hair, rubbed my teeth clean of lipstick, and put on my best I own this place smile.

  The door whipped open. I could barely see beyond the glamorous woman facing me.

  “You must be Miss M?”

  C’mon, confidence.

  “Please, come in,” she said.

  It took me a sec to adjust to the dim light, but when I did, I took in a room covered in heavy damask wallpaper with pillar candles scattered about and dark, overstuffed furniture, just like how I pictured a bordello. And it was pretty damn sexy. A few men and women sat on the sofas, chatting quietly with cocktails in hand. On a small dance floor in the corner, a couple moved to the music while enjoying a passionate kiss. I’d never seen such a collection of perfectly toned, coiffed, and stylish people. How did M pull it all off?

  But what was most striking was M, herself. Curls spilled down the back of her silky, green evening dress. Her eyes were ringed in just the right amount of kohl, and her full lips were red and glossy. Her sky-scraping heels put her around six feet tall, something I could easily gauge, being five foot ten myself.

  I dutifully followed this thirties-era screen siren to a couple club chairs in a corner.

  “Please sit,” she said, gesturing. “I understand you’d like to be called B here at the club.”

  I forced a graceful smile. “Yes, that would be fine.” I crossed my legs with my hands around my top knee.

  “Very well. And you said you were referred by a friend?” Her head tilted while she smiled coolly.

  “Yes, that is correct.”

  “And who was that friend?”

  Oh shit. Of course she was going to ask that.

  Think fast.

  “I’m afraid I can’t share that with you. Sorry.”

  She looked down at her hands. “All right, B. I would like to stress that Club Silk is an oasis for its members. People come here for many reasons. But one thing they all have in common is a desire to have their privacy protected. Just like you hope for, I assume?”

  “Yes, I expect my privacy to be protected.” I nodded.

  “Then you will verbally agree to never speak of the club when you are beyond its walls. If you see someone outside whom you know from the club, you will not acknowledge them. You will not ask anyone’s real name, nor share yours. You’ll see that many of the members wear masks. You will respect their desire to keep their faces hidden. All sexual activity—from light touching to full-on intercourse—is completely consensual. You can count on never being pressured by anyone to do anything.” She smiled and sat back in her seat.

  “Of course, there may be interested parties who will endeavor to seduce you. We all know and enjoy the thrill of the chase,” she added.

  Damn right.

  But hold on, cowgirl. You’re here for work, first.

  “May I ask you some questions now?” I ventured.

  “You may,” she said with a slow nod.

  “Is this your place? How long have you had it?”

  “B. You will learn all that and more over a period of time as you get to know the club and its members.” She stood. Should I stand, too? “Now, I’ll leave you to explore on your own. If you ever need anything, please let me know.”

  That seemed to be the end of that conversation.

  She floated away to greet someone who’d just arrived, her green dress swirling around her lower legs. The new guest was in profile, but wore a full-face mask.

  Geez, what was he hiding from?

  But more importantly, where could a cool mask like that be found?

  I spotted a staircase in the far corner and headed over to it, not wanting to look like a loser sitting all by my lonesome. I needed to get the lay of the land and collect as much detail as I could, as quickly as I could.

  Crossing the room, I noticed both male and female heads turning, checking me out. Probably because I was a new face? Or rather, a new ass?

  At the top of the stairs, where there was even less light than the first floor, I was offered a glass of champagne. I had to drink slowly to keep my wits about. A woman wearing a red dress and high heels sat on a cushy sofa. I made a beeline for her.

  Maybe she’d be friendly.

  “May I sit here?”

  “Of course.” She patted the se
at next to her as she looked up at me. “You’re new here.”

  She was stunning. Black bobbed hair, green eyes, her full lips smeared with nothing more than a neutral gloss.

  Note to self: get to Sephora for some new makeup tips.

  “Yup. It’s my first time.”

  The woman extended her hand. “I’m P.” She held up her champagne glass for a toast.

  “I’m B. I’m never gonna keep these one-letter names straight.”

  P laughed. “Don’t worry. No one does.” She took a long draw on the last of her champagne and looked around for the server.

  “What brought you here?” P asked.

  “Oh, I was just curious I guess.”

  “So you came by yourself? For your first time?” P’s eyebrows rose.

  Hmmm. Was that why people were staring?

  “Sure,” I told her. “Why? Is that strange?”

  P pursed her lips thoughtfully, and smiled. “I guess it’s not strange. It’s just that most women are brought here for the first time by a man.” She waved over the server for two fresh glasses of champagne.

  “Cheers to you. You’ve got some balls,” P said, holding her glass up.

  I laughed, hoping my mirth didn’t sound as fake as it felt. But the champagne was helping take the edge off.

  “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  I spotted another dance floor in the distance, a couple smaller rooms I couldn’t quite see into, and a bunch of seating areas like the one P and I were occupying. Beyond that, there was another staircase leading to a higher level. The place was just sprawling.

  “Where’s that go?” I pointed.

  “There are a couple play rooms on the third floor for the super high rollers. Very exclusive. I’ve been in them a couple times.”

  “Why do they need their own rooms?”

  P tilted her head and made an I can’t believe you asked that question face. “Wow. You are really green aren’t you?”

  “So what if I am?”

  P sighed. “Some have their own rooms because they have some pretty intense kinks. And some just want an extra layer of privacy. A couple years ago, a guy sneaked some photos with his iPhone and then threatened certain members with blackmail. People fucking freaked out. They stopped coming for a while. I thought the club was gonna close.”