Page 10 of For Your Eyes Only
In fact, I support reclaiming what would be degradation and making money from it, but no matter how ecumenical I try to be, in the end, it all adds up to the same conclusion: I’m really just not into strippers.
“If I have a free night, I’ll let you know.”
Franco laughs at my tone, but I’m grateful to see we’re exiting the interstate and turning towards the drawbridge that separates the mainland from the barrier island.
“It's so early. Let’s make that free night tonight and stop by the club.”
I turn my wrist, and see it’s just after ten. “We should’ve stayed longer in South Beach.”
While I don’t care for women thrusting fake tits in my face for money, I definitely enjoy the sight of real women enjoying themselves on a dance floor, especially in tight skirts and low-cut blouses.
“Come on. I think we still have time to see Glitter Girl. She usually closes the night.” My brow furrows, and he gives me a wink. “I think she might have something you’ll like.”
“Doubtful.”
“That’s what you say, but you’re a straight man, right? Last time I checked?”
I’m not in the mood to argue, so I fall back on casual humor. “Sure. Let’s go.”
It’s too early to crash, and it’s been two hours since my last drink.
* * *
Franco followsthe tree-lined streets of Worth Avenue, past the small shops and restaurants, taking a right and heading south into a tucked-away portion of the neighborhood.
He turns the car into the lot and parks, and I step out, glancing up at the unassuming, stucco walls of the Spanish-style cabaret tucked into a strip mall.
Two lion-head fountains are on each side of the entrance, and it’s all very discreet and camouflaged. I suppose the old bluebloods don’t want to haveGirls! Girls! Girls!screaming in neon across the skyline. They left Miami for a reason, after all.
Inside, the mood is completely different. Laser lights flash across the smoke-filled dance floor. The crowd is mostly young men wearing jeans and black shirts with baseball caps, and the waitresses circulate through the space in fishnets and thongs with wavy hair hanging down their backs.
Loose laughter, provocative winks, and heavy tipping pass between them. The empty stage dominating the center of the room draws my attention away from the horny crowd.
“Grab a seat in the VIP section, and I’ll get a waitress to take care of us.” Franco gestures to a roped-off area in the back corner.
He approaches two waitresses in little safari hats, and they give me curious looks before scurrying around to collect an ice bucket and trays. I nod to one who gives me a cautious smile before turning to make my way past the velvet rope.
I’m almost through when a tall, youngish man stumbles, almost falling on me in his haste. “Mr. Alexander?” He’s breathing fast, and he scoops up my hand, shaking it roughly. “Damn, I can’t believe this. They say you never come to the club.”
Taking my hand back, I square my shoulders and face him. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“Hell, no.” The guy leans back, passing his hand over his forehead to move his dark hair away from his face. “At least I don’t think so. I’m nobody.”
In my experience, someone identifying themselves as nobody is usually somebody. This guy is acting clumsy and innocent, but his black eyes are clever. My defenses are triggered, but I’m a great actor, too.
“Have a nice night, Nobody.” I turn, but he stops me again.
“I’m Andre Bertonelli.” He places a palm on his chest, straightening his shoulders. “Greg Peters hired me to keep up with your interests. I’ve studied your career since you graduated from Columbia—”
“I dropped out of Columbia after two years.” Now I’m getting annoyed. “Greg hired you to follow me?”
“Not to follow you. I keep an eye on your interests.”
“And stalk me it seems.” I don’t like the sound of this. “Andre, is it? You’re fired. Effective immediately.”
He starts to interrupt again, but Franco appears, scowling. “What are you doing here? VIP only, pal. Get lost.” Franco holds an arm between us and ushers me through the velvet rope. “Sorry about that. Some people think the rules don’t apply to them.”
The guy gives me a sly wink before blending into the crowd, and my jaw clenches. This is bullshit. Grish never told me anything aboutAndre. Franco is one of my most trusted employees, and he’s never seen him before. Now I’m wondering what else I don’t know.