Knight (Unfinished Hero #1)(41)
“What do you mean I’ll find out shit that will freak me out?”
She glanced around then pulled me to the side away from some friends.
Then she started talking.
“He went from a drag racer to a club owner in a hop, skip and a jump. Club success at age twenty-six. He’s the master of all you survey and as far as I know, answers to nobody. So that means no investors so that means he dumped his own money into this place. I have no clue but just the glasses cost a whack so the rest of this place, my guess, millions. I also have no clue about drag racing but, my guess, that doesn’t make a millionaire. He drives an Aston Martin. He owns seriously exclusive real estate and sends a driver to pick up his woman and her friends. He keeps his shit so tight nobody knows a thing about him and, trust me, I’ve been asking around. He owns Slade. He’s got a motherf*cker for a brother. He drives a sweet ride. He does not date but he gets wild amounts of pu**y by picking and choosing from his dance floor and none of those bitches talk but if you bring him up, they sure do smile. No one but no one who has all that, does all that and no one knows f**k all about all that doesn’t have secrets. Big ones. So he freaks your shit out, Anya, his secrets come out, you hold on and roll with it. Are you getting me?”
I stared at her.
Then I asked, “Wild amounts of pu**y?”
She stared at me and stated emphatically, “Wild.”
Oh my God.
“Babe, girl, babe, listen to me,” she said quickly, her hand grabbing mine and I knew I must have been freaking out visibly as well as internally. I focused on her and she continued, “You know me. I do my homework. And that shit dried up two weeks ago.”
“You’re sure?” I asked.
“No. I’m no PI and I don’t follow him home. But I know folks who practically live here. They see him, know who he is and know he gets himself some and he hasn’t been checking out his regular smorgasbord in a while.”
My head tipped to the side. “He doesn’t date?”
“That’s the word.”
“What does that mean?”
“He likes you, he’ll cook for you at his house. He wants to get off, he does and you go home.”
Cooks for you at his house?
Oh God.
Vivica’s hand gave mine a squeeze. “Babe, he took you to Wynkoop’s. And I don’t have to remind you that he cooked for you but he didn’t do you.”
“Oh God.”
Her hand now gave mine a shake. “Babe, listen to me, the dresses, the phone, the car, the VIP section, not his MO. Wynkoop’s, definitely not. Intel is still comin’ in but it’s slow and there’s not much to be had. But if he was a man on the town, it wouldn’t be. People would see him and report back. They haven’t. His life is this club and his condo. The girls go there then the girls leave there and, more often than not, don’t come back. And they don’t go there for a steak, heart to heart conversation about their dead parents, a nap then he takes them out to eat and sends them home without a kiss. Nor, to my knowledge, does he show at their house in the middle of a night finally to get that kiss. He’s into you. If he was a big spender, his f**k buddies would be reigning supreme in one of these sections and doing it regularly. From what I heard, you are the first.”
I was rethinking having shared such detail about my Knight Encounters but, alas, too late.
“Why didn’t you tell me all this before we went out?” I asked.
“Because I wanted to see him with you to know what all the rest meant. Now I know. He’s into you and not for a f**k. He’s just into you.”
My eyes shifted over her shoulder and I muttered loudly, “Cocktail waitress, two o’clock.”
Viv let my hand go, turned to my side and I smiled as the waitress arrived and I accepted my San Pellegrino.
Viv turned to the cocktail waitress and asked baldly, “You know if Sebring set up any of his other women in their own VIP section?”
Oh God, Viv and her curiosity. She was an assistant catering and banquet manager at a swank hotel. She should have been an investigative journalist.
The waitress got pale, I could tell even by the club lights.
She swayed away but answered politely, “Mr. Sebring doesn’t allow gossip.”
“We won’t tell,” Viv assured.
“I can’t take that chance,” she replied. “I’m sorry but when I say Mr. Sebring doesn’t allow gossip, I mean, if he found out, I’d lose my job.”
Wow. Interesting.
Viv looked at me. “See what I mean?”
I gave her wide eyes and looked back to the waitress. “Sorry, she didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”
“If he asks, tell him I didn’t say anything,” she stated and I felt my brows draw together.
But I answered, “Okay.”
“It was a big thing, me getting a VIP section. He only picks the right girls for that. This is my first. He gives you a bonus if you get a section like this because sometimes the drinks are free or go on a tab and they forget to tip. Rich people, they do that a lot. Even celebrities, they get so much free stuff, they can be not such hot tippers. Or that’s what the girls say who’ve worked these sections. So Mr. Sebring gives a good bonus. Way beyond any tips you can make and he gives it even if you make tips, like your friends are giving tonight. I want to do it again. I have a kid. I can use a bonus, regular-like. So, you know, his woman, her friends curious, he might get that you’d ask me then ask if I spilled. You’ll tell him I didn’t, right?”