The lighting changes and the room dims and is bathed in a soft golden glow as the band start up. I look over to Jeff, who raises his glass, and we cheer to a successful day and a great night as the little redhead comes back with a bottle of thirty-year-old Macallan and six tumblers. I push my sleeves a little higher and unbutton my collar, sitting back and settling in to enjoy the show.
A brilliant rendition of Benny Goodman’s Sing, Sing, Sing thrums through the club, the heavy drums instantly making you sit up and take note. The girls begin to flood the stage in a spectacular chorus line of tits and ass, reminding me of how long ago it was that I had sex and wanting to ditch this place and go find Robyn now. The girls are good; we’re whipped in the face with feather boas as long stocking-clad legs kick and shuffle past us. Jeff certainly seems to be enjoying the show; I can’t break his concentration as Tim and I talk.
“No fucking way,” Steven yells from out of the blue and lowers his glass to look at me then back to the stage, then me again.
“What?” I ask, amused. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. I look up to the stage, noticing that the chorus girls are gone and in their place are three women dressed like twenties flappers, their backs to us.
“What’s gotten into you?”
Steven’s face pales as he leans over the table and I watch, perplexed, as he shuffles as close as possible to me and lowers his head. The others give us a strange look as he leans in and mutters in a hushed tone, “It’s Robyn.”
“What’s Robyn?” I ask, quickly looking to my phone. I’d dropped it on the table next to my glass so I could see when she texted. I didn’t want to miss her. I can’t see any message alerts, so I look back at Steven.
He coughs and looks over to the stage where the girls are now a few bars into their routine, then looks back at me. He shakes his head exasperated. “On stage.”
I’ve obviously heard him wrong, but I look back out onto the stage in time to see Robyn step forward, shimmying out of her dress.
She’s one of the flappers? And she’s undressing, here in Reveal. What the fuck is going on?
I couldn’t be more winded if someone had punched me in the stomach. I quickly look around the table, and everyone’s eyes are on me except for Jeff’s, which are glued to Robyn’s tits. And then all I see is red. Of course, they’re looking at me, they’re probably wondering why I didn’t tell them that I’d brought them to watch the girl I’m seeing take her clothes off in a room full of people. Jesus, I can’t even cover this! I introduced her to everyone the night I took her to Massa. I jump up from the table, causing my chair to fall back and make a commotion. Robyn’s eyes search to see where the noise comes from, no doubt, and collide with my own. My skin prickles as I watch her step falter, but recover, as if she’d only imagined me standing here looking like a complete fucking tool in front of the colleagues I’ve introduced her to and whom she’s had drinks with. She turns her head and carries on dancing as though I’m not standing here.
What the fuck?
I look down to Steven, who’s looking back at me wide-eyed, waiting for my next move. One of the guys is telling Jeff that it’s my girl on stage dancing. The sick feeling of embarrassment overthrows my common sense, and I want her off that stage now. I move out from behind the table and step up on stage. The girls are oblivious as I take Robyn’s arm and try to guide her off stage, urging her to follow me, but she stops, frozen. The music dies, and the other two women dancing are suddenly yelling at me to let her go. I’m not hurting her. I barely have a hold of her, and then I don’t. I feel myself being swung around, the stage lights blinding me as I stumble and barely manage to blink and regain my focus. My eyes land on Cal’s a millisecond before his fist meets my face, and I’m sailing in slow motion to the back of the stage. Instinct has me scrambling to my feet, pure rage and anger rolling off me in waves.
“What the fuck, Callum?” I yell as he pushes Robyn behind him, and then his face contorts in confusion. His fists unclench and his stance alters. He was ready to attack me, but now he’s standing taller and looks dumbfounded.
“Cole?”
Robyn’s eyes are like saucers as they peer from around Cal’s back, and I move to look around him. I’ll talk to my brother later; right now, I want to know what the hell’s going on and get her off this stage and away from prying eyes.
“Robyn, what the hell are you doing?” I ask angrily.
Cal steps forward into my personal space and causes me to move back a step. “What the fuck, man? Why are you attacking my dancers?”
“I’m not attacking her, you dickhead!” I bite out, wiping the blood that’s beginning to drip from my nose. I can’t believe my brother just punched me.
“I want to know why my fucking girlfriend’s taking her clothes off on stage in my little brother’s club?” I spit the words out.
“What!” Robyn shrieks as she steps around Cal, her face as pale as snow, the color completely drained.
At the same time, Callum roars, “Girlfriend?”
WE BURST INTO my office, Zane rushing in ahead of us telling me to calm down as Cole storms through behind me muttering about his nose. Tweet rushes in next, and Cole immediately walks over to her. It annoys the hell out of me; she’s not his to stand by—is she?
“Care to explain what the fuck just happened out there?” I say to everyone and no one. I don’t know who I’m asking; everyone looks just as shocked and in the dark as me.
“I’ll leave you guys to it,” Zane says, slipping out the door and fixing me with a look that says stay cool. It’s the last thing I’m feeling right now. I’m furious and hurt, and the adrenaline is still pumping through my system, making it hard to try and calm down. I didn’t know it was Cole out there until I’d already hit him. He’s damn lucky I took the time to take a breath, because if I hadn’t, he’d have been leaving here in an ambulance. I’d walked out of my office just as he’d climbed on stage. My heart about dropped from my chest and into my stomach; I was sure it was one of those assholes that she owes money. I didn’t give myself time to reason; I rushed the stage in a blind panic, thinking he was going to hurt her. Given the revelations of the last few minutes, I almost wish it were one of those assholes. I could have sorted that situation pretty easily, but this is so much fucking worse.
Cole and Tweet, damn! It makes me gag thinking about it.
Cole looks at her and I want to punch him again. He’s my brother and I want to rip his face off. I have no right to feel like this, but it doesn’t stop the annoyance coursing through my veins, and I hate his eyes on her right now. Tweet’s are on the floor, thank God. My eyes fall on her shoulders, rounded with her head sunk between them. I can see the slight tremble in her hands as they wring together.
“Tweet?”
“I swear, I didn’t know you two were brothers,” is the first thing to leave her lips. Her head slowly rises, and the debate about who to look to first is evident all over her ashen face. I want to shout Me! Look at me, not him! but I don’t. I stay quiet and will my pulse to slow the hell down.
“Robyn, what the hell is going on here? Why didn’t you tell me you were a stripper at my brother’s club?
“I’m not a stripper.”
“She’s not a fucking stripper!”
Cole takes a step back, looking from Tweet to me.