Chapter 5 Riverfront Club

On Friday, as the workday came to a close, I passed on my tasks to Rachael. Dylan, who was scheduled for a business trip over the weekend, needed someone to look after him for two days, and that responsibility fell on me. Once I finished the handover, I made my way back to Dylan's office. Upon entering, I found him standing before the mirror, facing away from the door. Drawing nearer, I conveyed, "Rachael mentioned that you have plans to visit the Riverfront Club tonight."

"Indeed." Dylan nodded affirmatively as he perused the assortment of ties on the clothes rack.

Venturing to ask, I inquired, "Do you require my company for the evening?"

He promptly declined, "No."

Anticipating his probable refusal, I didn't allow myself to be disappointed. Instead, I took the tie from Dylan's grasp and deftly looped it around his neck. "Allow me to assist you. It's part of my responsibilities."

With careful precision, I stood on tiptoe and gradually drew nearer to him. As my index finger lightly grazed his Adam's apple, I noticed a subtle movement, causing it to bob within his throat. At that very moment, I halted abruptly, pausing the interaction.

Feigning innocence, I inquired, "Did I inadvertently cause you any discomfort?"

Dylan remained silent, his gaze shifting from the top of my head to the view outside the window, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

Softening my voice, I assured him, "I'll handle it with care."

His breath gently grazed my forehead, a sensation that heightened the proximity between us. We stood so intimately close that with a mere upward glance, I could behold his captivating, handsome face.

As I skillfully tied the tie for him, I whispered softly, "I didn't apply any lipstick, but I did wear perfume. Its fragrance resembles that of a blooming rose. I hope you're not allergic to the scent?"

He shook his head in denial, and replied, "No."

I continued playfully, "In that case, are you allergic to women who wear fragrances?"

My words slipped out inadvertently, and Dylan swiftly caught onto the underlying implication. I sensed his silence. It was evident that he chose not to respond to my remark.

I took a step back. "Is that good?"

Observing Dylan's prolonged silence while inspecting the shape of the tie I had tied, I presumed he might be dissatisfied with it. In response, I instinctively reached out to adjust it. "Let me try another way."

To my surprise, Dylan firmly grasped my wrist, his voice taking on a deeper tone. "There's no need to make any changes."

I noticed that Dylan's right hand bore visible calluses, even though there was a layer of fabric between my wrist and his palm. Despite the barrier, I could discern the roughness of his hardened skin as our contact persisted. It struck me as unusual that an affluent man wealthy with a refined and immaculate appearance would possess callused hands. It was a contradiction that added to his overall allure, making him even more intriguing. I found it challenging to fathom what kind of untamed strength lay concealed within Dylan's seemingly polished exterior.

Lowering myself to a squatting position, I proceeded to adjust and straighten Dylan's trouser legs. "Mrs. Hewitt must possess greater expertise in tying a tie compared to me."

Dylan remained motionless, offering no response or comment. Feeling a tinge of disappointment, I raised my gaze to meet his, displaying a hint of dissatisfaction. "Did I not perform the task to your satisfaction?"

Dylan's gaze descended upon me as he posed a question in return, his tone filled with curiosity. "Why do you feel the need to compare yourself to her?"

Expressing a deeper sense of grievance, my voice conveyed frustration. "Is it not permissible for me to make comparisons?"

Dylan retracted his leg, creating a physical distance between us. "She is my wife, while you are an employee," he stated matter-of-factly, highlighting the distinction between our roles and relationships.

Left without words, I found myself silenced by Dylan's response. Instead of falling into the trap I had unwittingly set, he skillfully drew a clear boundary between us, bringing the subject to an abrupt conclusion.

I took a deep breath and reminded myself to stay calm. The exhilaration of being evenly matched in a contest was undeniable. It was beneficial in improving my skills. An easily captured prey would only dampen my fighting spirit.

I reached for the comb resting on the table and gently ran it through Dylan's short hair. "Your hair has a strong texture." I continued combing his hair for a few more strokes before setting the comb aside and replacing it with my own hand. My slender fingers delicately weaved through his hair, caressing his scalp with a gentle touch. In the quiet intimacy of the moment, a captivating tenderness enveloped us, its allure subtly seductive.

Dylan remained still.

The tip of my nose lightly grazed against his temple, and my warm breath caressed his skin. I sensed a subtle tensing in his posture, but undeterred, I persistently pursued the moment. My lips trailed along his earlobe, and in a gentle whisper, I remarked, "Your shampoo has a delightful scent. Is it Bvlgari eau parfumée?"

He remained indifferent, showing no noticeable response to my gestures or words.

In a slow and deliberate motion, I brushed my hair against his chin, savoring the closeness. "I adore this fragrance."

I gently rested my head on his arm, finding solace in its support. Softly, I added, "It's incredibly enticing."

"It's not Bvlgari." Uncertain if Dylan was intentionally avoiding me, I met his gaze with an inviting look in my eyes. "Is it from a niche brand? The allure is even stronger now. I'll make sure to buy shampoo from that brand for my significant other in the future."

Dylan persisted in ignoring my presence, remaining unresponsive to my words and gestures. Calmly, Dylan proceeded to don his suit jacket, his tone unwavering. "I have a unique preference. I don't believe this scent would appeal to other men."

I responded with a captivating smile, exuding enchantment. "Then I shall seek out a lover who appreciates this fragrance."

Pretending to brush off nonexistent dust from his suit jacket, I teasingly expressed, "I would be more than willing to give myself up to a man like that."

Silently, Dylan made his way out of the office, seemingly determined to go alone. However, undeterred, I closely trailed behind him. Despite initially refusing, he eventually relented, granting permission for me to accompany him on his journey.

At seven o'clock, we reached the Riverfront Club, where a middle-aged man, dressed in a manner suggesting he held a managerial role, awaited us on the steps. As our car pulled up, he immediately recognized Dylan and approached to open the door. "Good evening, Mr. Hewitt. It has been a while since our last encounter."

Dylan stepped out of the car, gracefully removing his suit jacket and extending it to the waiting man. I trailed closely behind him, maintaining a short distance.

At the street corner, a multitude of limousines were parked, forming an impressive display. Men in suits emerged from the vehicles, entering and exiting the venue in a steady stream. Among them, there were individuals in their thirties and forties, but the majority appeared to be in their fifties or sixties. Regardless of age, all attendees were impeccably dressed. Having interacted with numerous rich individuals in the past, I had developed an intuitive ability to discern the upstarts from the truly wealthy.

In my experience, the upstarts often displayed a penchant for loud conversations and an affinity for ostentatious displays of wealth, such as wearing excessive gold jewelry and flaunting designer clothing. On the other hand, individuals hailing from affluent and influential families tended to adopt a more understated and approachable demeanor. They rarely showcased designer attire in their day-to-day lives, but their attention to detail revealed their refined taste. For instance, an unassuming amber button might hold a value equivalent to that of a Breguet Philippe watch.

While some might prefer to engage with upstarts, I understood that dealing with truly wealthy individuals could present its own challenges. Rich individuals often possessed astute discernment and were adept at detecting hidden motives, even from the most cunning women.

Peering over Dylan's shoulder, I noticed a group of voluptuous and attractive women congregating in the hall. As soon as the designated clients arrived, those women promptly accompanied them upstairs, linking arms in a synchronized fashion. Indeed, it was no surprise that a popular saying circulated among the upper echelons of Raybourne, suggesting that those who had not experienced the lavishness of the Riverfront Club were unaware of the true extent of extravagance that life could offer.

I leaned in close to Dylan, whispering in his ear as I pointed discreetly at a young woman in the vicinity. "Dylan, she is undeniably the most beautiful one."

Dylan turned his gaze in the direction I had indicated, his expression giving little away. Sensing his contemplation, I inquired, "Don't you think so too?"

In a cold tone, Dylan posed a question in return. "What defines the standard of beauty in a woman?"

Pointing to myself, I asserted, "Consider me as the standard."

Dylan furrowed his brows, his expression reflecting his perplexity at my statement.

With a serious demeanor, I proceeded to clarify my statement. "Those who surpass my beauty can be considered premium-grade. Those who are on par with me are top-grade. A top-grade beauty is a rarity, occurring once in a hundred, while a premium-grade beauty is even more exceptional, found only once in a thousand."

Dylan regarded me with a newfound interest, his curiosity piqued by my categorization. "Oh? Why not consider yourself to be a premium-grade beauty?"

Maintaining a composed expression, I replied with a hint of jest, "Because I am modest."

As I focused on Dylan's countenance, I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a fleeting smile. However, upon closer inspection, his expression remained impassive, as was typical of him. Perhaps the dazzling neon lights had momentarily deceived my eyes, causing me to perceive something that wasn't truly there.

"Do you think I'm beautiful?"

Dylan's response was flat and devoid of any clear opinion. "I don't know."

As the middle-aged man guided us into the club, Dylan surveyed his surroundings with a discerning gaze. "You've built quite a prosperous business here."

"All thanks to you." The man extended a cigarette towards Dylan, but upon casting a brief glance at the brand on the cigarette box, Dylan politely declined. "No, thank you. I find it difficult to get accustomed to this particular brand."

Dylan's preference for smoking was evident, as he exclusively indulged in Lucky Strike cigarettes. To a certain extent, Dylan displayed a discerning nature when it came to his preferences. He insisted on drinking purified water, appreciating its clarity and purity. In the afternoons, he savored a freshly brewed cup of black coffee, with just a minute amount of sugar added to counterbalance any bitterness. His sensitivity to sour flavors was evident, as he found it intolerable and sought to eliminate any traces of it from his palate.

Dylan asked, "Has Mr. Cooper ever been here?"

The man acknowledged Dylan's query, responding. "Yes, Mr. Cooper frequents this establishment. He is a regular guest here."

"When was the last time he was here?"

After a brief recollection, the man responded, "If I recall correctly, Mr. Cooper was last here on Wednesday."

Dylan requested his briefcase from me, and as I handed it to him, he retrieved a photograph from inside. Holding up the photo, he inquired of the man. "Was this person seen together with Mr. Cooper?"

The second he caught a glimpse of the photograph, the man's response was swift and affirmative. "Yes, he has been seen accompanying Mr. Cooper on every occasion. People often refer to him as Mr. Duffy."

Dylan, having received the confirmation he sought, appeared satisfied with the information provided.

As we made our way through the club, Dylan and I proceeded towards the VIP elevator. The elevator, designated exclusively for VIP guests, whisked us directly to the sixth floor without making any stops on the way. I had previously been informed that the sixth floor of the Riverfront Club served as an exclusive haven for top billionaires, particularly for indulging in gambling. The private room, which Dylan was heading to, was renowned as the club's most spacious and luxurious private room. Access to this area was notoriously difficult to obtain, as the entry requirements were exceptionally stringent. Rumor had it that anyone seeking to partake in the extravagant gambling experiences within that private room needed to come prepared with a minimum of four suitcases filled with cash, solely for a mere two-hour session. It was undeniably a realm of extravagant expenditure, catering to the whims and desires of the affluent.

Just before entering the room, Dylan received a phone call from Theresa. Though I couldn't discern the specifics of their conversation, I observed him engaging in the call while leisurely smoking a cigarette. As the conversation concluded with the last puff of smoke, he terminated the call and proceeded to push open the door to the private room. Inside, I noticed the presence of two men who had arrived earlier, one of whom happened to be the individual with whom Dylan had conversed at Royalness Winery on that eventful night.

After they exchanged greetings and settled into their seats, I leaned in towards Dylan and softly inquired, "Would you prefer wine or coffee to drink?"

Dylan directed his attention towards the conversation with the man, acknowledging my question with a barely noticeable nod.

Understanding his unspoken message, I adhered to the established protocol and acted accordingly.

I summoned the waiter into the room and issued my precise instructions. "Geisha coffee please."

Observing the situation, the man let out a sigh of admiration directed at Dylan, remarking. "Mrs. Hewitt has a keen eye for talent. Your assistant is truly impressive."

Dylan casually picked up a piece of watermelon with a plastic fork, toying with it rather than eating it. He gazed at it thoughtfully under the glimmering light and replied, "I should certainly appreciate that."

I discreetly stole a glance at him, sensing a hidden meaning behind his words.

Before long, the waiter arrived with the freshly brewed coffee. I poured the steaming beverage into the cups, ensuring an organized approach for both the man and Dylan. As the man grasped his cup, he complimented, "Miss Garrett, your expertise has improved since our last encounter."

Glancing at Dylan, I expressed my gratitude. "Thanks to Mr. Hewitt. He excels as a teacher in every aspect."

The man chuckled and said, "Oh, really? What other skills has he imparted to you?"

Dylan simply smiled in response, causing the man's laughter to intensify even further.

Engrossed in conversation, I failed to notice the ground beneath me. Inadvertently, as I took a step back, I tripped over the table, instinctively reaching out to grab hold of the nearby desk for support. To my misfortune, Dylan's cup of coffee happened to be in the line of my stumbling, resulting in scalding hot liquid splashing onto the back of my hand, causing instant blisters. Regrettably, the splashing coffee also affected the man, staining his suit pants. In a rush, I grabbed a tissue and hastily wiped his pants in an attempt to rectify the situation. Observing the blisters on the back of my hand, Dylan pursed his lips, displaying concern for my well-being. Wincing with discomfort, I instinctively shielded my hand and spoke up, addressing Dylan. "I apologize, but I really must excuse myself and use the restroom."

As I was preparing to leave, he interrupted me. "Hold on for a moment."

Dylan pressed the green button at the corner of the table, and a voice came through the intercom speaker. "What can I do for you, sir?"

Dylan maintained his gaze fixated on my hand and urgently requested, "I require scald ointment and ice."

After a brief interval, the waiter arrived with the requested items as Dylan had instructed. He gestured to the waiter to hand them over to me, and remarked, "Take care of the wound on your own."

I accepted the scald ointment and a basket filled with ice, taking them into my possession. Dylan then pivoted away, resuming his conversation about business matters with the man.

Making my way to the bathroom situated at the far end of the corridor, I proceeded to submerge my hand in the soothing ice water, allowing it to alleviate the lingering tingling sensation. Once the discomfort subsided, I cautiously applied the ointment to my hand, ensuring a careful application. While staring at my reflection in the mirror adorning the wall, I found myself immersed in a cascade of thoughts. I had become utterly perplexed by Dylan's demeanor, unsure of what to make of it. He yielded to my approach, opting not to disclose my actions to Theresa and exploit the situation as an opportunity to terminate my employment. His decision perplexed me. It seemed as though he was wavering in his stance, yet he continued to maintain a certain level of distance. The unpredictability of this predicament was entirely new to me, leaving me grappling with unfamiliar territory.

As I exited the bathroom, preparing to make my way back to the primate room, I was abruptly seized and forcibly pulled into the men's room by an unidentified individual.

The man exerted a forceful shove, causing me to stumble and collide with the wall of the innermost cubicle. Overwhelmed and disoriented, I leaned on the windowsill, gasping for breath. Meanwhile, the man secured the door, his voice laced with hostility as he uttered, "Bitch, I've been searching for you for two years!"

Realizing that the person confronting me was an adversary, I clenched my teeth and spun around to face him. To my surprise, I discovered it was Magnus Norris, the formidable owner of the renowned casino located in the nearby city. Two years ago, Magnus engaged in a romantic involvement with a model at his casino, resulting in her swift pregnancy. Through a prenatal examination, the model discovered she was carrying a baby boy. Filled with elation at the prospect of having a son, Magnus made the firm decision to divorce his wife. In an attempt to ensure his wife received no marital assets, he transferred the majority of his property. Left with no alternatives, his wife sought my assistance. At the time, I was employed as a model at Magnus's casino, and I embarked on a plan to forge a connection with him and drive away the pregnant model. When Magnus eventually discovered that his wife had orchestrated my involvement, he retaliated by hiring a group of gangsters with the intention of kidnapping me, vowing to teach me a lesson. Fearing for my safety, I took refuge in a remote city for half a month and didn't dare return.

With a helpless sigh, I acknowledged that it was inevitable to run into my enemies at some point.

Just as I was preparing to stand straight, Magnus swiftly advanced towards me, seizing me by the collar and forcefully slamming me against the unforgiving ground. The impact sent me sprawling once more, leaving me devoid of strength. My legs trembled uncontrollably, unable to offer any support.

With an iron grip on my hair, Magnus yanked my head backward, compelling me to meet his ferocious gaze. His face contorted with rage as he seethed, "You fled two years ago, and I had to pay that woman thirty million dollars. It's all because of you! It's your damn fault!"

Caught off guard by Magnus' outburst, I asked in surprise, "Are you saying that your wife divorced you?"

Magnus exerted a merciless force on my hair, yanking it harshly. "Don't pretend you don't know!"

I was not feigning ignorance; I genuinely did not possess the knowledge at hand. Magnus's ex-wife was a woman who appeared to lack a strong sense of personal conviction. I had assumed she would eventually forgive Magnus, but I never anticipated that she would truly go through with the divorce. It became apparent that once a woman's heart was shattered, regardless of her outward appearance of fragility, she would not easily release the man who had caused her pain.

"Mr. Norris," I began, but my words trailed off as my eyes caught sight of a sanitary pad in his pocket, marked with a number. A shiver ran down my spine, and I cautiously inquired, "Are you also a guest of that room?"