“Get a bigger location with some private rooms, and we don’t necessarily have to leave for hotels and houses. Service the guys right there in the club.”
“Good thinking.” Keeping his rentboys safe had always been a priority, and keeping them on-site where the bouncers and security could handle problems that arose would be helpful. Situations like the one the other night with Tristan and Jared, where a john got belligerent and refused to pay, were much more easily defused with a bunch of burly bouncers as backup rather than with the guys calling on a mobile and saying “Hey, we’ve got a problem.” Not every Garden employee had a mouth like Tristan’s and could threaten his way out of such a situation.
“I can hold my own with most guys.” Brandon picked at his food. “But I’ll admit, I’d be more comfortable if things were kept in one building.”
Frank’s gut twisted again. Keeping all the guys safe was a priority, but Brandon? He wasn’t even sure he wanted Brandon fucking other men on-site, never mind taking them someplace else. That fierce need to protect him was too strong for Frank to be comfortable with that. He’d have to live with it, of course, and he’d never forbid Brandon from working as a rentboy, but he might develop an ulcer in the process.
He coughed into his fist. “Well, it’s definitely something to look into. Top priority is making sure you guys are all safe.” Especially you.
Brandon smiled. “I know. I’ve never questioned that.” He paused. “How did you end up running a whorehouse, anyway? I’m assuming you didn’t win it off a reality show or something.”
Frank laughed. “No, I’m afraid not. Honestly, I didn’t want someone else ending up like me.”
“Like . . . like you?”
He nodded. “There’s always been prostitutes in this city, and there always will be. And with all the shit out there that can infect these guys, and all the people who might try to hurt someone because he’s a prostitute, I wanted to start a place where the safety of the rentboys was first and foremost. So I made a deal with the owner of the other lounge, the one in front of the club, and took over the back half of the ground floor.”
“Really?” Brandon furrowed his brow. “I thought the whole thing was yours.”
“It is now. Other guy retired, I bought him out. But my focus is on the all-male side of things. Besides, the front is just a strip club. No prostitution going on in there. Gives the place a slightly more respectable appearance, I guess.”
Brandon laughed. “One way to put it. So would you keep that part running if you moved the club?”
Frank shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably not. That side seems to attract the really sleazy clientele, and I don’t want them anywhere near any of my employees.”
“Thank God for that.” Brandon nodded. “I’d just as soon not deal with some of the creeps I’ve seen over there.”
Frank bristled at the idea of any one of those fuckers laying a hand on Brandon.
“Something wrong?” Brandon looked amused. “You don’t like your own clientele?”
“Well.” Frank hesitated. “I’m . . . not a huge fan of the types of men who wander in sometimes.”
Brandon chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Frank finished putting the leftovers onto plates, poured them each a mug of tea, and they moved into the dining room. Funny how empty and quiet the room seemed; it always did after an evening with Mike, Geoff, Emily, and now Brandon. Between the wine and their personalities, this place echoed with laughter whenever the group was here.
But now it was only the two of them, and the quiet tap of a plate being set on the table echoed off the walls.
In between nibbling on the ciabatta, Frank kept going back to their conversation in the kitchen. He hadn’t quite relaxed since they’d brought up the creeps who stuffed money into G-strings on the other side of Market Garden. Sitting across from Brandon, Frank suddenly had a hard time stomaching the idea of him being in the same building as those arseholes.
Of course Brandon was an adult. Though he had his vulnerabilities, he could take care of himself. He was one of the few Frank didn’t have to worry about when he left with a john, but he worried about him nonetheless.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Frank forced a smile. “Penny isn’t worth much with the going exchange rate.”
Brandon laughed. “Well, I could ask for your two cents instead.”
“You could, yes.” Frank looked down at his plate for a moment. “I’m curious.” He folded his hands on the table and met Brandon’s eyes. “What are you planning to do? In the future?”
“Drive a flying car and visit the moon, hopefully.”
Frank rolled his eyes. He tried to look disapproving, but the kid knew exactly when and how to bat his eyes and make him laugh. “Okay, very funny. I’m serious. You’re working for Market Garden now, but do you have ambitions? Dreams?”
“None that I can really afford to pursue right now.” Brandon picked at his food and avoided Frank’s eyes. “This is a temporary gig, you know? Something to tide me over until I get a visa squared away and don’t have to sweat over money quite as much.”