I sighed.
I preferred a private salon simply because it was private. I knew many used those salons for a variety of purposes, alone or bringing a partner or partners. But when we’d owned protection, I was made aware they had cameras everywhere, including in the viewing rooms. This was for security purposes and VIPs were assured that staff very much understood discretion and that all tapes were wiped when the club closed at three in the morning (something I knew they did in our time—during Valenzuela’s time, anything could be happening).
I might like to watch but I didn’t fancy anyone watching me.
I also enjoyed prolonging it. If a scene worked and I enjoyed it, waiting to take care of the need it ignited was half the fun.
So that wasn’t why I didn’t wish to have company.
I simply didn’t wish to have company.
I didn’t bother looking over my shoulder. I didn’t care who was arriving but also the person arriving likely wished the same thing.
I heard a pleasantly deep man’s voice say, “Dewar’s. Rocks.”
“Yes, Mr. Grant.”
No noise after that undoubtedly because the carpeting muted him moving to his seat and Ms. Ross would never in a million years make too much noise closing the door behind her.
However, I only vaguely considered those thoughts.
I was still stuck on the pleasant deepness of the man’s voice.
I wanted that. I wanted that to let my mind take flight. I wanted the next scene I viewed to be stirring and to use that voice and my imagination to make some fabulous man up in my head who had a pleasantly deep voice who could do pleasant things to me. Then I would go home and create an even more fabulous fantasy with my hand between my legs.
These thoughts in my head, I heard the swish of fabric that was probably him setting aside a suit jacket, and out of habit at the sound, my head turned left.
I took one look and turned my attention back to my phone.
His voice had a pleasant deepness.
His appearance was so beyond pleasant, it was startling.
I waited, not wishing to be caught looking, and Ms. Ross returned with his drink only moments before the window illuminated for the next scene.
Only then did I allow myself to look at him again.
He had his eyes to the window, the drink to his lips.
I looked away quickly. But this time I’d noticed something so I couldn’t help myself from just as quickly casting another glance his way before I again looked away.
I’d been correct.
It was Nick Sebring.
I focused on my breathing, keeping it calm, my eyes to the window, my attention on my thoughts.
In my business, no, in my world, one made it a point to know men such as the Sebring brothers.
On several occasions, I had met Knight Sebring, a Denver nightclub owner who also provided protection and client vetting for a stable of ladies of the evening.
We had no dealings with Knight. He had a niche and kept to his niche, making it clear he had no interest in expanding his operation outside the women he had under his protection. Unless a client was exceptionally stupid, Knight also had little to no problems with any of his businesses. He lived quiet and extremely comfortably with his partner, Anya, and their two daughters.
Some years ago, perhaps seven or eight, Nick Sebring had worked for his brother, Knight. There had been a falling out, the reason for which I was not privy. After this Knight cut his brother loose.
It then appeared Nick had lost his way as there was a spell of time where he was either keeping company with a variety of unsavory characters or on the straight and narrow with an office job.
However, four years ago, Nick Sebring had set up his own shop.
This shop included providing a variety of elite services to an exclusive set of clientele who could pay handsomely. In a very short period of time, he’d made a name for himself in this business of acquisitions, deliveries, security, mediation, surveillance, deep background checks, safe-housing, and information collection, dissemination and safeguarding.
Also in a very short period of time, he’d made a fortune doing these things.
Back in the day, Nick Sebring had been known as the incompetent, unprincipled wastrel younger brother of a successful man. Nick also was known to have a fondness for cocaine and a mind filled with nothing but getting laid and living large off his brother’s back.
He was no longer any of that.
What he was was a dark horse. No one had expected anything of him except, perhaps, the frequently earned title of baby daddy and an early death due to his own folly.
But now, in our world, he was respected and even feared.