The Stay Gold is in the ritziest part of town, at the top of one of the iconic high-rises that Chicago boasts. The view—I've heard—is spectacular, especially from the glass pool that sits on the side of the club.

I stand on the concrete outside, breathing deeply and look up. So totally high. My stomach turns.

I hate heights. Taking another deep breath, I stroll inside and find an elevator to take me up.

A bouncer greets me at the exit of the elevator—a very chiseled, muscular man who is all sharp angles and deep frown lines. The kind of man who would be a hero if another man was mugging you.

A strange expression flickers across his face—like he recognizes me, but is surprised. In an instant, however his features become smooth, and a little menacing.

He holds up a hand to stop me from coming too close to the club's entrance. "Your business Miss Wa—ma'am?"

"I'm supposed to meet Mr. Orlando here. He's hiring me as a singer."

"One moment, please." He turns to tap his earpiece and whispers something I can't hear.

The floor is marble here, the walls impeccable black and white, and floor to ceiling windows at the ends of the hall. The nightclub has double doors, but which are closed right now, so I can't get a look inside.

It's five past eight. Technically, I'm late, so where is Devon? Is he really going to make me wait?

"Can I help you?" a smooth, baritone voice behind me asks. I turn.

And nearly fall into the arms of a slightly disheveled, unshaven man with broad shoulders, tousled, light brown hair and a playful crinkle to his amber-brown eyes. There's a tiny scar on his chin, a line where no stubble grows.

I remember a teenage boy with a nick in his chin, blood running from it down his chin. I remember running to the bathroom to get disinfectant and a band-aid and him saying thank you, but not bothering to use them. The boy has become a tall, devastatingly attractive man with the word player etched all over his physique. My mouth practically waters.

A name clicks into place—Conner. I sway in place.

"Careful there," he says with a crooked smile. "Did I startle you?"

"I'm waiting," I say. My stomach is doing strange things in his presence. "I'm supposed to meet Devon. Devon Orlando."

What cologne does he use? Woodsy, warm. He must doing a walk of shame, there's no way he slept in his own bed last night and put on a rumpled suit this morning. Is that lipstick on his neck?

I lean closer without thinking and he puts his hands on my shoulders. His hands are large and very warm.

"You seem like you need something to drink," he says and ushers me towards the doors.

"Ma'am?" the bouncer calls. "Mr. Orlando is running late with a meeting and will be here shortly."

"That's all right," Conner says. "I'll take care of her."

"I don't need a drink," I say. It's a bit early for liquor. "But if you have a coffee or—"

"I wouldn't suggest anything else before nine a.m." He opens the way to the club and for a moment, all I can do is gawk. No expenses have been spared. It's a classy, modern chic décor with art-deco style chandeliers that sparkle from the ceiling, dark walls, stainless steel accents, low, light-colored sofas with clean lines and a long, winding bar. Opposite the bar, in front of a wall of glass windows, there's a low stage. A microphone stands lonely and thin in the middle of it. I almost scoff.

My voice doesn't need a microphone for a room of this size.

Then I remember, I won't be singing Verdi opera arias in here. Connor puts a warm hand to the small of my back to escort me inside.

"What can I make for you?"

"Whatever has caffeine in it. I take milk, no sugar."

He winks. "One whatever-with-caffeine and milk, coming up."

There's a full barista set-up in the corner of the bar and he gets to work. I slide onto a bar stool across him and fold my hands on the bar.

He passes me a cappuccino and pours himself a triple espresso. Raising it, he says, "Cheers. And by the way, my name is—"

"Conner," we say at the same time.

"You know me?" he asks. "Wait. Then you must be—"

"Avery," we say at the same time again.

"Jinx," I whisper. I sip my cappuccino and hold back a groan of pleasure. Truly. No expenses were spared on this place.

"Keith's little sister," he says. Then softer, "So that asshole found you."

"Sorry? What asshole?"

"You know who I'm talking about. In fact, I think we should head out of here before he arrives" He finishes his espressos in one gulp. Mine's too hot, but I keep sipping as he rounds the bar and takes my hand. "By the way, you haven't signed any contracts, yet have you?"

I shake my head and keep sipping.

For the first time, he's really taking me in, raking his eyes over me from my hasty updo for my stick-straight hair, to the only clean dress I had in my closet, and down to my nicest pair of pumps. I know I'm a mess, but this was the best I could do on short notice.

He grins and heat floods me. There is something wicked and fun about him. I remember now—he was the rich neighbor to Devon, and one of the most reckless of the bunch. Dares, speeding tickets, expelled from his fancy boarding school, he did it all.

With a wink, he says, "Good. Because Devon has a stupid rule about not getting to know any of the women who work here. But you don't work here. So we can get to know each other."

Nervous flutters stir in my stomach. "What do you mean get to know each other? I really do need to talk to Devon. He kind of paid my rent for me..."

"Is that all he did for you? Then it wasn't enough." Conner leads me firmly towards the exit. He stops at a small side hallway and digs in a hidden closet. "See if this fits." Without waiting, he plops a helmet on my head and keeps dragging me out of the club.

"A spare helmet?" I ask. "For the girls you pick up every night?"

"Exactly. And the girls I pick up in the morning. You sing, right?"

"Yes. I sing."

"Then I want to hear you. Where can I take you for a private show?"

I scoff out loud. The nerve of this guy.

He motions for me to enter the elevator. Once inside, he leans to whisper in my ear. "I remember you, Avery, you were about fifteen and I heard you singing from outside the house one evening, and it was a siren's song to my ears. I'd like to hear you sing again, now that you're grown up."

I shiver, but not from cold. "All right. There's a place we can go."

*** ONC: 1150 words. What's he up to and why does he want to get her away from the club? Thanks for reading!!! This chapter is dedicated to Jessica Cunsolo ( AvaViolet  ) author of the incredible With Me Series! Check out her amazing stories here on Wattpad and published on Amazon. ***