The whole reason I'd been killing myself to earn money was to pay for my mother's surgery. Now a full million sat right in front of me. Who wouldn't be tempted?
The client seemed to read my mind. He pushed the entire stack of cash toward me without hesitation.
"Consider this a deposit. Take it. Go settle your mother's hospital bills first."
The room went dead silent. We just sat there, eyes locked.
After a long beat, I fished a cigarette from my pocket and lit it.
"Boss, there's one thing I still can't figure out."
"Why me?"
He smiled and answered without missing a beat.
"Because you need the money."
I searched his eyes for some kind of tell, some crack in the facade. I came up empty.
Because he was right. I needed the money. Badly.
I looked at the bills fanned out in front of me, and all I could see was my mother lying in that hospital bed.
"Fine."
I slammed my palm on the table.
"You've got yourself a deal."
The client didn't look surprised. He just gave a slight nod, as if he'd known all along how this would end.
On his way out, he stopped at the door. He turned back to face me, and something in his gaze turned razor-sharp.
"Remember. You have two days."
Once I was sure he was gone, I stuffed every last bill into my bag.
A few minutes later, the club manager strolled in looking confused.
"Tristan Henson, what's going on? You're wrapping up early tonight?"
I gave Landon the short version. He slapped me on the back so hard I stumbled forward.
"What?! A million dollars? You lucky bastard!"
I smiled, but there was no humor in it. "Landon, you call that lucky? She's somebody's wife!"
He waved me off like I'd just complained about free beer. "So what if she's somebody's wife? You think a man at that level is short on women?"
Then he caught himself and jabbed a finger at my chest. "But let me warn you right now. Don't go digging around where you shouldn't. You'll get burned."
I nodded mechanically, then made up an excuse about feeling sick and asked for the rest of the night off.
Back at my apartment, I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the photograph. The woman looked about my age. I couldn't stop turning it over in my mind.
Everyone in the industry called me the king of hosts, but in all my years working the nightclub scene, I'd never crossed the line. I poured drinks, played flirty little party games, kept the clients entertained. That was it.
This time was different.