I’m sitting in the private VIP booth up a set of stairs in a London club, sipping my glass of whiskey slowly. Two of my men, Luke and Cal, are stood in front of my booth keeping an eye out. I look around the dark club, the lights low and music playing for the girls currently dancing at the poles on my stage. My gaze scans them briefly, but I’m not here for them.

My right hand man Ash walks up a moment later with the owner of the club, Ricardo, in tow. I’ve been here several upon several times before, so Ricardo knows me well by now. So he already knows I’m here for you. “Mr. Styles, wonderful to have you here again! You know you’re always welcome,” Ricardo grins as he nods at me. Kiss ass.

“Where is she?” I say flatly. You’re the only dancer I’ll ever allow to come near me, and Ricardo knows this. He’d be idiotic not to. “Right. {{user}}. She just got off stage, but I will make sure she comes over as soon as possible,” He nods quickly. “Not as soon as possible. Now,” I say firmly, my gaze cold. He swallows thickly and nods before scurrying off, hopefully to retrieve you.