Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
A large, fluffy stack of white towels stands beside a sink on a pedestal.
And there are lockers — thick gray ones with numbered locks.
At the back, there’s a small sauna behind frosted glass and a set of showers. Some people come to Bella Notte for a session, and some come for a longer stay, it seems.
In the far right of the locker room, embossed silver plates proclaim Staff Only in bold letters. I won’t find what I’m looking for there. In fact, I’ve just about given up hope that I’m going to find what I’m looking for at all, when I notice a white wicker basket in between two oval sinks in the main floor area.
Yes.
Women that come to Bella Notte have each other’s backs.
I can only hope… Breath mints. A mini sewing kit. Travel-sized packs of pain meds. And there, nestled straight in the center, exactly what I’m looking for. I smile to myself.
When I return to the bar area, it seems darker than usual. It’s strange how of all places, the bar seems to be the most central location of all. That’s probably why the Montavios have their meetings here. Whereas the kitchen and private rooms lie beyond the bar area, the heart and soul of the club is here.
Interesting. One would see most of the action right here in this room.
And right here, at the bar, is where the stack of boxes fell. Curious, I take a step toward the bar.
I’ve never really looked behind a bar before. I mean, I’ve hardly looked at the front of a bar before either.
Gorgeous liquor bottles of all shapes and sizes stand like soldiers at attention, ready to serve. Neatly arranged on shelves, there’s anything one could want. Whiskeys and spirits, liqueurs and wines. Closer to the countertops are a variety of mixers — fruit syrups and sours, soda and soda water.
A long shelf of bar tools gleams under the overhead lighting, and shining glassware sparkles.
There’s a mini fridge and a cash register, and a large stack of clean bar mops.
Interesting.
Below the register is a large red button. A call button, I’d assume, for the bartenders to use in case of emergency. I wonder where it rings. But I don’t see anything suspicious or out of place, or anything that might give me reason to believe that someone was here at the bar and caused the boxes to fall.
As I turn away, a small white triangle catches my attention. I bend down. It looks like the corner of something stuck under the counter beneath the register. I tug. It doesn’t budge.
“There you are.”
I squeal and leap back in surprise when Timeo leans over the bar. “I’ll take a whiskey, neat,” he says in a mocking, husky voice, like some kind of gangster in a movie.
I snort. “Oh, cute, and not at all stereotypical. But this appears to be a self-service bar, you know. Don’t let my apron fool you.”
I finger what I found in the locker room, tucked into my pocket, and swallow.
My heart beats faster.
“Tired, baby?” Timeo asks, reaching for my hand.
No, not with the amount of adrenaline surging through me right about now.
I stifle a yawn. “Yeah, we should go to bed.”
“We got cell service back,” Timeo says, handing me my phone. My pulse races when I see the notifications on my screen. I scan the first few, and my hopes are dashed.
That live video posted alright. It had to.
“Those hands! OMG I would die to see all of himmmm!”
“I know you two are so super super hot!”
“OMG you’re back!”
“Noooo.” I slump against the bar and delete the live video, but I know it’s too late. Who knows how many people saw this before I deleted it? Actually, a quick scan of the data will tell me exactly how many, but I don’t want to know.
God.
“It posted,” I say on a moan. “And they’re all fangirling over you.” I feel so exposed, like my privacy’s been violated.
Timeo scowls. “And this is why you’re shutting it down.”
“I did, I already deleted it.” I’m a little annoyed he didn’t know I’d do that immediately.
“No, Starla. Not the video.” I look up from my phone. “All of it.”
I stare at him, my jaw unhinged. “Are you serious right now?”
“Of course I am.”
“Listen, Timeo,” I begin, shaking my head. “Just because some girls think you’re hot—”
“Jesus, Starla.” I snap my mouth shut. I hate when people interrupt me. It’s so rude. “Not because they’re fangirling over me or whatever the fuck. You know it’s not safe.”
“Do I?”
His eyes flash at mine and he takes a step closer to me. I stand my ground.
“If it was safe, why haven’t you put your face online?”
I have, but it was an accident, and this might not be the best time to share that.
“For privacy, obviously.”
“Exactly. For privacy, because keeping your privacy keeps you safe. You know what’s even safer? No online presence. No posts that people can track or identify in any way.” I always know when Timeo’s getting angry or losing his patience because he does this thing where he presses his lips together, his shoulders square, and his breathing intensifies.