Chapter 3 Strip club

Asher's POV

“Mr. Sterling, you’ve got that investor meeting in twenty minutes,” Paul, my assistant, reminded me as I glanced through the figures on my desk.

“I know,” I said, not looking up. “Has Bennett confirmed if he’s bringing his legal team?”

“Yes, sir. They informed us yesterday that they were coming along with him today. And they want equity adjusted to forty percent.”

I dropped the pen. “How can he demand forty percent for ten percent of the work? That's not happening.”

Paul didn’t respond as he walked out of my office.

I got up, buttoned my jacket, and walked toward the conference room. My phone buzzed in my pocket but I ignored it. My sister had been disturbing me about the dinner my family was hosting and I had promised I would come.

The dinner was in about two weeks so why was she disturbing me. But I knew better than anyone that if she didn't do these I would not attend. I never did especially after Melina's death. I wasn't a big fan of gatherings but Melina had always been one to drag me along. She always enjoyed socializing.

I walked into the glass-walled room where my team was already seated, and across from them, Peter Bennett, the investor, had that smug grin he always wore. The same one that made me want to walk out each time we meet.

“Asher,” he said, rising for a handshake I didn’t want to give. “Glad you could make time.”

“I always make time for bad deals,” I replied and took my seat.

He chuckled. “No need to be hostile. This is business.”

“Then don’t ask for something that sounds like a robbery.”

My legal advisor gave me a warning look, but I ignored him. I wasn’t in the mood to sugarcoat anything. I had already given them a fair offer. Bennett just wanted more control, and I wasn’t about to hand it over.

The meeting dragged longer than it should have. Peter Bennett kept talking in circles, arguing over the percentage of shares he wanted to own in the proposed merger which frustrated me. I wanted to shut him but kept quiet because he was the best choice among the investors I have seen around.

By the time we wrapped, my jaw was tight. I walked out of the boardroom, ignoring Paul who tried to brief me on my next call. I waved him off. My head was not in it anymore.

I didn’t speak to anyone. I just walked toward the elevator, loosening my tie. When I got into the car, Jacob, my driver nodded at me in the rearview mirror.

“Home, sir?” he asked.

“No. Just drive,” I muttered, sliding into the backseat. “I’ll let you know.”

The door shut behind me and I sank into the seat, tugging at the top button of my shirt. I stared out of the tinted window as the city blurred past.

I pulled out my phone and looked at the date. It had been two years already since Melina died. Her name still sat at the top of my emergency contact list. I thought I would’ve felt something by now but all I can do is still the void she left.

I hadn’t touched another woman since then. I had tried to move on once last year. It was a blind date, Bruce, a business associate insisted on. I left halfway through the dinner. Paid the bill and walked out. I can't even remember the woman’s name.

A lot of women had flirted with me. I had to get the security to throw one out the other day. I don't know how but she sneaked into my office when I wasn't there. Her clit shone directly at me the moment I opened the door. She laid on the sofa in my office almost naked.

I genuinely wonder what motivated these women to throw themselves at men shamelessly. Oh, I forgot. Shame is now a luxury.

None of the ladies I have met felt like Melina. She was everything I never asked for but needed. She made me better. She was there before I made my first million, before the company went global, before the title of billionaire became something I was addressed with.

When she got sick, I didn’t believe it at first. I kept thinking we’d buy more time. I flew in several doctors to get her help. She still died. Just like that.

I never recovered. Not really.

Everyone at the company stopped mentioning her after the first year. Even my closest staff avoided saying her name. Maybe they thought I’d fall apart. Or maybe they figured I already had.

I looked at my reflection in the glass and didn’t recognize the man looking back.

Jacob cleared his throat. “Sir?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve been quiet.”

“Not in the mood for small talk,” I said, my voice low. “Keep driving.”

“Yes, sir

We passed a string of restaurants, then the downtown strip. Bright signs flashed against the car window. Music leaked into the streets from the doors of clubs. People who had nowhere to be tomorrow.

I should’ve told Jacob to take me home but I didn't want to go back to the silent space that reminded so much about my late wife with a pounding head.

Instead, I found myself saying, “Pull over.”

He parked without a word.

I stepped out before I could change my mind. The air outside was cooler than expected. I slipped my hands into my pockets and walked toward the place where I could drown my pain.

A strip club.

I hadn’t been in one in over a decade. Not since before Melina. That life had ended with her.

Inside the club, the lights were low and the music loud. Neon flickered across half-naked dancers, dollar bills, and tired men pretending they weren’t alone.

I found the bar and ordered a whiskey. No ice. I just wanted to feel the burn.

I took a seat by the bar top. Needing quiet inside my own head even if the place around me was loud. Suddenly, the barstool beside me scraped across the floor. I turned slightly to see who drew it out.

My breath hitched in my throat. I was staring wide eyed at the lady who looked like a mini version of Melina. She wore a dress that left very little to imagination. Her blonde hair was flowy cascading down her, almost tempting me to feel the strands. My first glance at her made my cock throb in my pants.

Something I hadn't felt voluntarily since Melina died.

She looked very innocent to be in a place like this. There was mascara smudged under red, swollen eyes. Probably from crying. Her vibe screamed recklessness.

“Again,” she drawled, slamming her empty martini glass on the bar top.

“Did you come with someone?” the bartender asked, his eyes drifting from her face to her exposed tits.

Her behavior was funny to me but I could relate to her pain at the same time. She deserves to lighten up her mind.

She scoffed at the bartender. “Do I look like I need a chaperone?”

Before he could say another word, she turned to me, grabbed my half-finished whiskey without asking, and knocked it back.

Feisty? I loved her already.