Unofficial Negotiations

Quinn Andre was mad.

He wanted to hit something.

In his years of experience, there'd definitely been situations when unexpected people from work had walked in through the doors of the strip club as members, watching him and then engaging in the private services which promised debauchery and hot sensual pleasure.

But not once had he experienced this kind of shit; having his mask pulled off by not just any worker, but his damn assistant who made his coffee and ran errands... For Pete's sake, this wasn't only unprecedented, but a hell of an unbelievable situation.

Was this intentional? Had someone perhaps tipped her and put her to this?

"Mr. Qui...nn?" In her voice was innocent confusion, her eyes filled with doubt. Great, even she couldn't believe the sight before her. As though that fucking made anything better.

"Why. The. Fuck. Did. You. Do. That?" He asked between gritted teeth, his jaw clenched in rage. His palms were fisted, hot blood rushing through his veins as the urge to swing his fist over the pole came to him.

He stood, putting a distance between them. What the heck was she of all people doing in a high-end strip club looking like... That? The gown had ridden so high to the upper part of her thighs he could see the smooth skin which seemed as fragile as she looked. 

"I...I'm sorry Mr. Quinn. I didn't...didn't know it was you." She was clearly flustered and struggling to keep her eyes open. How much drink had she had? He wondered, pushing his palms into his pockets and pacing the room.

It was somewhat of a funny sight; the uptight Mr. Quinn dressed in nothing but tight leather pants which accentuated his bulge. And by the look of it, he was definitely heavily hung. 

She swallowed hard, attempting to push all thoughts of arousal away. How was he a strip dancer? She slumped into the soft lounge seat, unable to relax as she perched herself to the edge of the seat. She bit her inner cheeks, unsure of what to do.

"Why did you remove the mask? Someone put you up to this? You want to sell a story to the sleazy tabloids?" His tone was hard, devoid of every gentleness and understanding.

She swallowed hard again, unable to think properly with his delectable body in front of her and her mind all over the place. His accusation hurt, and she bit her inner cheeks again till they hurt more than the emotional pain she had experienced all day.

"That's not fair, I didn't know it was you or I wouldn't have..." She stopped, looking down to fiddle with her fingers as liquid started gathering in her eyes. All she'd wanted was to have a good time, but the day had simply chosen to be a mess.

He exhaled heavily, and without a word, headed towards an inner room she hadn't been aware of, while she waited in silence, counting her toenails and trying not to think of how much she had spent that day.

Paying for his services had cost her her last savings, and now it was going to get her fired.

The last thought pulled her a little out of her drunken state, making her aware of the implications of what she had seen. It didn't matter that she hadn't planned it; he would want to fire her, to get her out of his sight.

Bolts of fear rushed through her body, going all to way to her toes. The stilettos were beginning to hurt, and she pulled her legs away from them, wincing in pain as she slowly massaged her feet.

It was then that he returned, dressed in casual ripped jeans and a tank top which did nothing to make him any less.... Yummy. Delicious. 

She licked her lips.

"Eyes on my face, Ms. Lynn." 

Oh, shoot her. With that tone, he was definitely going to talk about getting her fired.

* * *

Clara made a hell of a sight with dishevelled blonde hair and dull green eyes; she had obviously drunk past her limit, Andre observed as he watched his meticulous assistant fight sleep badly. But she wasn't getting any of it, not till she explained to him why she had come to the club.

She was usually organised, a little clumsy, perhaps. But she was the damn best assistant he'd had since taking over the Quinn corporation.

Her file and behaviour over the years had shown that she led quite the boring life, and not once had she given him reason to think otherwise.

Which made her sudden appearance at the club even more suspicious.

He took the seat next to hers, a gesture she was grateful for, because it would have been difficult otherwise pretending not to notice his built body and arresting masculine cologne. He had already noticed that she had been checking him out, which still made her skin redden in embarrassment.

"Full lights." He spoke loud enough for the automated system to recognise his voice, that commanding tone which expected to be obeyed. And it always succeeded; he was a boss both on the stage and at the office. 

"You own this club too, sir?" She blurted out, staring at him through hooded eyes.

Ignoring her question, he started. "I ask the questions, you answer. Got it?"

Fuck, for what reason did her clit tingle at the sound of that commanding tone? What the fuck was wrong with her anyway? She had just got out of a four-year old relationship for goodness sake...

"Yes, sir." She whispered her answer, looking smaller with her hands clasped together. 

"Good. So, this is what you do with your salary huh? All that talk about your car malfunctioning was just so you could save the money for this?" 

Clara Lynn was appalled, and disgusted by his hypocrisy. "Wh..."

"Cat got your tongue? I asked if this is what you do every Friday night?"

Whatever he had been expecting in response, it definitely hadn't been what he had received. She scoffed, staring at him with those eyes which were making efforts to glare at him despite being tired.  

"Even if it's what I do every Friday night, what does that have to do with you huh?"

How dare she talk back to him?

"Ms. Lynn..."

"Are you so great yourself? Do you think you've earned the right to judge me? Aren't you a stripper yourself? What the heck do you think you know about me?"

Something was boosting her courage. Perhaps the repressed anger at everyone who had treated her like a doormat, or maybe it was the alcohol that gave her the courage.

But either way, it felt good expressing herself, something she had neither done at work nor when she had caught Dane in the act.

He stood with a strong desire to do something, but sat almost immediately, realising that the ball wasn't in his court this time.

It was in hers, and even if he fired and blacklisted her, she could still play that ball all she wanted, and destroy everything he had worked for.

His rival companies would be damn elated to buy the information she had. All she had to do was offer it to them.

He stood, again pushing his palms into his pockets. A thought came to him then, a manipulative thought that brought a smirk to the corner of his lips.

There was one card he had, one which had nothing to do with making threat- which was all he wanted to do. He could even win her Queen over with the card. If she had one.

He walked towards the lounge and sat beside her, watching as she tried everything not to roam her eyes through his body.

He knew how magnificently male he was, just as he was aware that she had been attracted to him as soon as he'd opened that door and recovered from the shock of seeing her there. 

He placed his palm on her shoulder, moving closer to her as his fingers slowly swept her tussled hair back in a fashion as seductive as his cologne was. He watched her pupils dilate, and resisted the urge to smile.

"Wh...what are you doing, sir?" Clara's heart was pounding heavily as she posed the question, heat spreading through her body.Her toes curled as his hard breaths permeated through her senses, her lips parting softly. He smiled at her, and her heart seemed to stop.

"You already know my secret. So tell me, Cara, what will it take you to be discreet about this?"

His callused fingers were softly rubbing on her smooth exposed neck, his eyes seductively blue like the oceans and midnight clouds. His voice was deep tenor at the moment, promising nights of explosive pleasure in bed. She squirmed in her seat, staring at him, helplessly.

"Cara, what do you want me to give you?"

Cara? She flushed under the full brightness of the chandelier, biting her lips as various thoughts crossed her mind. She had lost everything in one day, but here was a man who exuded so much power he could restore them all within an hour.

He had everything she craved in her current situation; money, sex, promotion, more money... Sure he couldn't make her broken heart whole again, but only a foolish woman would expect that from a certified playboy.

"What do you want?" His voice was hypnotising, coarsing her to sleep and speak. All at the same time. It was the kind of voice she wanted to fall asleep to...

"Cara?" 

Her eyes started to close, winning against her this time. She tried to speak but couldn't either, suddenly feeling all the alcohol get clogged in her throat.

She fought against it, but it pushed out of her mouth against her will, sprouting gallons of shitty garbage out of her. 

"Oh, shoot me. Damn fucking lucky day." She heard her boss mutter before she ceased to hear or see anything.