Revenge of The Furtive Billionaire Heir by Ryker Helios

50. Crap!

I ask Coraline if she wants to join me in the VVIP section, because the music keeps getting louder and louder, and as the night matures, more and more people keep coming into the bar premises.

But Coraline shakes her head and stands up, “No, Jace, I think I’d love to join the dance floor now,” she comments, and gives me a suggestive look, “wanna join me?”

I take a glance at the packed crowd of sweaty bodies, and try not to grimace, “maybe not tonight, Coraline.”

“Okay,” Coraline doesn’t try to persuade me further. She gives me a soft sort of smile, the same kind my mother used to give me when she thought I was being grumpy but in a cute way. It makes

heart pang my

in my chest.

Coraline bounces off to the dance floor, and I look around until I find the entrance to the VVIP lounge that is situated on the second floor of the bear, probably the area with plush couches and a more private bar that I can see through the railing from even down here through the gap on the second floor. I take out my wallet and try to find the emerald card before realizing that I had left it at the hotel. Cursing myself, I take another, more common card that doesn’t have as much of a credit limit but would be enough for once in the lounge.

I make my way to the entrance and notice a burly man in a waiter’s suit standing next to a podium, looking as if he had bitten into a lime. And just like that, I get a feeling that things are about to not go according to the plan. For a moment, I wonder if I should just turn tail and leave for the public bar. After all, Lemon is there, and he is polite and sociable. And at least a bit familiar.

Or maybe I am overreacting. There’s only one way to find out.

I wall about to the burly man and give him my most charming smile.

this is the VVIP lounge. Can I get a temporary membership for the

like that, the burly dude’s eyes narrow. He scans my being with the painstakingly familiar air of judge mentality.

muse to myself, here we

kid, like I

reply with much sincerity as I can

here, maybe dared by your frat friends because it’s so cool to make yourself a nuisance to good, hard working folk, and demand entry to the lounge and then will proceed to trash the place with your friends who should not be allowed on the streets, much less in bars. And every time that happens, I will have to answer to the boss on why, yet another set of wine glasses have been broken and why there were cops in here again

the tirade. The rant has so much feeling to it that it takes me a while

through, and frankly, that sounds like a lot, and I am so sorry that you have been inconvenienced by frat boys before,” I

say because

up wearing. I mean, sure they were a little on the rough side, but they were perfectly wearable, and because of my childhood I did not have the good conscience to give up on clothes unless they were totally unwearable. I probably should change my attitude now that I live with my father under his shadow. But my clothes felt like apart of my identity that I still had to surrender to my father’s legacy. My whole life felt

I attended, and my

“As I said before, I’m not a frat boy, and I can pay my way in.”

Maybe I should just walk away. But the gleam in eyes is so challenging, and I find myself unable to back down from a challenge. The earlier jitteriness makes itself known in my being. I feel

want to make rent,” the burly man grouses, “and you want me to believe

fee?” I ask.

above your paygrade.”

to

say, “and is this the way you treat

is not the way I treat my ‘paying’ customers. This is the way I treat hooligans coming here to waste my time.” He sneers, “so go on, beat it.”