The Billionaire's Allure (The Silver Cross Club Book 5) by Bec Linder Page A

blowing me off,” he said. “I have no other way to get in touch with you, you realize.”
    “That’s the idea,” I snapped. “I told you I’m not going with you, and that’s final.”
    “Sir, if you’re harassing my employees, I won’t hesitate to get the authorities involved,” Germaine said.
    Good old Germaine. She was so cool and formal that it was easy to forget how fierce she could be when trouble threatened. “Thanks, Germaine,” I said. “It’s not that kind of problem, though. Max is harmless. Just annoying.”
    His mouth quirked. He didn’t like being referred to as harmless . That was his problem, not mine. I was so angry with him for coming to the club again and trying to get me embroiled in his latest Great Adventure. What a presumptuous jerk. His own interests took precedence over everyone else’s. His desire to find Renzo trumped my need to keep my job and live my quiet, safe, and uneventful life.
    “Please deal with this, Beth,” Germaine said. “I understand that you don’t want him here, but this needs to stop.”
    My face went hot with shame. Germaine was right. I hadn’t been firm enough with Max. I needed to put my foot down once and for all. “Okay,” I said. “Sorry, Germaine. I’ll talk to him right now.” I crossed the room to where Max was standing and seized the elbow of his jacket. I gave a sharp tug and said, “You need to come with me.”
    “For the record,” he said, “I’m not obeying you, but I am terrified of that woman, so I’ll go quietly.”
    “I would hope so,” Germaine said, cold as ice.
    With a final apologetic smile to Germaine, I towed Max out of the room.
    Then I stopped, trying to think of where to take him. Not the locker room—too many listening ears. Not outside, where anyone could see us. It was still early—I could take him to one of the private rooms, where the dancers entertained their clients. It would be a little weird to yell at Max in a room with a huge bed and a soaking tub, and I was sure he would make some inappropriate comments about the nature of our interaction, but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make to get him to leave me alone for good.
    Decision made, I dragged him down the hallway toward the smallest and least frequented room, where we wouldn’t be disturbed. I tapped on the door to be sure nobody was inside, and when there was no answer, I flung the door open and hauled Max inside.
    He had been very agreeable thus far, willingly following behind me even though I wasn’t strong enough to move him by force, but now he shook me off and took a few steps into the room, looking around at the bed and overstuffed chaise longue and the shockingly explicit paintings on the walls. “Wow,” he said.
    “I told you it wasn’t just a strip club,” I said, a little embarrassed. I didn’t come in these rooms much, and I had forgotten how obvious their purpose was. Nobody could mistake this room for anything other than what it was: a place for sex to be exchanged like coins passed from hand to hand. The red satin sheets, the abundant throw pillows, even the soft, thick-piled carpet—it all spoke of sensuality and decadence.
    “Ms. Patterson, are you trying to seduce me?” Max asked.
    “Stop,” I said, raising my palms to my overheated cheeks. Bringing him here was obviously a mistake, but it was too late to back down now. If I took him somewhere else, he would know how flustered and uncertain I felt, and that would give him the upper hand. “It’s quiet here. We can—I can yell at you in peace.”
    “And then after you’ve gotten it out of your system, you’ll agree to go to San Francisco with me,” Max said.
    His unshakable confidence infuriated me. He was so convinced that I would give in and do exactly what he wanted. Well, I wouldn’t . I was my own person. I had a life, a good, careful life, that didn’t involve him at all. He had no right to resurrect himself after eight years and expect me to drop