“God no. It was a huge failure,” he admitted with a self-deprecating head shake. “I was just a partner on that venture. It was the other guy’s vision and plans. And they weren’t good. That said, when it had been open for two months, I offered to give him back my portion of the club. He was still naive enough to think he’d have long-term success, so he agreed. I had my initial investment back, plus almost half. I used that to invest in another club. So on and so forth.”

“Did that club fail?”

“Miserably. Within two years, he’d leveraged his house to keep it going. But was still at risk of losing both.”

“That sucks.”

“Eh. I bought him out,” I said, shrugging. “He got to go home and lick his wounds. I got to turn the club into what I knew it could have been all along. It’s still going strong a decade later. It’s had a few facelifts and a name change over the years, but it keeps going strong. That one has a lot of sentimental value.”

“What’s it called?” I suddenly had a need to go home, go online, and find out everything I could about it.

“The original club—under the old owner—was The Vaulted Room. When I opened, I did it without the The. Now, it’s simply The Vault.”

I committed that to memory as I had another sip of the champagne, deciding that I was maybe a champagne girl after all. The bubbles were kind of fun, tickling my face as I drank, dancing on my tongue…

Uh oh.

I was already a little tipsy.

“You okay?” Soren asked.

“Yep,” I said, popping the p. “Where’s the bathroom around here?” I asked.

Soren lifted a hand and pointed halfway down the club.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, sliding out of the booth, feeling a rush of cool air over me when I wasn’t so cozied up with him.

I wobbled on my heels a bit as I tried to move through the crush of the crowd, getting stopped twice by men who wanted to dance.

“Fuck off.” It was my usual refrain. And depending on the guy, it was either met with shocked embarrassment or egotistical outrage. Neither of them would make me spare them another second of my life.

I made it to the bathroom without having to wait in a line, going inside to wet a paper towel and wiping the back of my neck, chest, and cheeks with it.

“Girl, I’d need a cool shower if I were on a date with a man like that too,” the girl washing her hands beside me said, all glittery red hair and matching eyeshadow.

“He’s not my date. We’re business partners.”

“Yeah? Never had a business partner of mine look at me like that.”