“I understand your client wishes to remain anonymous,” said Hirota.

“That’s correct. He appreciates you agreeing to his terms.”

“Yes, well, I haven’t signed anything yet.”

“Of course,” said King, gaze now travelling around the room. He seemed disinterested as he scanned the half-naked women before returning his attention to Hirota. “Nice place. Is it yours?”

Hirota nodded. “A recent purchase. I’ve grown bored of the hospitality industry of late, which is why I’m interested in selling to your client. It will take a couple of years for me to offload the majority of my assets, though. This club is just the beginning. I’m hoping to make my foray into producing pornographic films once I learn the lay of the land.”

I swear to God, I almost spat out my orange juice right then. King showed no outward signs of surprise or judgement, but then again, he rarely did. I, on the other hand, was practically bursting at the seams to make a joke.

You want to get into the porn industry. Is that why you’re wearing a pimp suit?

“Well, I wish you the best of luck with all of your new ventures,” King said, and turned to me. “Alexis, may I have the contracts?”

“Sure,” I replied, and reached for my bag before pulling out a thick folder.

Hirota waved his hands in the air. “No contracts right now. Tonight is for pleasure. Tomorrow we’ll discuss business.” I put the folders back in my bag, and I could sense King’s dissatisfaction. He didn’t want to draw this out any more than he had to. Unfortunately, Hirota seemed determined to do just that.

“Are either of you hungry?” Hirota asked. “We have a spectacular menu here.”

“That’s all right. We both ate at the hotel,” King lied, and I was glad he was just as against eating here as I was.

Hirota didn’t seem bothered, and he began talking about his two sons, and how they were currently learning how to horse ride out on his countryside estate. Chatter filled the table, mostly from Hirota and his men. King seemed on edge, like he’d rather just finish the business they had with one another rather drag things out by being social. Usually he wined and dined his clients, but not this time. Right then I could sense his agitation, like he really wanted just wanted to get things over and done with. It was probably why he kept drinking, and that worried me.

About an hour went by, and most of the men were now paying attention to the woman who had just come on stage for a special performance. A slow, sexy number played through the speakers as she began her striptease. It was right about then that the humour I’d originally found in the situation began to dissipate. At that point I’d seen enough boobs to last me a lifetime.

“I’d much prefer to be looking at you on that stage, wearing nothing but that towel from earlier,” King whispered, and my heart did a somersault. This was the first time he’d commented on the strippers, and it was more a comment about me than them. My chest fluttered and I tried to think of a funny response, but my brain let me down. I knew it was the alcohol that was prompting him to speak so freely.

“I’m tired,” I said. “Would it be all right if I took a taxi back to the hotel?”

King’s eyes flitted back and forth between mine as he studied me closely. It was a long moment before he finally nodded, pulling out his wallet and handing me some money for the trip. My immediate reaction was to tell him it was fine, that I could pay for my own taxi, but then I remembered this was work. He was supposed to be paying. It was so easy to forget the real nature of our relationship sometimes.

I stood and walked out of the club, while Hirota and his men were still fixated on the exotic dancer. It only took me a minute to flag down a taxi. The second I got back to my hotel room, I felt a huge flood of relief. There was something off about King and this trip, but I was completely in the dark as to what it might be. Changing into some boy shorts and a T-shirt, and relieving myself of my bra, I called for room service, then checked out what films were available on pay per view. I settled for a romantic comedy.

My food arrived soon after, a massive bowl of spaghetti carbonara and an equally massive glass of white wine. Now that I was off the clock, I could afford to indulge. About a half-hour into the film, while I lay in bed, sleepy from pasta and wine, a knock sounded from the door adjoining mine and King’s rooms.

“Yeah?” I called.

“Can I come in?” King called back.

I hesitated. Why did he want to come in? I was trying to veg out and relax here, ferchristsakes!

“Uh, sure.”

“Are you decent?”

I glanced down at my PJs. “Kinda.”

“I’m coming in.”

A second later he was in my room, wearing only his shirt and slacks, the suit jacket discarded. The first few buttons on his shirt were undone, and he looked like he’d been running his hands through his hair a few too many times, because it was attractively ruffled. He seemed…stressed, but he didn’t seem drunk. He must have stopped drinking right after I left the club.

A moment passed as he took in the sight of me tucked up in bed, the empty plate and wine glass on the floor and the romantic comedy playing on the flat-screen TV.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting?” he asked. His tired voice held a hint of humour.

I picked up the remote and pressed “pause” on the movie. King dropped down onto a seat, and I rose to a sitting position. I remembered I wasn’t wearing a bra only when his eyes lingered a few too many seconds on my breasts. I said nothing, just raised an eyebrow at his obviousness. With the tiniest grin, he shook his head and looked away.