Sugar Daddy Season (ONC 2024)

Chapter 4.5 ~ ENZO

              There isn't much that scares me. In my fifty years, I've dealt with a fair amount of bullshit that has shaped me into the businessman I am today. My father passed away when I was eight from a drive-by shooting, which I witnessed. Everyone claimed he was a victim of mistaken identity, but ten years later, my mom's little brother was tossed into the slammer under a RICO charge for racketeering.

That's when I learned my uncle Sammy wasn't just my young, fun-loving uncle. No, to the public, he was the Italian mafioso Sammy Blue Eyes Costello—a criminal, and if my father hadn't been killed, he would have been thrown in prison with him.

So, with that kind of family history, nothing scares me.

That is until I see her.

It's another busy night at Penthouse nightclub, but I spot her instantly. A sharp breath expands in my lungs, and it's as if the strobe lights pause from flickering, the fog machines dissolve, and the music halts, all for that brief moment when her head turns my way. I have to exhale slowly while gripping the railing.

She must be new.

The flashing lights resume their tempo and tease me as they cartwheel across her tanned limbs, making her movements appear fluid like a ballerina on stage.

My heart is beating so fast that I might need to sit down.

I need to find out who she is.

"This place is amazing," my client says, and I have to snap out of gazing at the tiny dancer in the VIP section.

"Thursdays are their themed nights," I shout over the loud music in the club. "Tonight is Welcome to the Jungle."

"And what a welcoming it is..." my other client says, practically licking his lips while sizing up a waitress who walks by with a tray of shots.

"I've always heard what a marvelous place Penthouse is," another one says, "But descriptions don't do it justice. This place is a dream!"

However, it's far from it for me. I'm too old for nightclubs, but my clients like coming here after business dinners. They feel like celebrities, and love how aspiring models throw themselves at them to gain entrance to the VIP section, which is where we're heading.

But I'd rather be at home, sipping cognac in my sweats.

Two bouncers escort us to our reserved booth upstairs. They hold their arms out to create a wide birth, so we don't have to bump shoulders with sweaty patrons. As we weave through the crowd, my tiny dancer is like a beacon, guiding my feet, and luring me closer.

I adjust my tie.

It's been a while since a woman has made it hard to breathe, and I usually don't notice someone as young as her, but there's something about the way she dances. It's the smile curling the edges of her mouth while she sways her hips with eyes closed as if no one else is in the room—as if melodies were invented for her rhythm.

We reach our table and I hand each bouncer a couple of hundreds for their trouble. The staff likes me here because of how generous I am with tipping them even when it's not necessary, but I make damn good money and don't plan on taking it to my grave, so might as well spread it around to brighten someone's day.

A waitress comes around to serve us. She's beautiful and attentive, but I wish it was the tiny dancer taking my drink order. Then I'd be able to stare into her eyes which glint like tree sap on a warm summer day. She could also save me from the aspiring model trying too hard to figure out how rich I am.

"So when you travel for work, is it in a private jet?" she asks, her eyes beaming with dollar signs.

"Yes," I say, then return my gaze to the tiny dancer.

"I bet you stay in the best hotels, too."

"I do."

"What's the most expensive one you've stayed in?" She smooths her hand across my thigh, and I don't like how friendly she's being. We just met.

"Uh... the Palm something," I mutter and have to bite back a smile because the tiny dancer has noticed me. "It's in Key West."

"Maybe you can take me there sometime."

"I went for business. So, it was a quick trip."

"Well, if you bring me along, we can turn business into pleasure." The model grins and inches her hand closer to my groin.

Five years ago, I would have whisked her back to my apartment for a night she could gush to her friends about, but it's an empty life that I no longer want. I was newly divorced and fucking my way through women, like a revenge mission against my ex to prove how happy I was without her.

The reality is, I was sad, and lonely thanks to her betrayal.

"I wish my schedule allowed for pleasure," I say, and steal another glance at the tiny dancer. "My trips are always quick. Sometimes I'm only there for a few hours."

"You know..." The model leans in, and purrs in my ear. "Private jets make joining the mile-high club pretty easy."

"True, but I like to catch up on sleep during flights."

She exhales a breath and judging by its ragged sound, she's growing frustrated with me not giving in to her advances. If only she could see how desperate she looks, throwing herself at an old stranger like me. But I suppose when that stranger is rich and has connections, it doesn't matter how old they are. She views me as a stepping stone to something greater.

I snap back to our conversation with a headshake. "Ashley, was it?"

"Leslie..." She frowns.

"Will you excuse me?"

Stepping away from the table, I brush the sides of my hair, making sure it's still presentable after a long day. I have no idea what I'll say or do when I approach the tiny dancer, but I had to get away from the desperation of that model throwing herself at me.

Plus... I want to learn the tiny dancer's name.

She must be a college student who dances here to pay for tuition because I can't imagine someone who moves elegantly like her wanting to build a career at Penthouse. Perhaps she's a swimmer, and that's why she glides like a mermaid in the sea.

There's only one way to find out...