Losing Control (Kerr Chronicles #1)(39)
Author: Jen Frederick

“‘About time you realized that.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing because I don’t want him to know he has yet again gotten the last word in.

Chapter 20

THE AQUARIUM IS SO NAMED because it’s full of water, blue walls, and blue light. There is so much glass and mirror used on the walls and even the floor of the second level that it seems like you are in a fishbowl. The entire place is painted blue, from the floors in deep midnight to a varying gradient on the walls. Even the lights are tinted blue, giving an under-the-sea feel to the space. The main floor has a circular bar centered around a real aquarium with . . . are those sharks in there?

Once I see the second floor, I understand why Ian picked out shorts for me to wear. Above us the floor is made of alternating tiles of clear and blue glass, about four feet square, and by looking upward you can see straight up the skirts of some of the female club-goers.

Around the sides of the room on the second level are people sitting in glassed-in plunge pools lit from underneath, like square mini hot tubs. Most of the pools are filled with women who appear to have stripped down to their underwear, although there are a few males in them too. There are butts and boobs pressed against the glass—and in at least one, there’s a couple simulating a sex act. At least I think it’s a simulation. I nearly break my neck staring as I pass. It’s an exhibitionist dream, and I’m very glad I’m wearing shorts as I walk up the stairs past a formidable bouncer clad in a navy blue T-shirt with the word “Aquarium” stenciled in white across his massive chest.

The VIP area is a small balcony on the second floor that overlooks the first level dance floor and has a bird’s-eye view of the hot tubs. As far as I can tell, access to the upper deck is communicated through a series of nods and hand slaps because Ian simply lifts his chin to the bouncer who moves aside to allow us access.

Up here I can see that there are bleachers set up next to the pools and people are lounging in bathrobes or on towels. There are a couple of well-known actors and athletes who I recognize. The other beautiful people must be moneyed or famous or—as a slender reed of a woman walks by—arm candy like me.

“This is the weirdest place,” I tell Ian.

“New Yorkers get bored easily,” he replies. “You constantly have to come up with something new and seemingly innovative, and these days, the more risqué the better. It’s frowned upon to wear swimsuit attire here because that’s not considered edgy enough.”

“So I’m wearing the pearl-clutching version of a club-goers outfit?” I ask wryly.

“Given that your legs are hot enough to warrant a visit from the FDNY Ladder 21, I don’t think ‘pearl clutcher’ is apropos.” He drops his hand from my back and I feel it brush my ass as he reaches down to stroke my thigh, but his movements are interrupted when Richard steps into our sight line. Ian’s fingers fall away.

Rich has the look of an Ivy League banker. His hair is expertly cut and lies in a Dead Poet’s Society swoop to the left. I can easily superimpose the regimented striped tie and blue blazer with gold emblem on the pocket. Tonight he’s attired in a well-cut suit, although the shoulders look almost too big for him and I notice that the fabric is shiny, as if it has endured one too many trips to the dry cleaners.

“Ian Kerr, you old dog. You keep ducking my dad’s phone calls. It’s like you don’t want to donate.”

It’s hard to tell if Richard is serious or kidding. Neither Kaga nor Ian gave me any clue as to whether Rich supports his father or is rebelling somehow, but at his age, the north side of forties or older, he should be too old for that shit.

“I’ve given up on donating to politics. Figure it makes more sense to burn it in the fireplace.”

The words exchanged are sharp, but the two smile and slap each other on the back as if they are best buds.

“Who’s this delectably dressed young lady?” Richard’s attention turns to me and I’m surprised that his gaze is warm and friendly rather than predatory. I think I was expecting something totally different. But Kaga did warn me that Rich is charming.

“Victoria Corielli meet Rich Howe. His family is practically one of the original four hundred.”

I hold out my hand but Rich doesn’t shake it. Instead, he pulls it toward his lips as Kaga did. Before he makes contact, Ian slides his large palm over the top of my fingers.

“So it’s that way?” Rich says, one eyebrow quirking up.

“Kissing’s too fancy for me,” I interject, not wanting Ian to get into a pissing match when I’m supposed to be luring in Rich with my non-existent wiles. “Nice to meet you, Rich.”

“Call me Richard. Ian here knows me from way back and still can’t stop using Rich, but I beg you to envision me as something other than a little boy with a beanie and short pants, so Richard.” He offers his hand and I shake. He has a firm, cool shake and if he lingers overlong it’s not so noticeable that it makes me uncomfortable.

Under the bar lights, his hair looks shiny.

“Go for a swim?” I guess.

His smile is impish. “Yes, the pools are irresistible. I heard management over at 1 Oak is upset because some of its exclusive clientele can’t seem to tear themselves away.”

“I’ve never been there,” I admit, but I’m curious. These are bars and clubs that I might have heard about in passing but have never had any interest in visiting, primarily because they would be too expensive and I doubted I could get in.

“It’s an old-school establishment. Still entertaining.” He leans close and in a low voice says, “I’ll take you some time.”

I can’t help but glance at Ian, whose narrowed gaze is focused with laser-like precision on Rich. Ian really dislikes this guy, and he’s suddenly making no attempt to hide it. Discreetly, I step backward onto the tip of his shoe and press down, not too hard but enough to get his attention.

He shakes his head as if he’s woken from a trance. “You look thirsty, Tiny,” he says and walks off before I can respond.

We both watch as Ian saunters away.

“You and Kerr?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

I shrug in what I hope is a coy manner. “We’re friends.”

“He seems off tonight. Did you guys have a bad dinner?”

“No, I think he’s tired. He got back from a business trip.”

“Oh, what about?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t pay much attention.” I know instinctively that Ian would not like for me to share any personal information with Rich, no matter how innocent. “How did you get here, or shouldn’t I ask? All Ian had to do was nod at the bouncer.”