Scoundrels & Scotch (Top Shelf Book 3) Read online

  Victor Drayton wasn’t as scary as some of the other managing members like the assassin Harley Crow who also owned part of the club, but Victor had a mystery about him. The tales that surrounded his dolls frightened me almost as much as a man who killed. Chilling and creepy rumors swirled around his Drayton’s Dolls and The Dollhouse they lived in. I both wanted to know all about them, but at the same time, keep as far away from what could very well be a nightmare if I learned too much.

  “Miss Adams,” Victor began when everyone left the room other than Tennessee and me. “I have a proposal for you.”

  “A proposal?”

  Victor didn’t sit down, but instead crossed his arms against his chest and appeared as if he were studying my every move. “I’m here to offer you a job.”

  “A job?”

  “To become a Drayton Doll.”

  “A doll? For your art exhibits?”

  “Stop replying with a question that doesn’t really require an answer,” Victor snapped. “It’s a sign of weakness. I abhor weakness in women. Instead, what you should do is sit there, listen, and process the proposal I am about to set forth.”

  His biting words sent my head spinning. The man had never spoken to me other than a quick order of a scotch, so I had no idea he could be so direct and formal in his manner. It certainly matched his perfectly pressed suit and perfect at all times appearance. I was about to open my mouth and apologize, but decided it best to do exactly as he’d just directed: sit, listen, and process.

  Victor’s jaw flexed and his eyes narrowed. But in a calm voice, he continued. “As I was saying. Though you clearly broke one of the main rules at Spiked Roses, your work history here has been exceptional. You haven’t missed a day of work, nor shown up late. I value punctuality and hard work in my employees. Your drug use is something we can, and will, address at another time, but I believe you could be a valuable asset to The Dollhouse.”

  He paused long enough that I almost responded with “The Dollhouse?” but swallowed back the words instead, realizing that I’d be responding with a question that didn’t require an answer. Did I always do that? No one had ever brought it to my attention before, but then I had never been sitting across from a man like Victor Drayton before either.

  I glanced at Tennessee who was watching Victor with some skepticism on his face. I wished he’d be the one to speak up and do the talking for me, but I also knew it wasn’t his responsibility, nor did it really concern him at all. Tennessee was no longer my direct supervisor, now that I’d fucked up and had been fired. I hadn’t even had a chance to come to the reality that a man I had actually grown to like wasn’t going to be in my life any longer. I truly was going to miss Tennessee. He was one of a kind.

  Victor continued. “If you accept my offer, you’ll be expected to move into The Dollhouse and begin training immediately. I have exhibits lined up for the next several months in Milan, Berlin, Dubai and a very large one scheduled in Japan in two months that I’ll need every one of my dolls ready for. I have some of the best choreographers starting now with the other dolls, but you won’t be too far behind if we get you there immediately. While you are a doll in training, you’ll get a small but fair salary as well as all cost of living expenses paid. Where the real money comes in is in the actual exhibits. Bonuses are issued for the more intense pieces, but they are also harder to be cast in. The real bonus, however, is paid once your employment has concluded. Once a doll has vested three years with me, I will fund the future of their choice. What that means is that once you have successfully worked as a Drayton Doll, I will pay for your college education, or invest in a startup business, or whatever your future dream is. Just recently, I invested in a clothing line for a doll who had the dream of someday becoming a fashion designer, so it doesn’t necessarily have to revolve around education if that isn’t truly your dream.”

  Was the man serious?

  Did he really just offer me a job that not only paid me, housed me, but also would pay for me to do whatever I wanted in the future once I’d three years vested with him? Could this all really be true? I had just seen the dolls here at Spiked Roses for a recent Tasting they’d participated in, and all I’d seen were women dressed up in ruffled dresses, shiny shoes, hair in bows, and such extremely large eyelashes that I’d wondered how they were able to even keep their eyes open while wearing them. I’d had no idea that these same dolls were all doing the job for a bigger reason. College, career, and a chance at a real future is what they all had to look forward to. Mr. Drayton was offering them their dreams, when I’d thought they were living a nightmare.

  “So, what I am offering you is a chance to become a Drayton Doll. You’ll be expected to make arrangements and arrive at The Dollhouse by this time tomorrow. In fact, I’ll personally escort you myself.” He paused and studied me for several moments as if he could actually read my thoughts. “This deal is on the table right now and only right now. You will make a decision here and now, and this is the only time I’ll be offering it. Do you have any questions first?”

  “You mentioned choreographers. Will I be expected to dance?” I couldn’t dance at all. Not even if the choreographer was a magician would I be able to. I was embarrassingly uncoordinated, and the fact that I could even carry a tray of drinks while balancing on five-inch heels, was a feat within itself. But I definitely wasn’t going to admit that fact to him and risk losing a second job in one evening.

  “Yes, for the Japan exhibit there will be considerable dancing required. For the others, they are more about how to move your body to the synchronized positions needed for the theme of each of my art shows.” Victor walked over to the door and opened it. “Can you bring in my hiring packet?” he said to whom I assumed was the secretary waiting outside the door. He walked back to where he’d been standing as the secretary placed a manila folder in front of me. “Go ahead and look over the compensation, the bonus structure, the rules, etc. Also, complete the W2 and all the necessary hiring paperwork and bring it back here with you tomorrow. Be at Spiked Roses at 8:00 pm ready to go to The Dollhouse.”

  “So I will be living there? For the three years to vest?”

  He nodded. “As long as you are a Drayton Doll, then, yes. You’ll be living there.”

  I opened the file and flipped through all the papers, recognizing they appeared as any other paperwork for a regular job on the surface, but I also knew that there were many shadows lurking beneath the business facade. As tempting as the job sounded, I wasn’t so naïve not to know there were some downsides as well. The rumors of The Dollhouse didn’t come out of nowhere. I was positive there was at least some merit to what was being said.

  “Do you accept the offer to become a Drayton Doll?” Victor asked.

  Ignoring all warnings going off in my psyche, I nodded. “Yes, thank you. I do.” I didn’t really have much to lose at this point, and I didn’t exactly have a lot of options either.

  “Well then, you have less than 24 hours to get your affairs in order. Once you move into The Dollhouse, you will not be permitted to leave until off-property privileges are earned. That will take time and hard work. So make sure you get everything taken care of now. Let your friends and family know you will not be reachable for awhile unless there is an emergency.”

  I nodded as he walked toward the door to leave.

  “Mr. Drayton,” I said before he exited fully.

  He paused in the doorway with his back to me.

  “Thank you. I promise that I won’t let you down. I won’t fail,” I said.

  “You will soon learn that for Drayton’s Dolls, failure is no longer an option.” He walked out the door without looking at me or saying another word.

  2

  Ivy

  I remembered when I was first hired at Spiked Roses, that the story behind the club was what had fascinated me the most. The fact that a serial killer back in 1892 had killed twenty-two women by stabbing them with a stake and buried their bodies beneath the building that now hous
ed the club, intrigued me. But the fact that the killer had buried the women in black plastic bags with roses to help conceal the smell of their rotting flesh is what really stayed with me. So morbid and monstrous. So sad that those poor souls didn’t receive aboveground tombs like most every other person did in New Orleans due to the water table. Those poor women were left to decompose and become something putrid and disgusting. Their beauty wiped out by one man.

  I had appreciated that the owners of the club had embraced this part of the history rather than trying to hide it. So much so, that they named the club after the terrifying tale. I liked how there never seemed to be secrets at the club. The men were who they were. They didn’t hide the fact that they were rich, ruthless, dark, twisted, and had the power and resources to do whatever they chose.

  Unlike how I was brought up, there was no shame in being sexual and open with your true desires. The Tasting Room in the club and the Tastings were proof of that. Sexual play and kinks were welcomed with open arms and even encouraged. Shame was not something anyone who worked in this place ever felt.

  Until tonight.

  I felt so much shame as I walked into the staff room with Tennessee to dress back in my regular clothing, collect my belongings, and never come back again. All because of those damn pills.

  “Are you sure about this?” Tennessee asked. “You really want to be a Drayton Doll?”

  “I don’t really have much of a choice.”

  “You always have a choice. There are waitress gigs all up and down Bourbon Street. I’ll give you a good reference.”

  “But they don’t pay like the money I’m used to. Spiked Roses has spoiled me. I have a lot of expenses,” I said as I began changing back into my regular clothes so I could give my uniform back to Tennessee.

  “Well, if you stop doing drugs, you might find you have more money. Snorting all your money isn’t wise financial planning, sugar.”

  “I don’t! I know it looks bad. But I don’t spend my money on drugs. Or at least not the way you think.” I knew I didn’t have to explain my situation to Tennessee because he was one of the few people in this world who truly wouldn’t judge me, but I still wanted to leave with my head as high as I could have it. “I send almost all my earnings back home to my sister. She’s in Mississippi taking care of my father. He has alcohol-induced dementia and can’t be left home alone. His health is in awful condition, he had no savings before he got really sick, no insurance, no anything. My sister is just as bad on the money side, but at least she’s able to stay with him full-time. So, I pay for everything. Their housing, their food, their medical bills… everything.” I released a big sigh as I pulled on my jeans.

  “That’s a big burden for you to carry. For anyone to carry.”

  Shrugging my shoulders, I took a make-up remover wipe and began washing off the thick dark eye shadow I had applied when I thought I would be serving drinks in my tight little leather leotard and black fishnet stockings. “Just the way things worked out. Someone has to. And honestly, I would rather provide the money than provide the care like my sister. At least this way, I don’t have to live in a double-wide taking my dad’s physical and verbal abuse like my sister feels she has to. I have the better end of the deal if you ask me.”

  “Those are some shitty cards you have, girlfriend.”

  “And as for the drugs, I take downers to quiet my mind sometimes. Not for pleasure or anything like that. My senses get out of whack sometimes.”

  “Senses?” Tennessee seemed genuinely curious.

  “I’ve always been this way. I smell things more intensely than others. I hear things you might not, like the dull buzz in a fluorescent light. My skin sometimes hurts. Like everything that touches me is too much. Almost like tiny little pins stabbing me. My heart beats really hard, and my ears ring.”

  Tennessee rolled his eyes. “Girl, are you telling me you have superhuman powers? You one of those X-Men people? Come on. You have some anxiety just like a bunch of others. But you got caught popping pills, and whatever reason you chose to take them, is your story. You don’t have to explain to me. I get it. Sometimes it’s easier to numb the pain with a little help. You aren’t the first one to do drugs, nor the last.”

  “I’m not saying I have superpowers. Just that all my senses sometimes go on overdrive. I guess you could call it anxiety, but it doesn’t really feel like that. It just feels like everything is coming at me really fast and my senses are overcompensating. And when that happens, I choose the easy way out, I guess, and numb it as you said.”

  “I get it.”

  “But it fucking sucks!” I said as I packed my bag by grabbing my deodorant, makeup, and little odds and ends that I kept in the staff room. “I lost the best damn job I ever had.”

  “Are you sure you really want to take the job you just took?” Tennessee asked. “You know the stories of those dolls. There is some kinky shit that goes down in that house of Victor’s. I heard he keeps the dolls dressed in dresses, ruffles, lace, those big ass eyelashes, and ribbons twenty-four-seven. You have to act like a doll all the time.”

  “Yeah, I also heard they all have to wear dildos up their asses while doing the shows,” I said as I shook my head in disbelief.

  Tennessee chuckled. “And you just agreed to that!” He laughed even louder. “I mean, talk about taking one for the team. Are you really sure the pay is worth it?”

  “Did you hear the man back there?” I asked. “After three years, he makes whatever dreams you have come true. Your future is set. How could I say no to that? Even if I have to have a big dildo up my bum for three years straight, I really do think it would be worth it.”

  “And what’s your dream?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I never thought I had the luxury of having one before tonight. I was just a trailer park kid raised by a drunk single father.” I picked up my duffle bag and slung it over my shoulder. “But I have three years to come up with a good one.”

  “You better. Don’t waste this opportunity.”

  I handed my uniform to Tennessee as well as my time card. “I’m going to miss you.”

  “Don’t get all mushy on me. Our paths will cross again.” Tennessee took everything that belonged to Spiked Roses and pulled me into a hug. “Now don’t you do anything you are uncomfortable with. Victor is a good man, and won’t hurt you, but some of that shit over there is going to be weird as fuck. So you stand up for yourself if it becomes too much.”

  I nodded as I walked toward the door. “I will.” I smiled. “And the good news is that I’ll get to travel around the world. All his showings are in galleries in parts of the world I’ve never been. So, if I have to be the token white trash broken doll someone bought on clearance at the discount store to travel to exotic places, so be it.”

  As I walked out the door, Tennessee called out, “Ivy!”

  I stopped and looked over my shoulder, expecting a deep and meaningful farewell that would have me bursting into tears.

  “Be sure to use lots of lube!” he called out as his loud bellowing laugh followed.

  Fucker. Classic Tennessee Charles. God, I was going to miss the asshole.

  3

  Victor

  Glancing down at my watch, I clenched my teeth in annoyance. Ivy had exactly five minutes until 8:00 pm, and then she would be late. I detested late people. My father—a general in the U.S. Army—used to say that being late meant that you considered your time was more valuable than someone else’s. And though I didn’t agree with many of my father’s beliefs, that was definitely one I did. In fact, I took it one step further. I believed that if you weren’t ten minutes early—especially to an interview—then you might as well be late. Punctuality was crucial to order. Order was crucial to success. Success was crucial to my way of life.

  I took the last sip of my scotch, and got up, ready to leave. I wouldn’t be taking Ivy Adams to The Dollhouse after all. But right as the clock struck 8:00, Ivy came running up to me, breathless and frazzle
d. Her chestnut hair appeared as if she had journeyed through a tropical storm, and her plump lips were in desperate need of a moisturizing lip-gloss. My hair and makeup people at The Dollhouse were going to have a field day with her. There was nothing uniformed and structured about the wild woman breathing heavily before me.

  “Sorry,” she said on exhale. “It took me longer than I thought to get everything packed up and cleaned. I didn’t want to leave Marie St. Claire with a mess. It was important to me that she could rent my room without requiring effort on her part.” She glanced at her phone and smiled. “But I made it.”

  I wasn’t amused.

  Not in the slightest.

  I wasn’t sure if it was because I was so used to the dolls always being immaculately put together, or if it was my militant father and my upbringing as a general’s son, but the woman standing in front of me worked my last nerve. She was wild, unstable, scattered, and just plain sloppy. Her jeans weren’t pressed, and in my opinion, were too large on her. The white tank top she wore revealed a hot pink bra underneath. I could see the faint pink tone beneath the ribbed fabric of her shirt. Plus, the bra straps were hanging on the edges of her shoulders, and from what I could see from the ragged edges, the bra had seen better days. This woman before me was about as far from one of my dolls in appearance as one could be.

  “First rule with me,” I began as I stood and adjusted my suit jacket, “if you are not ten minutes early, then I consider you late.”

  Her green eyes widened. “You said eight. I got here right on time.”

  “Second rule. Listen, pause, and then react. You didn’t listen to me and pause, but instead you simply reacted.” I took the napkin my glass was on and wiped down the small table I sat at. “I said that if you are not ten minutes early, you are late. Therefore, eight was late.” I pulled out my wallet and placed a twenty-dollar bill on the table as a tip for my drink. “Had you been here one minute later, I would have left without you, and you would have just cost yourself two jobs in two days.” I glanced down at her feet and noticed she didn’t have any bags or luggage. “Where are your belongings?”