Preview of Chapter 43.

(Unnamed Club)

Drilling and hammering are not sounds someone wants to hear after only having a minimum of two hours of sleep. But that is what Felicia has to deal with early in the morning by herself after letting her redheaded romantic/business partner get home for some sleep after the day she had. 

She sits in her office that is now finished, overlooking the construction being done down below. Mary Jane insisted that they needed to keep an eye on the project, wanting to make sure that the club will open on schedule. But they have yet to send out promotions or even come up with a name for the place. But MJ says her name and several VIP she’ll invite will be enough to get this place off to a good start. And as for the name, well that is still tricky. 

But then again, who could focus on business after a night like they had. Having her best friend/boyfriend’s ex come back to life will take a toll on you. Especially when it’s late at night after having a date that started out good but ended badly. And that’s not even considering the weird factor of said best friend being a host to a cosmic power that is sentient.

Yeah, this is her life now. And it all started when she said yes to being involved with Peter in an unorthodox relationship. 

Felicia lets her eyes drift back around to the club. The place is coming together nicely, angled light slats across poured concrete, the dust glittering when the crew drags canvas tarps. Felicia leans on the rail of the office mezzanine and lets herself be critical. The dance floor’s cured—good sheen, no puddling at the center. The lighting rig finally has her sightlines; she can already see the way a slow strobe will cut the room into slices. Banquettes stitched and bolted; two are a hair crooked. She’ll make someone fix that. The back bar is almost there, mirrors in and the shelving floating like little stages. Draft lines snake from a belly of chrome that’ll keep men in ugly suits happy while their dates pretend they didn’t come for the DJ.

Good bones. Close enough she can taste it. Close enough to make her stomach tight with a nervous kind of pride she does not admit to anyone.

She sips lukewarm coffee and glances down through the one-way glass. The crew moves around ladders and shop-vacs, foreman barking in Spanish between mouthfuls of stale donut. A flash of silver cuts through the worksite movement below. Not chrome. Hair. The posture is unmistakable—back straight, steps measured, the way the room seems to adjust around someone who carries weapons even when she doesn’t.

Felicia tuts under her breath. Of all the people she expected to wander into her half-born club on too-little sleep. She hits the office door and steps out onto the mezzanine, palms on the cool steel rail.

“We’re closed,” she calls down.

Silver looks up, that slate gaze finding her immediately. No flinch, no apology. “I know.”

“Then you must be here for the ambiance.” Felicia tips her head toward the stairs. “Come on up.”

She waits by the threshold. Silver ascends without looking at the view, the way people who know their exits do. Up close, she’s dressed for civilian life—tailored coat, clean lines, boots that don’t make a sound on concrete. No makeup that Felicia can clock, aside from whatever flattered her at dinner still haunting her features. The mercenary pauses at the office door like she’s waiting to be cleared.

Felicia stands aside and waves her in. “My not-so-humble perch. Watch your step, the floor’s new. I’ll cry if you scuff it.”

Silver gives the room a brief sweep, then the one-way glass. “You can see everything from here.”

“That’s the point.” Felicia shuts the door, the construction noise softening to a manageable hum. The smell of coffee and printer toner lives up here. She gestures at the small bar. “Coffee? It’s terrible but it’s ours.”

“Yes.” Silver’s mouth barely moves on the word.

Felicia pours two, slides a mug across. The other woman wraps her hands around it the way people in movies do, but there’s nothing theatrical about the tension at her knuckles. They stand there for an awkward beat, steam threading between them, until Felicia huffs and leans a hip against the desk.

“So,” she says, light, careful, “Not that I don’t appreciate a surprise visit from international royalty, especially since this place could use good PR, but what brings you to my very legal place of business at… let’s see.” She squints at the clock. “An hour that should be illegal.”

Silver looks out through the glass at the scaffolding, at the shape of the place. Then back. “I did not sleep,” she says simply. “I lay awake thinking about last night. How it ended.” She takes a drink, sets the glass down with precision. “I have no one to discuss this with.”

Something tender tugs under Felicia’s ribs. She covers it with a small smirk anyway. “No therapist on retainer? No best friend you call to dissect the appetizers and poor life choices?”

A tiny exhale comes out of the mercenary. “No.”

Felicia nods once. “Okay. So you came to me.”

“I should warn you,” Felicia says, “this is the part where I’m supposed to do that soft, supportive thing. It’s not my natural habitat, but I’m learning.”

“I do not need soft,” Silver says. “I need clarity.”

“Okay.” Felicia sets her mug down, palms flat on her thighs. “One thing was clear. Both you and Natasha got scared.”

Silver falls quiet for a moment and adopts a look that, while blank on the surface, Felicia can see is merely a mask the woman is wearing to hide her vulnerability. 

“Last night, I saw how deep your connection with each other was.” Silver finally says, “The three of you have this long history with each other that I… do not have with him or anyone really.” She looks like an insecure schoolgirl for a moment, “I am worried what my role would be if I continue down this path.”

Felicia doesn’t respond. She stares at Silver and lets the words of the regal woman before her sync in, before she lets out a huff of amusement. “Believe it or not, that is something I and Sonja can understand.” She says, “You recall Sonja telling you about her host, Mary Jane Watson.”

“The actress and supermodel,” Silver says, with the tiniest bit of edge in her voice, “Hard to forget, yes.”

Fighting the urge to smile at this, Felicia decides to move on. “Well, her history with Peter is a lot longer and more meaningful than mine with him or her. And even though Sonja has basically been there for years, she was just an observer. Falling in love with the guy, all the while he never knew she was there.”

“Your point?” Silver asks.

Felicia gives her best supportive smile, “If you say yes to this, then Peter, me, Sonja, and Mary Jane will do our best to make you feel like you’re a part of this relationship. It may take a while for us to get to the L word, but if you’re serious like we are…” 

She lets that hang in the air.