I settle at the bar, ordering a whiskey, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve walked into something I wasn’t supposed to see.
I lean toward the bartender.“Upper Tier always this...quiet?”
The guy smirks as he slides me my drink.“Quiet?No.Can’t say it’s everquiet.”
I lift a brow, but he’s already walking away.
Great.
I take a sip, scanning the room.
Some of my crew is already here, sprawled out on couches, laughing, drinking.A few industry people mingle, doing the usual handshake networking bullshit.
But beyond them—there’s a vibe that says I’ve stepped into another world, and I’m not entirely welcome.Odd.
Then, I hear it in passing.
Whispers.
Little things, caught in flickers of conversation.
“London must really like this guy if he roped off the rooms for the night.”
“Yeah, well, can’t exactly have rockstars walking in the middle of…”
“But it would be so fun to have an actual rockstar to…”
The voices fade, but I get the idea.
And now that I get it, I can’tun-get it.
I shift my weight, frowning slightly, finally noticing the velvet rope sectioning off the hallway at the side of the lounge.A guy stands at the entrance—not a bouncer, exactly, but definitely there to keep people out by the looks of it.
I don’t have to guess what’s behind those doors.
And I definitely don’t mean VIP bottle service.
As I watch, a couple approaches the rope.A woman—elegant, poised, confident in a way that suggests she knows exactly how this works—leans in close to the guy at the entrance.
He nods, lifts the rope, and lets them through.
They disappear down the hall.
I should look away.
But, like an idiot, I don’t.
Because the guy’s hand slides down her back, fingertips grazing just under the hem of her dress as they approach one of the closed doors.
He presses her against it.Murmurs something against her lips.
She laughs—soft and knowing—right before the door clicks open and they disappear inside.
The hallway door shuts.
And just like that, it’s cemented.
This Upper Tier isn’t just a VIP lounge.