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test, I guess
you could call it.”
    Billie’s eyebrow arched in question. She was feeling a
strange jumble of nerves, attraction, intimidation, and the desire to flirt. “A
test? I just met you and you’ve already admitted to stalking me and testing me.
I don’t know if I should be intrigued or worried.”
    Daniel smiled ruefully. “I would rather you say ‘observed’
instead of stalked and I hope you would be intrigued, especially when I tell
you why I was observing you.”
    Reaching into an inside pocket of his coat, he pulled out a
small, black business card and handed it to her. Curiously, Billie read the
card looking for clues. The card itself was printed on thick, glossy black card
stock. Silver embossed lettering spelled out the words “The Silver Knight” in
blocky script. Underneath it, in smaller lettering was the subtitle “Social
Club and Lounge” in Louisville, Kentucky. In the bottom left corner was his
name with “Proprietor” written underneath.
    By now, Billie’s eyebrows had climbed so high on her
forehead that they disappeared under her bangs. Her eyes shot up to his in
shock. “You own The Silver Knight club?” she asked incredulously.
    He nodded in agreement and answered, “Yes, I am the owner
and operator of the club. I take it you’ve heard of us?”
    Billie could feel the heat climb up in her cheeks. Of
course, she had heard of the infamous new club in Louisville. In the two years
since it had been open, it had attracted national attention and even a few
lawsuits that were either settled out of court or dismissed altogether. The
Silver Knight was infamous for its strict rules and practices, but since it was
technically a “private” club, they could get away with screening the invitees
based on very strict criteria. The concept of the club was a throwback to a
time when men wore suits, women were femme fatales, and the music was classy.
Entrance to the club was reserved for and highly coveted by men and women of
wealth and influence who were looking for a place to socialize and network
while dining on the finest cuisine, drinking the most expensive liquor, and
brokering deals worth millions of dollars.
    The club was not without its scandal, however. Not too long
ago, there was a highly-publicized lawsuit by a former “hostess” who claimed
she was fired for refusing to sleep with a member. Billie vaguely remembered
hearing about it on the news, but she couldn’t recall the details. She did know
that the club employed “hosts” and “hostesses” who were essentially beautiful
men and women whose sole purpose was to make the members time more enjoyable.
They danced, talked, entertained, and even refreshed the drinks of the wealthy
patrons as they socialized and relaxed. Billie knew she wasn’t the type of
woman they employed for that job, so she couldn’t understand what Daniel
Petrosky could possibly want with her.
    “Yes, I’ve definitely heard of the club, but then again,
just about everyone in the country has heard of it. I believe I saw in the
papers last week that Justin Timberlake was seen entering there while he was in
town for a concert. That’s not something that can go unnoticed when we’re only
forty miles south of you,” Billie answered honestly.
    He tipped his head in a brief acknowledgement before
replying, “We don’t usually make it a habit of speaking about our patrons and
guests, but I will make an exception in your case and tell you he was every bit
the gentleman, and very gracious. I am glad you have some idea of my business,
since I’m hoping that will make my proposition easier to explain to you.”
    Billie immediately went on red alert. The gossip surrounding
The Silver Knight spanned the spectrum from secret sex club all the way over to
stuffy, uptight, and entitled snobbery. Either way, she didn’t think that she
would fit into either one of those categories at all. She definitely didn’t
make enough money to be asked to join the club, and