The Contract With Her Father's Billionaire Rival-Chapter 76. Q Club.

"Leave the whole bottle," Alaric said, tapping the counter.

He had finally come to the club. He had given in to Richard’s request—and even arrived before Richard did.

The bartender arched a brow. "The whole bottle, Mr. Allens?"

"Yes. Thank you, Adam."

Adam reluctantly placed the bottle down and walked away. Alaric poured scotch into his glass of ice, filling it to the brim.

He downed it in one gulp. The drink burned his throat, providing a temporary distraction from his pain.

He filled another glass full and gulped it down.

He shouldn’t be drinking—he knew that—but he didn’t care. He was in pain, and drinking seemed to be the only thing that could numb him.

Nicolette had hurt him.

Fuck!

He wanted to scream, to cry out his pain. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe she had lied to him—lied about going to see Suzie, only to end up with Lucian.

Did she think he wouldn’t see the news?

He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief.

He should have known. She had been so eager to visit Suzie, so eager for him not to follow her.

He was such a fool.

One good pussy, and he had lost his mind.

He groaned, reaching for the bottle again.

He poured another drink, his heart aching.

"Well, well, if it isn’t Alaric Allens."

He turned to the voice. "Jerome."

Jerome was dressed in a navy-green suit, his hair slick and a cigarette dancing at the corner of his mouth.

"Howdy, friend?" Jerome asked, tapping his shoulder. "It’s so weird seeing you here."

"I know," Alaric admitted, turning back to his drink.

The Q Club was strictly for men of caliber—businessmen, conmen, dirty politicians, you name it.

The only thing Alaric liked about Q Club was the booze. It was top-notch, one of a kind—and maybe the connections as well. He had met a lot of powerful men here, including Jerome, a construction tycoon.

Jerome pulled a seat closer to Alaric. "What brings you here tonight?"

This was only the second time Alaric had come to the club since returning to New Orleans. The first had been on his first night back; and now, he was here again because his damn wife was with another man.

Pain flooded his heart and tightened his chest.

Instead of answering, he reached for his drink.

Jerome leaned forward, resting a hand on Alaric’s shoulder. "I didn’t mean to pry, my friend. Just curious."

"I understand. It’s just—"

He was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. Jerome straightened up as Alaric checked the screen.

He half-expected Nicolette again—since she had been blowing up his phone. Instead, it was his mother.

Even worse.

The last thing he needed was Clara mocking him for Nicolette’s betrayal.

No.

He declined the call and turned to Jerome. "Sorry about that."

"No problem, my friend," Jerome said, lighting his cigarette. "You don’t mind, do you?"

Alaric shook his head, sipping his drink. His phone buzzed again, but he ignored it this time.

"You know, we men are specially blessed," Jerome said.

Alaric arched a brow. He wasn’t entirely interested in the conversation, but at this point, he would welcome any distraction—at least until Richard arrived.

"How so?" he asked, swirling his glass.

Jerome puffed on his cigarette before speaking. "We can do whatever and however we want. As long as we’re rich—and you and I, my friend, are swimming in money."

Confusion stirred inside Alaric. He had no idea what Jerome was getting at. "I don’t get you, Jerome."

"Leave her alone. Take out your pain on another woman, and you’ll feel a lot better," Jerome replied.

Alaric stiffened.

Fuck, Jerome knew!

Did everyone in the club know what Nicolette had done?

Pain and anger surged in his chest, sinking like a stone in his stomach.

He clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around the glass. His voice went hard. "How... did you find out?"

"I don’t have to know whatever she did," Jerome said casually. "I have a wife and two girlfriends. I know it’s a woman that’s gotten you drinking a whole bottle of that. Work would never stress you out that bad. Neither would two women."

Oh.

Alaric sighed, relief washing over him.

Still, his surprise lingered. His heartbreak must have been obvious. Everybody could tell?

Just wonderful.

His thoughts drifted to Nicolette, and fresh pain clawed at his chest. He had had plans for her.

He had prepared a picnic and a massage. He was going to worship her body. He was going to set the mood right so she could fuck his face again.

All that ruined.

Yet, his body betrayed him, pulsing with a want he despised but couldn’t control.

How could he even ache for her, after everything?

He was pissed at her, for goodness sake!

He shook his head, returning to his drink.

"Trust me when I say this, Alaric," Jerome said, "you need another woman to punish. Find another woman, picture the face of yours, and just punish her."

Alaric turned to him. "You mean sleep with someone else?"

"Exactly."

Sleep with someone else?

Even before Nicolette, Alaric had never been a womanizer, and he didn’t intend to start now.

Jerome leaned closer, his breath reeking of cigarette smoke. "I know it sounds awful, but trust me, you’ll feel better. Take it from a man who understands. I got my first girlfriend because of my wife. Every time my wife offended me, I just spent time with my girlfriend."

Jerome flicked his hand slightly downward, shaking ash from his cigarette to the counter.

"When my girlfriend started acting weird too, I just got a new one," Jerome laughed, amused with himself.

Annoyance coursed through Alaric, and he washed it down with his drink. He didn’t have to continue this conversation. He didn’t want to.

Yet, he was compelled to ask. "What if your latest girlfriend acted weird? Would you change her too?"

Jerome laughed again before taking another puff. "Of course not. My limit is three, and even my body knows that. Besides, whenever one of them is moody, at least one of the others is fine."

"How exhausting, Jerome," Alaric scoffed.

"Don’t be a killjoy," Jerome said, nudging Alaric with his shoulder. "I didn’t start with three at once. I started small. I started with them."

He gestured toward the far side of the club.

Alaric followed his fingers. As he looked, women dressed in skimpy, sexy outfits strutted out onto a podium.

Alaric groaned.

It was 10 p.m.

And that meant it was time for LNP—Late Night Pleasure.

He groaned again, refilling his glass. One major thing he detested about Q Club was the late-night display of women. They were paraded onstage like commodities, arranged for men to choose from.

And each hungry man would bargain prices to have them for the night.

How disgusting.

He had never found it exciting, and tonight, it was even more repulsive. He was about to turn his back when Jerome nudged him again.

"See this one," Jerome said, pointing to a woman in a black net dress. Her jewels were practically on display, and men were already cooing at her as she showed off her moves.

Alaric shook his head. Why was he even looking?

And then, one caught his eye.

She was beautiful, with flowing black hair like Nicolette’s. Her cleavage was barely contained by the thin red ropes crisscrossing her chest. If she sneezed, Alaric was sure her breasts would spill out.

Her eyes met his, and she blew him a kiss.

Alaric quickly looked away.

Jerome laughed his ass off. "See? You already have one! Just punish her."

She did have hair like Nicolette.

He could imagine thrusting into her mouth, hearing her beg for mercy.

No. He couldn’t do that.

"I’m not interested," he said firmly, refilling his glass. "Thanks for the advice, though."

"It’s difficult the first time, but you’ll like it after," Jerome insisted.

"I’ll pass," he replied.

"It’s better than drinking yourself to death," Jerome pressed.

Alaric shook his head. "Thanks."

Before Jerome could say another word, Richard finally joined them.

"Hello, gentlemen," Richard greeted warmly.

"My dear friend Richard," Jerome said, rising to his feet. "I’ll leave you blood alone. Enjoy, Alaric." His eyes gleamed with mischief as he walked away.

"What was that about?" Richard asked, taking the seat Jerome had left.

"Just some dumb advice," Alaric muttered. "Why are you late?" he asked, changing the topic.

Richard’s expression changed, and Alaric’s heart flipped. "It’s Ian," Richard said grimly. "He stole another painting."

Alaric’s stomach dropped.