Ocean Billionaire

----- Matthew Ocean, billionaire ICT entrepreneur and the brain behind Ocean corporations, walked to one of the private rooms in a club sandwiched between two of his security detail. It was the first break he'd gotten in almost a month, and he planned to enjoy the hell out of it. Mexico had been fun, working on adrenaline if nothing else to bring around another run-down IT company; luckily, with his qualified team, he had breathed life into it and then decided to sell it instead of adding it to his already big conglomerate. The club manager met him at the secret door, trotting to meet him, his hand already held out to shake his, ushering him in. Matthew was a regular, and they understood that privacy came first for this Chicago billionaire. "It is good to have you back, Mr. Ocean, " the manager said, trodding slightly in front of him as if his body was heavy, constraining Matthew's large strides to his pace. One of his bodyguards was about to push him to the side when Matthew grabbed his hand to stop him. "Im glad to be back, " Matthew responded. He didn't mind the manager walking in front of him since the entrance was just a stonecast away, and once he was in his private room, the manager would be gone and will only see him again when he was leaving. He would prefer not to see him at all, but that was just a wish. Matthew was an important client, and his presence in any establishment required special attention. Before Matthew could enter the room, the manager turned and stood by the door, like he was barring him from entering. He was fidgeting, too. His eyes were pleading with him. Matthew had no idea what was happening, but he neither had the time nor the energy to deal with it. "Mr. Ocean, " the manager began, his hands clasped together, head slumped forward, and mouth slightly opened, trying to figure out the best way to break the news. "Spit it out!" Matthew commanded. "Your preferred employee was under the weather today." He sounded contrite and a little afraid that Matthew might choose another club to patronize other than their establishment, and he was right. If he wasn't as tired and looked forward to a few drinks and a private show, he might have turned back and left, but he needed to let out some steam, and he was already there; he decided to stay and find out who the manager had deemed good enough to be an alternative to Alana. Once he was inside the room, alone, at last, he exhaled loudly, leaning on the door. He felt free, here in this room. He had missed it somewhat, and he rarely missed anything. Closing his eyes, Matthew allowed himself to feel the slow music in the room, the soothing sound that lured him into believing the world could be accepting of slow speed, but he knew different. The world was ruthless; it required you to always be on your toes, and if not, it enjoyed throwing you back from safety up onto the bellies of penury, and that is one place Matthew had sworn never to return. Matthew likened the world to a lion in search of prey. He was about to walk to the leather seat when he heard a noise coming from the stage, the round area with a pole in the middle. Matthew slid off the door, walking slowly, his eyes fixed on the dimly lit stage until he saw the culprit. She was half standing, half sitting at the corner wearing lacy panties and bra, her lengthy hair around her face. Though he couldn't see her clearly, he could tell she was young and beautiful. "Who the hell are you?" He asked, standing outside the podium, his hands in his pocket, his presence exuding power and intimidation as his gaze fixed on her. "Capri," she answered, standing fully upright, her voice firm, leaning on the pole at the middle. "You're the new girl, " it wasn't exactly a question, so there was no need for Capri to answer; she just stood there looking at the tall man who'd entered the room, took it from her, and owned it. They both stood staring at each other until Capri averted her eyes. There was tension in the room, a natural pull that seemed to hover around them. "I'm ready when you are, " she said, throwing a look at him. Matthew walked to the seat, removed his jacket, folded it, and then placed it next to him before he sat down. "I'm ready, " he said when he sat down, rolling his sleeves up his forearm, leaning back to the seat, and then placing his leg across his knee. He looked like the billionaire he was with his arms stretched out across the backrest. "With music or not?" "With, I don't mind whatever you're listening to." "There are too slow for dancing," Capri said, avoiding his eyes as he waited for him to choose. "Choose, then," he curtly said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes, nervously holding her breath, Capri chose one of her libraries with a mixture of soft rock and hip hop. She knew the songs didn't have meaningful lyrics. She did not want to attach how she felt at that moment to a song that would remind her of him in the future. She was aware of how attractive this man was, the shape of his mouth, his timbre voice when he spoke, not to mention his ability to look at her as if he could read her mind. She also knew who he was; who wouldn't? Matthew first thought when Capri started working the pole was how good of a dancer she was. Her flexible body, the way she moved her body rhythmically to the song. She was magic, an angel in red panties and bra turning and twisting her body like she had no bones. Nothing else existed for Matthew except her. Her long black hair touching the floor, her long legs stretched out against the pole, her hands holding her body together, she was enchanting. He forgot she was a replacement, forgot the face of Alana—his usual stripper and only looked at Capri. She was magic. She danced for him until he called her to stop; she did, breathing heavily, her body looking exhausted as she crawled out of the podium and then sat at the edge of it to catch her breath. Matthew couldn't help but stare at her, his eyes running through her slim yet fit body. He wondered about her—the reasons for deciding to strip for the enjoyment of men. Was it to buy designers' clothes, bags, and shoes? He decided he hated the idea of her using her body in such a way. "That was quite a show, " Matthew said, standing and walking to where she sat, stopping a few steps from her. Capri nodded without saying a word while reaching out for a bottle of water she'd put just beneath where her feet were. She didn't know what she was expected to say. This was new territory for her—dancing for private clients, that is. She was used to dancing in clubs, but she'd never been asked to give a private show. Capri waited to be excused, but the man remained silent, standing over her like she was his servant, which, in a way, she was. He was the brooding kind of man, those that said few words, and silence was their bosom friend. "I guess it's time for you to leave, " he said, sounding as if he didn't want her to leave. Capri looked at him, resting her eyes in his for a fraction of a second, nodded, and then stood. He was tall, she thought. Too tall, she had to crane her neck to look into his eyes. His broad shoulders were on her level, the white shirt he wore outlined his masculine body, two unbuttoned buttons at the neck showed a bit of his chest. He was big, big enough to make her feel insignificant in that room. "Yes, it is." her voice felt weak, but she refused to think it was because of the man who stood in front of her, and so she attributed it to fatigue. Matthew took a step back, then pulled a few notes from his jacket, handing them to her. "Tip, " he announced as she crossed her palm over them, "thank you, " her low voice trembled, getting up and walking away without saying a word leaving him standing in the same position. Her palm quivered where he had placed the money; her feet felt unsteady, feeling his eyes on her back. While such a private show earned more money for her, it was also dangerous because no one else was present except her and the client. Anything could happen, and there would be no security to save her. A client might turn violent or order her to do something other than dancing.