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seen that I was struggling to control my disapproval, because she fiddled with her necklace and said, “I know maybe it sounds bad, but I just like nice stuff. I guess because I never had any growing up. Is there anything so wrong with that?”
    Luckily there wasn’t any time for me to come up with a reply. Right then, a tall, thin, humourless woman walked in, and a silence fell across the room. She looked older than us, maybe in her early thirties, with unnaturally black hair fashioned into a harsh bob, and bright red lips set against alabaster-pale skin. She wore a black trouser suit, like the doorwoman, and I could tell she was management of some kind.
    â€œCome on, girls. Time to get to work.”
    If she was aware that I was new, she didn’t show it—in fact, she barely glanced in my direction.
    â€œThat’s Mel, the assistant manager,” Jas whispered as we trailed out the door. “Giles is a good guy, but she’s a—” She pulled a face to show exactly what she thought of Mel.
    But there was no time to talk any further. I followed Jasout for my first night working at Destination.

Chapter 5
    The overhead lights were dimmed, giving the club’s interior a chic subterranean feel, and ambient music pumped through the expensive sound system. A long silver bar ran one side of the room, backlit with neon blue. Low tables and modular seating surrounded a spacious dance floor, and the walls radiated a moody ruby glow.
    It was a Wednesday night, and at first it was fairly quiet. But by midnight, the club was packed with wealthy-looking men and beautiful women. In fact, the crowd looked like they had been booked through central casting. Everyone seemed to be drinking champagne, served by the beautiful, hot-pants-clad hostesses, one assigned to each table. This wasn’t the kind of place where people queued at the bar.
    Jas and I were collecting empty glasses and bringing them to the bar. Jas was a fount of information, and seemed to know everyone. As we worked, she pointed out who wasseated at the different tables—from Russian oligarchs to European nobility to City financiers.
    â€œThat’s the most coveted table,” she said, pointing to the centre of the VIP section. The table was situated directly below the DJ booth, in prime location. “It costs about ten grand to hire for the night.”
    I let out a low whistle, and studied the people occupying it—two attractive Middle Eastern men who I guessed to be in their early twenties. “Who are they?”
    â€œSaudi princes, I heard.”
    They looked on with cool detachment as three gorgeous women started to gyrate in front of them. “And the girls?”
    â€œGold-diggers. There are always a few of them here, looking for a meal ticket. Management let a certain amount of them in because they’re attractive, and rich men want to be surrounded by beautiful women.”
    It seemed to be a theme of the place—you either got in because you were rich or because you were good-looking, and in a lot of cases it seemed people were both. It was elitism at its worst.
    Jas nodded in the direction of two huge men standing discreetly to one side, and eyeing the table with professional alertness. “They’re the bodyguards, I reckon.”
    It was like another world.
    At one in the morning, there was a stir. I was up at the bar with Jas, ostensibly dropping glasses off while really listeningto her gossip. But I looked up and did a double-take as I saw who was breezing through the door—it was the guy I’d run into at Duncan Noble’s office the day before, the dark-haired bad-boy with the ice-blue wolf eyes.
    Just like then, he stood out—mostly because of his I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude. Most of the guys in the room were wearing suits, but he was flamboyantly dressed like before, in dark trousers and a white fop shirt—which reminded me of a seventeenth-century French