I stepped out of the bathroom, steam still clinging to my skin, and pulled on a charcoal-grey tailored shirt and slim-fit black trousers. It was the kind of look that screamed "discreet wealth"—sharp enough for a VIP booth but effortless enough to handle whatever trouble Sasha was brewing.
"I'm ready," I said, checking my reflection. "You sure I don't need a tie for this mystery spot?"
"Dress for the club, Druski. But dress for a club where people forget their names," she called back.
--------
Minutes later, the bathroom door swung open, and the air in the room seemed to vanish. Sasha stepped out looking absolutely stunning.
