"Why not?"
"I am not nineteen. I am not as limber as most of the other girls."
"The customers are not here to see you because you're limber. You just know how to work the pole. More importantly, you know how to work the audience."
"That is true."
"You want to grab breakfast after the show?"
"I just want to go home and sleep."
He grins, "Sleep? Huh?"
He crosses the room. He walks to the door, and twists the lock. She feigns a grin, but he doesn't notice that it's not genuine. He draws closer to her. She presses her hand against his chest. He pulls her tank top off, over her head, and casts it aside. Her fingers slip under the knot of his tie. He clears items off the desk, behind her, with one foul swoop. His jacket, and shirt get cast onto a chair. Within a few moments she is down to a bra, and underwear. She slips past him, and makes her way around the desk. She opens the top drawer, and pulls out a small square package. She tosses it to him, but he allows it to fall to the floor. He moves towards her. She takes a step back, and finds herself pressed against a wall.
"We don't need that."
"What are you talking about?"
He gives her a reptilian grin, "I have bigger plans for you."
She shakes her head, "What are you talking about?"
"How many times have you told me that you want out of the game? How many times have you said that you're tired of dancing?"
"More times than I can count," she admits.
"I have decided to give you what you want."
"Oh, really?"
"You headline for the month, and then you can be done."
"Done? What will I do, then?"
"Be my lady."
"Is that a full time gig?"
"I want you to be my wife."
"Whoa! Slow down!"
"Isn't that what you want? We have talked about it before."
"You have never been interested. Where is this coming from?" She tries to keep him talking.
"You have been playing hard to get for far too long. I treat you to dinner, to shows. I made you a head liner. I made you a success. I bought you a Denali and a place to live. I don't do that for just anyone. You're special, Cas."
"You want to get married? Then what? What do I need to do as your wife?"
"Every good business man needs a business manager. You can manage the day to day."
"Are you going somewhere?"
"Nope. I just want you to know how to handle business."
"Why?"
"Men like me die young," he points out.
"What does that have to do with me, and the business?"
"Someone has to keep the business running for my heirs."
She nearly chokes, "What?" Her mind begins to race.
"I want you to be my wife, and have my babies."
"This is the first that I'm hearing of this."
"I could put a baby inside of you right now," he adds, "A little girl who is pretty like her mom, or a boy who is a shark just like his dad."
"Slow down," she presses her hands against his chest as he steps forward. He kisses her neck.
Suzie races into the autopsy room as Maura is making her Y-incision.
"Slow down!" Maura warns through her face shield.
"I figured out where the match book came from."
Maura continues with her incision, "Go on."
"Q bar in Chicago."
"Is that significant?"
"I don't know."
"What did you find out about it?"
"It is an upscale club that has been open for about five years. The owner is Qamar Malone."
"That is an interesting name combination."
"What do you mean?"
"Qamar is Arabic, and Malone is typically Irish in etiology."
"His father was a business man originally from Saudi Arabia, and his mother was from an affluent Chicago family, with Irish heritage. Apparently his maternal grandfather would only approve of the union, if his father agreed to relinquish his last name, and take their last name. From the research I did, the father was agreeable, because he was a brilliant business man, and thought that a last name like Malone would make him more trustworthy."
"Interesting."
"What do you think the matchbook means?"
"I have no idea."
"You're not going to go to Chicago to find out, are you?"
"I wouldn't know what I was getting myself into. I need more information."
"Do you think that it is possible that you just overlooked the matchbook?"
"I find it highly unlikely. Jane hasn't been to Chicago in all of the years that I've known her."
"When I have free time I will continue to analyze the matchbook."
"Thank you, Suzie."
"Cassie, you were incredible tonight. Let's go out, and celebrate."
"Q, I just want to go home," she begs.
"I know you. You have to be starving."
"It is five o'clock in the morning."
"We can always get pancakes. In fact, I could come over to your place, and make you pancakes."
"I just want to go home, and crawl into bed. It was such a long day, and my shoulder is killing me. I think that I popped it out of place earlier."
"I will pop it back in for you."
"I want to go to sleep."
"You can sleep when you're dead," he grins as he leads her into the parking garage. She pulls out her keys, and heads towards her shiny black Denali.
"You had a long day, do you want me to drive?"
"How am I going to get back to the club?"
"I can have the car service pick me up from your place."
"Fine," she agrees, too tired to argue.
She climbs into the passenger's seat, and tosses him the keys. He puts the key in the ignition, and glances in the mirror.
"You know in a few years from now we could have all of these seats filled."
"You want five kids?" She responds in an alarmed tone.
"You don't?"
"I am struggling to wrap my head around having one."
"You'll come around," he insists.