Chapter Text
The request had come through a few days earlier and Magnus was trying not to panic. He kept telling himself that there was a way out of this. Pandemonium hadn’t become the city’s premiere location for erotic entertainment by chance. He’d worked hard to build his brand and cater to those with exorbitant wealth and those who wanted to play at being part of the higher echelons of society. It was unheard of for a strip club without celebrity backing to become a place to see and be seen but Magnus had done it and he was loathe to lose it. His reputation therefore had to stay immaculate. He could handle this. He could handle a business contract.
There was nothing unusual about the contents of the request—a group of dancers, all genders, for a night, to be the entertainment for The Company, signed NDAs—typical stuff. The assurance agreement and contract had already been signed by a representative from The Company—advanced payment of 50% to secure the date and hours, no touching of any kind, no sexual advances, and anything remotely untoward would be cause for immediate cancellation alongside additional payment and all reports filed with the authorities. The Company had even signed off on the fee increase to cover transportation, setting up the poles, providing water, snacks, and overtime for the dancers due to the evening taking place at an off-site location. Catarina, his right hand, had done all the due diligence alongside Ragnor his best friend and business partner. On paper, everything was in order. And yet, Magnus was sweating.
What wasn’t readily apparent, unless you knew more than you should, was who was involved in The Company. Magnus had been at this a long time and he’d maintained his club’s status by staying away from trouble. The last thing he needed was to risk the safety and livelihood of his employees, many of whom he considered friends, or his own life. They could not fuck this up, they could not step on any toes, or accidentally insult someone during this gig. Magnus needed to breathe. Everything would be fine, they’d show up, perform their literal pants off, get the remainder of the payment, get out and, if they could help it, never agree to another contract from The Company again.
He’d never met any members of the Lightwood family but they were a family in all ways—by blood and loyalty. Magnus knew more than he wanted to about this family and their dealings. You can’t live in New York and not know of the Lightwoods. The Lightwoods are part of the old-money elite with the kind of quiet power that only those with true influence carry. But Magnus knew the truth, you don’t fuck with any member of the Lightwood family and live to talk about it.
On the surface, their business, known simply as The Company, was a generations-spanning family-run enterprise that had shifted and morphed throughout the years until it had taken on its current persona of Security & Consulting, led by the inscrutable eldest Lightwood son. A man who was the alt-universe Bruce Wayne—notoriously closed off, insanely wealthy, and whose outward life was a cover-up for something darker—but this was reality and not a comic book and the Lightwoods were hiding something much more sinister beneath their shiny corporate image.
Magnus felt hysterical.
Nothing could go wrong during this event, Magnus would make sure of it.
Magnus usually left any off-site gigs for his team to oversee as he no longer danced himself and trusted those closest to him implicitly. However, this job was different in so many ways. Magnus grabbed his water carafe and poured himself a glass. Downing the entire thing in one gulp. He took a deep breath and let the momentary panic subside. Magnus Bane did not back down in the face of fear. There were a handful of days before the contracted date and he would personally make sure that Pandemonium and its people lived up to their stellar reputation and walked out of this experience with their pockets lined and nothing else.