by Jana Aston
I hate not being needed.
“I’m Sally,” the woman says, rising from her desk with another smile. “You ladies wanted to see Vince? Can I offer you a coffee or water before you go in?”
Vince. Okay, now we’re talking. Vince sounds like he could be a goon smoking a cigar. Vince could be sitting in a dimly lit office that smells like desperation and looks like the set of a mafia drama on HBO.
“No, I’m fine, thank you,” Lydia says, politely declining the beverage offer.
“I’m good too,” I add, holding up my half-empty iced coffee cup, rattling the ice with a shake of my wrist. “Still working on this, thank you.”
The woman nods and moves around her desk, gesturing towards a closed door as she walks. Reaching it, she opens it and waves us through, telling Vince we’re the young ladies who requested to see him. The door shuts softly behind us.
This is it. The office. The head honcho.
There’s no smoke.
No goons.
And Vince? Vince is not who I was expecting. Not even close.
Chapter Five
Holy mother of shit. Vince is hot. Young and hot. Well, not that young—I’d guess he’s in his thirties, but I was expecting a fat man in his seventies, so he’s young comparatively. He’s also the same man I saw in the lobby of the Windsor a few days ago, talking to Canon.
Which means he’s come back to me, doesn’t it? I think it does. Sure, it could be a coincidence. It could. Canon is friends with Vince, so he stopped by the hotel. Lydia likes Rhys, so we stopped by the strip club. Blah, blah, blah. Coincidence? Nope. Because coincidence is really just another word for fate. It’s true, look it up.
I grin. Big, big, big.
I’ve never had a thing for older guys. I’ve never been that girl who fantasized about seducing her teacher or her coach or her older brother’s best friend. I’ve never fantasized about seducing anyone really, mainly because in my experience boys haven’t been that hard to get. I’ve always dated guys from school and it was always easy enough to determine if there was a mutual attraction before I got too invested in crushing on someone.
Vince is delicious. Vince is every inappropriate fantasy I’ve never had wrapped up into one package.
This day is already going so much better than I could ever had anticipated. Maybe Lydia’s plan isn’t so nuts after all. See! Another coincidence! Who sells their virginity? No one, that’s who. Especially not twenty-two-year-old women with jobs and a history of being good girls.
Yet here we are.
Vince glances up from his desk as Sally announces our arrival and when his eyes land on mine they’re just as devastating as I knew they would be, except I don’t think devastating is the right word. I need to thesaurus myself another word for his eyes later. A word that means I want to have his babies immediately.
Maybe. It’s still possible he’ll annoy me when he speaks, so there’s no need to get ahead of myself. No worries though, if we don’t click, we can still have sex. As long as he’s willing to shut the fuck up.
I wonder what he’s into? He runs a gentlemen’s club so I might need to be open to new things, but I’ve always prided myself on my adaptability so I feel good about this.
Lydia strides forward and sticks her hand out in introduction. Bless her heart. If she prepared a presentation for this meeting I will die. I stroll up beside her as Vince rises and shakes her hand, a look of polite indifference on his face. He doesn’t even check out her tits.
This is nothing like the meeting I was expecting.
“Payton,” I tell him, holding out my hand when Lydia is done. His gaze flickers from her to me as he shakes my hand. He doesn’t check out my tits either, which is disappointing. Gentlemanly but disappointing nonetheless. They’re really nice, my tits. To be fair though, I did dress for a meeting with an old pervert, not one with my maybe future husband.
This office looks much the same as the reception area we were just in. Expensive neutrals. A wood desk that looks like it would be comfortable on the pages of a high-end furniture catalog. Two sleek chairs placed before it for visitors and a credenza behind with a single potted plant on the surface. I’m guessing that touch is Sally’s.
It’s a nice office. Polished, much like Vince himself.
There’s not even a casting couch.
We sit, Vince flicking his wrist to check the time on his watch and announcing that we have fifteen minutes.
I glance at Lydia, waiting for her to start but she looks like she wants to throw up. No worries, that’s why I’m here. I’ll distract Vince until Lydia pulls herself together. By distract I mean I’ll get to know him better.
“Do you have multiple girlfriends?” I ask.
“Excuse me?” Vince’s expression barely changes, like at all. He focuses on me, head tilted a fraction in my direction, but I know he heard me. It’s not even that weird of a question considering where we are.
“You know, like Hugh Hefner did?”
His eyes narrow now, just a bit, as he sizes me up. I try not to smile.
“I run a gentlemen’s club in Vegas, not a lifestyle magazine,” he replies after a moment, refuting my question without really answering it.
“Same thing.” I shrug and shake my head. The movement causes a lock of hair to tumble into my face so I twist my lips and blow it away with a huff as I bring the cup of iced coffee to my lips, pausing before I take a sip. “Anyway, do you?” I shake the cup to stir what’s left of my drink, an unnecessary habit causing the ice to rattle against the sides.
Vince’s gaze flicks from the cup to my lips as I take a sip. I suspect the ice-rattling will drive him nuts before we’ve reached our first anniversary.
I rest my forearm over the arm of the chair, the cup dangling from my fingertips as I settle back into the chair. It’s a very comfortable chair. I wonder if the girls sit here to negotiate raises. Then I wonder if strippers get raises. They should, but I’ll ask later because I don’t want him to think I’m going to tell him how to run his business on our first date. I probably will tell him how to run his business, but that’s besides the point.
Vince is silent and Lydia is still fidgeting in the chair beside mine so I fill the void by explaining why we’re here. I tell him that Lydia is in love with Rhys and that Rhys is going to fall in love with Lydia if he’s not already and then she’ll move in with him and I’ll have to get a new roommate.
I know the roommate concern is selfish but it is a worrisome thought. Living with Lydia is like having Mary Poppins for a roommate, she’s practically perfect in every way. I’ll never be able to find another roommate to fill her shoes, so to speak, so it’s going to suck when she moves out. And she will, I know she will. Rhys is going to fall for her and whisk her off and then I’ll be alone.
Unless I replace her with Vince.
I realize this is a leap, but fate is a capricious bitch and who am I to doubt her?
Plus I’d like to have sex with Vince so there’s that.
I can’t imagine he’d want to move into my apartment in Henderson, but that’s okay because I’m sure he has a nicer place than I do and sometimes you have to make compromises. People often use the word ‘compromise’ when they’re actually getting everything they want. Like me, right now.
“I could be your third girlfriend,” I offer. Hef had three girlfriends, maybe Vince has a mansion filled with girlfriends too? I might be okay with that. I mean, I can’t know for sure unless I try it, right? I’m a pretty independent woman so I think I could be cool with a timeshare boyfriend. If there were three of us I’d still get him two point three nights a week. I’d use the remaining nights to have dinners with my friends or wax my legs or catch up on episodes of Love Island.
Unless he has seven girlfriends. I need more than one night of attention per week.
“I’d be open to being girlfriend number three,” I clarify, just in case he’s got seven. “I don’t want to be girlfriend one or two, it sounds like too much res
ponsibility, you know? Also I’d like my own room. Is that how you do it? Do the girlfriends all get their own rooms? That’s how Hef did it. Do you have a nice place? Because I’m not sharing you if you live in a shitty condo with coin-operated laundry.”
That’s the thing, isn’t it? Hugh Hefner without the mansion would have been weird. Exceptions were made for Hef because of the mansion and the parties and the room service. Can you imagine living in a house where you could call the kitchen and order food delivered to your room? I can. I can imagine it. Because I saw it on an episode of that show Hef did with his girlfriends.
Or what about that show where a bunch of women compete for the same guy at the same time? In what world does that happen? One guy dating twenty-eight women at the same time? While they all live in the same house? That shit would not fly on a college campus, I can assure you. Not even if each girl had her own room and the guy was the star of the football team. Nope. But stick everyone inside of a beachfront estate in Malibu and suddenly it’s normal.
I should probably watch less reality television.
“Are you serious?” Vince blinks twice and his expression isn’t exactly neutral anymore. I’m not sure what he’s feeling but it’s okay, because he’s definitely feeling something and that’s really all that matters. I’ve stirred feelings in him. It may be agitation versus arousal but it’s a start. Besides, I bet he’d be great at the hatefuck. God help me, why is he so attractive?
“Serious as a shark,” I tell him while I try to block out the image I’ve just created in my head of him tying my hands together with a tie and bending me over that desk.
I know, I know. He’s not even wearing a tie. Damn my overactive imagination.
“That’s not even a thing,” he responds, picking up a mug from his desk and leaning back in his chair as he takes a sip, eyeing me over the rim. “The saying is serious as a heart attack.”
“Like sharks aren’t serious? You try swimming with a shark and then tell me how not-serious they are.” I rattle my ice and take another sip, confident I’ve made my point.
“You know he slept with all of them, right?”
“Duh,” I reply. I’m not an idiot.
“You’re really something, aren’t you?” Vince asks, setting the mug down on his desk and leaning forward, arms braced on the desk. He’s wearing a white oxford shirt, no tie. I find the choice very compelling for a Saturday morning. Most men would be in a t-shirt. The sleeves are rolled back to his elbows and I find this sexy as all hell. The top couple of buttons are undone and I can see a hint of his chest and if I thought he’d allow it, I’d crawl into his lap right now and work my way through the rest of those buttons. I know this isn’t the time or place and that my insta-lust defies reasonableness but he just does something for me. Something primal. Something wanton. He’s even better-looking up close than he was from my vantage point on the balcony a few days ago.
“I’m a lot of things. It’s true,” I agree. I bet this is exactly what my life coach meant about capitalizing on my strengths. I feel good about all of this.
“Payton, was it?” he questions and I beam. He remembers my name. Granted, I only gave it to him three minutes ago, but I like a man who pays attention. It bodes well for his skills in bed.
“Yeah?” Big smile. I know I’ve done most of the talking thus far but I’d say it’s going well and my lust crush is still a hundred percent on. Vince looks like a real good time and that’s what I’m after. A good time is a great place to start and maybe it’ll lead to something more, maybe it won’t. Likely it won’t because he owns a strip club and I’ve got issues.
“Why are you here?”
Ugh, Vince. That was rude. I literally just explained why I’m here. Of course, I suppose that was an explanation of why Lydia is here, wasn’t it? I didn’t explain what I’m doing here, did I? It’s not as if I planned to come here with an offer to be his girlfriend, because I didn’t even know he was going to be here. That was all fate.
“I’m earning my best friend badge,” I offer with a small shrug. I wouldn’t mind a best friend badge, actually. I lost the few badges I had during the badge pyramid débacle.
“Vince,” Lydia interrupts, finally gathering the courage to take charge of this meeting, which is a good thing because I’m pretty sure Vince is contemplating booting us out of his office. “I have a proposition for you.”
“I’m listening, Miss Clark,” Vince replies, his gaze sliding away from mine as he focuses on Lydia. “You’ve got nine minutes left. If you want something you’d better get to it. Quickly.”
This is the part where Lydia blurts out her plan. The part where she asks the owner of a strip club—a man she’s never met before—to auction off her virginity. But only if Rhys is the winning bidder.
Good Lord, how did I allow her to leave the apartment with this idea? I do not deserve a best friend badge.
When she finishes Vince stares at her in complete silence, his fingers drumming on the desktop. Crap, this is kinda tense. I hate tension. I take a nervous drag from my iced coffee but it’s empty so the room fills with that annoying hollow rattling noise that occurs from creating a wind tunnel in an empty cup. That and the sound of me shaking the ice against the side. Vince glares at me, but I attempt another sip in case the ice-shaking freed a few drops. It didn’t.
“Are you for real?” Vince asks, eyes firmly on mine.
“So real. And so are my boobs.” Which he has yet to look at. I’m never wearing this top again. The man makes his living running an establishment with topless women and he can’t even be bothered to check out my rack? It’s insulting. And bad business. My tits are phenomenal. He should make a note of that in case I ever do submit an application. Jerk.
He stares at me another moment before shaking his head with a single nod as he turns his attention back to Lydia. “This isn’t a brothel,” he tells her. “Prostitution isn’t legal in Clark County.”
“Of course not,” she agrees hurriedly. “Double Diamonds is a business though, isn’t it, Mr...?”
“Vince,” he replies, deadpan.
“Right. Mr. Vince, you’re a businessman at heart, aren’t you? So let’s make a deal. I’ll make it worth your while,” Lydia promises.
God, this girl. A basket of fresh-baked cookies is not going to make this worth his while. She is so out of her league.
“Scout’s honor,” I volunteer as I give Vince a wink, a big dramatic wink complete with a head tilt and a click of my tongue. “The Urban Dictionary kind, big guy.”
Lydia’s head turns towards me and now she’s glaring at me too. Sheesh, you try and help a friend out! It’s not as though I was volunteering her for sexual favors. No way I’d volunteer her, Vince is mine and I’m already sharing him with those two other girlfriends. Wait, he never confirmed that, did he? Huh, he’s really not very forthcoming with the personal information. He’s not wearing a ring, but maybe he’s already got a girlfriend. A real one whom he loves and doesn’t fuck around on.
Lucky girl.
Vince leans back in his chair, running two fingers across his lips while he watches us with newfound interest. “So you work at the Windsor. Both of you?”
We nod.
“Let’s talk terms.”
And that is the story of how a virgin convinced the owner of a gentlemen’s club to help her, and she lived happily ever after.
But it’s not my story.
Chapter Six
I leave Lydia at Double Diamonds and drive back to our apartment alone. One of the strippers from the club is giving her a tour, then they’re going shopping to find Lydia something to wear tonight before she has her hair and makeup done.
My little girl is all grown up.
I’ll go back tonight before the auction to support her. Double-check that she really wants to do this. Triple-check that she understands there’s no blowing in blow jobs. All the regular best friend duties.
I flip the visor down to block out the sun as I turn into
our apartment complex and the invitation I tucked up there a few days ago falls out and hits me in the face.
A wedding invitation. For less than a month from now. I’m no etiquette expert but I don’t think that’s right. Especially when it’s your mother’s wedding. It is her third though, so maybe the social parameters of wedding invitations get more lax with each progressive union? I believe this is her fiancé’s third wedding as well. They have so much in common, after all.
Spotting an open parking spot in front of our building, I pull in but don’t turn off the engine. I have nothing to do today and I don’t feel like going inside alone, which is stupid. I’m perfectly capable of entertaining myself, always have been, so I don’t know why I’m so unsettled today.
Vince.
Vince is why.
Vince has me all kinds of worked up and I’m really looking forward to seeing him again later.
I will see him tonight, won’t I?
God, what if he doesn’t even work on Saturday nights? Wait, that’s stupid, he owns a strip club, surely he works on Saturday nights. Except he was there this morning, too. I bet he’s a hard worker. Fuck, that’s hot. Even if he’s working hard peddling tits and ass, it’s important to take pride in what you do.
I find the idea of him very exciting. He’s the ultimate bad boy and that turns me all kinds of on. I know I should be focusing on finding a good guy, but the bad ones are just so delicious.
I think we’re meant to be.
By meant to be, I mean in bed. Meant to be in bed.
Having sex.
Or on the couch. His desk. I don’t really care where as long as that beautiful man’s lips are pressed somewhere against my body.
And then maybe we’ll date and I’ll live out my bad boy fantasies. I’ll take pole-dancing lessons and give him a private show. We’ll have sex at the club in his office. He’ll take me for a ride on his motorcycle. Or maybe I’ll never see him again, who knows. I can’t even picture him on a motorcycle so it’s a bit of a rough draft fantasy.
