by Sadie Black
"If it's the last hurrah, then let's go out with a bang," Gino said. With a firm tug of his arm he pulled Luka close, grinning. "A night out with my best friend wouldn't be complete without a little, uh, female attention, right? What'dya say we ditch this booth and get out there on the floor? There's some mighty fine looking pieces of ass out there."
"Hydrate your nose first, moron," Luka insisted, pushing the glass of water towards his friend. "If you're gonna make me snort water, you can bet your ass I'm gonna make you do it, too."
Gino wasted no time in dipping his pinkies into the glass and snorted, moistening the insides of his nose. When the task was complete, he turned his baby face towards Luka and hitched an eyebrow.
"We good?"
"We good."
The tacky leather stuck as Luka scooted across it. Mad Hatter's was an exclusive club, and its private rooms were even more snooty, but the heat of grinding bodies in close quarters had left everything humid.
Like a tropical plant, Luka thrived in the heat.
Both men moved from the booth to the polished dance floor in the center of the room. The bartender, an attractive young woman in a tight, low cut black shirt, watched them as they went. Loose blonde curls tumbled down her narrow shoulders, her bright red lips were some of the most beautiful Luka had ever seen. A face with sharp features lent itself to intelligence — if there was one kind of woman Luka loved to seduce, it was a woman with brains.
Seeing a girl so confident and independent submit to him got him off like nothing else. So far, their bartender had taken excellent care of them, and he wondered just how far she might go to ensure quality service. The thought made Luka's blood boil.
"You give the ladies on the floor something to talk about," Luka instructed over the throbbing bass of the club beats. Gino was at his side, the two of them moving as a pack. "I've already got my eye on a certain someone. Gonna see if I can swing it."
"Meet you back at the table," Gino said in parting. A cold, serious edge to his words communicated his commitment to the hunt. Gino was going to go hard, and he wasn't going to stop until he'd landed a lady. Luka shared his sentiment.
Their paths branched, Gino finding his way onto the dance floor while Luka made for the bar. It was going to take a lot of skill to land a woman on the job, and Luka was eager to prove he had what it took. Tonight he would show Gino just how much had changed since the last time they'd partied together. Tonight, that bartender would be his.
"What can I get for you?" the blonde asked, leaning forward to better hear him. With both hands planted on the counter, her full breasts pushed together and threatened to spill from her top. Deep cleavage taunted him. How he'd love to bury his face between them and get a good feel.
"I was just thinking what a shame it is that you have to stand behind this bar while everyone else has fun. I'm paying your salary tonight — come and dance with me. Tonight, I want everyone to have a good time."
There was a moment's hesitation. The blonde's eyes widened for a moment, then she shook her head as she recovered.
"I can't, not when I'm working. I'm having a good time watching all of you and tending to your orders. Go have fun!"
A sweet girl, he thought, but sweet hearts were easily torn. Luka smiled and put his hand on hers to establish intimacy while he kept his eyes on hers. In the pink lights they looked violet; she had to have beautiful blue eyes to make a color that magical.
"My order is that you let me treat you just as well as you've been treating us tonight. Come on. Let's have a good time."
A blush spread across the bartender's cheeks, and she couldn't help but smile. Her line of work wasn't for the weak hearted, and Luka knew she wasn't used to interacting with a man who gave two shits about her.
Really, he didn't — but the act was an easy one to keep up. Women liked genuine men, and Luka was happy to play the part if it meant payoff at the end. It almost always did.
"Well, I guess..."
"Don't guess. Do." The hand that lay flat over hers clenched down to hold her hand, and although the position was awkward, Luka kept the gesture sweet and heartfelt. The bartender pursed her lips and glanced down. Reluctance, Luka recognized, but submission as well. He was under her skin.
"Okay." It was all he needed to hear. Luka grinned wide and drew back, gesturing towards the dance floor. Most of the cattiness brought on by intelligence had gone from her face, she was trying to look more attractive. Their little back and forth had gone better than Luka could have hoped. Without further hesitation, she slipped out from behind the bar to join him.
It wasn't a black shirt she wore. The low cut number was a simple black dress, just as slutty as any of the ones on the girls on the floor. A deep cut down the front revealed her spilling cleavage, and the skirt barely covered her bubbled ass from behind. One little slip and he'd get an eyeful. By the end of the night, Luka hoped an eyeful wasn't all he'd get.
Black heels clicked across the floor, and she stood before him, all smiles. A tiny waist with curved hips. Generous breasts. If she was his farewell to the party lifestyle, he truly was going out with a bang.
"What's your name?" he asked. A hand extended towards her, his eyes never dipping down to ogle the tracks of her body, Luka played the gentleman. By the way the bartender was looking him up and down, he knew it to be effective.
"Melody," she replied, leaning towards him to better be heard. The way she did it gave him a clear view down the front of her dress, but Luka kept his eyes on hers. Playing the long con meant bigger rewards, and he wasn't ready to cash out.
"The name's Luka," he said. "Luka Belmonte."
The red of her lips rounded into an unspoken "oh" as her eyes widened. A perfectly timed name drop never failed to disappoint.
"Belmonte?"
"One in the same. Now come; let's dance."
Luka pulled her onto the dance floor among the rhythmic, grinding bodies of the other girls he'd invited to his private room.
Melody was more than a fox — The sway of her hips kept his attention on her, and the way she made eyes was to die for. Even as other girls grinded against him from behind, Luka's attention was on her alone. There was no purer form of perfection.
Songs blurred, creating a seamless timescape. Melody started off at a distance, but by the time their stint on the dance floor was over, her hips were flush with his. The little minx had stirred the heat from his loins, and now he was on fire for her.
"Baby," Luka breathed into her ear as the energy wore down, "let's go back to the booth and sit for a while, just you and me."
Gino flirted with his lady of choice at the booth already, but that little detail didn't matter so much to Luka. With Gino and the broad there, they would be as alone as they were going to get. It would have to do.
"Mmhm," Melody purred back. A flirty wink saw her pull away, and Luka knew he had her. Hand in hand they walked back to the booth, and he scooted inward to let her sit on the outside. Gino and his lady friend sat at the opposite end, lending both pairs some privacy.
"I was thinkin'," Luka ran his fingers down her thigh, "that after all that dancing, you must be thirsty. How about letting me serve you?"
Melody's bottom lip, pouted and pretty, turned down a little bit as she considered his words.
"What do you have to offer?" she asked at last.
"There's only one thing I have on tap," Luka replied, arousal coating his words to shade them with the sinful. "And you're going to have to work a little to get at it, but I promise that it's worth it. So what do you say?"
His hand on her thigh worked up from her knee to the juncture between her leg and torso, and Luka's long fingers extended to tease the fabric of her thong. A shiver ran down Melody's spine, and her eyelids drooped.
"Okay," she purred.
"Then go get it, baby," Luka whispered hot into her ear. "Go milk me for what's only meant for your lips. Tonight I'm all about you."
To mark his words, Luka pressed against the crotc
h of her thong to tease the slickness he found there before drawing his hand away. With skill she slipped from the bench and to the floor beneath, and seconds later Luka felt eager fingers undoing his fly.
As Melody drew his erection from his boxers, Luka withdrew a baggy in his suit coat pocket and portioned its white contents onto the table before him. A woman beneath him, a high before him, Luka never wanted to forget the seedy roots from which he'd sprung.
"Smile, baby," he crowed as he withdrew his phone from his pocket. Shots of the scene from different angles immortalized the last of his bad boy days. It was only when cherry lips met his shaft that Luka divvied the powder into two narrow lines. One snort followed the next, and from across the table Gino yelled, "Hydrate your nose, you moron!"
First, the nose, next, Melody's throat. The length of his shaft plunged into her mouth.
For now, pure indulgence. There was no sweeter goodbye.
* * *
The bright flash from the myriad of cameras in the crowd blinded him as he walked from the back wings and to the podium. The small raised platform in the Millerton Hotel's conference room overlooked a sea of journalists. So many that Luka couldn't pick out faces. Instead, all smiles, he cast a quick glance to the distinguished man to his right before grasping the podium and leaning into the mic.
"Thank you all for joining us here today, although I haven't deluded myself into thinking any of you are here to see me. Even after all this time, my father is the true star of the show."
A round of laughter from the reporters saw his lighthearted address off to a good start. The tie he wore choked him, sure, but it hadn't suffocated his style. Everyone in the room would be eating out of his hand by the time Luka Belmonte was done with them.
"And, as self-defeating as it sounds, I think that's a wonderful thing. After all, there are few men who have done as much good for our beautiful city as Mr. Marcello Belmonte. I, more than anyone, understand what good he's done for New York. Every day in my youth, I saw the burning dedication and love my father poured into the city, and I grew from it."
Silence stretched through the crowd, binding every reporter in their place. Eyes peered up at him, sharp minds working through the intricacies of his speech. Tape recorders were held high. Luka was not intimidated.
"It's been ten years since a Belmonte directed New York into a golden age, and I think that's ten years too long. Today, I've called you all here to announce my intention to run as mayor in the upcoming election. From old, to new, the torch has been passed, and if you allow me to guide you forward with it, the future will be bright."
A stunned pause continued, then, all at once, the journalists on the floor exploded into a series of rapid fire questions.
"What do you intend to do about the rampant corruption in the private sector's contracts?"
"Can we expect to see more of your father's high risk, high reward behavior should you be elected?"
"Tell us more about your decision to run — what about politics made you reconsider your party lifestyle?"
But as they spoke, Luka only smiled. Marcello Belmonte clapped him on the back, cleared him away from the podium, and leaned down towards the mic.
"The Belmonte family thanks each and every one of you for taking the time to hear out Luka's announcement. We'll answer all questions at a later conference, but for now, please know that I support my son through to the end. Like father, like son. There is no doubt in my mind that Luka has everything it takes to be a spectacular mayor, and it is my sincere hope he gets to show the world his mettle. Thank you."
Father and son left the stage together, stepping down into the crowd to walk up the central aisle towards the main doors. As they walked they shook hands with familiar members of the audience. The senior Belmonte hissed a message to his son under his breath.
"If you want to win this, you need to take things seriously. No more flowery allegories. You hire my trusted speech writer, you perform the speech, you get into office."
"Yeah, dad, yeah," Luka mumbled back. The words had registered, but their meaning hadn't. One of the reporters along the outskirts of the crowd was a busty little brunette with a heart shaped face that drew all of his attention.
One day into playing the good guy, and already Luka was pining for a little action. It was going to be a long campaign — he hoped it would turn out to be worth it in the end.
* * *
Ciara
The sound of chair wheels against the wood floor greeted Ciara as she entered the tiny office space. Mindy swiveled around and crossed her ankles. Dark stockings concealed her stick-like legs, contrasting against the ruched white fabric of her tight pencil skirt. A dark, translucent, billowy blouse was tucked into the high waist, accented at the collar with a white bow. There was a pristine haughtiness in the way Mindy dressed that turned Ciara's stomach. A woman who invested so much into her appearance often didn't have much to show apart from her looks.
"Sandra," Mindy announced languidly, "you're still on your feet. Go get me a skinny caramel macchiato, extra foam, half drizzle."
Six other chairs wheeling back across the floor filled the air with their sound, and Ciara swept her gaze across the room. Each one of her coworkers turned in their chairs to face her. Why had everyone arrived so early? Ciara was five minutes early, and with New York traffic the way it was, she expected at least one other person to show up after her. Being the new girl at the office was all the more awkward when she walked in to seven sets of eyes staring her down.
"It's Ciara."
"It doesn't really make a difference one way or the other what your name is. The barista is going to spell it wrong on your cup, anyway. Just be a good girl and go get me my coffee."
"And mine," Heidi added. "Pumpkin spice dolce latte with cinnamon on top."
"Caffe Americano," Jules said.
"Simple cappuccino."
"Wet cappuccino."
"White chocolate mocha with caramel drizzle."
"And I'm always an orange pekoe tea. Honey. But not too much. Ugh, maybe you should just bring a little cup of it back with you so I can fix it for myself until you know what you're doing."
In turn, each one of her coworkers had shot off their order. Ciara's mind swam. Today she'd come in expecting to pitch her first story, but it looked like they were expecting her to be their coffee lackey. Remembering fancy coffee orders wasn't what she came to New York for. And it certainly wasn't what she just spent the last four years working her ass off in college to do.
Ciara took a deep breath. First impressions last the longest, there would be no point in rocking the boat on her very first day in the office.
"I really want to make a good impression on the boss and come up with a great story, and I'm so new that I'm not sure how long it's going to take me. Besides, you must all know the regular coffee order by now, so wouldn't it be easier if—"
"Last one in the office gets the coffee. It's the rule. Do you want to go against the rules, Sarah?" Mindy sneered.
"Ciara—"
"I guess you didn't hear what I said before, about your name? If you're so worried about messing up the order, let me write it down for you."
Without wasting a second, Mindy snatched up a notepad and pen from her desk. A click of the button at the top saw the tip descend, and she scrawled the order out line by line in rapid succession.
"You're going to want to take this list," she said without looking up from the paper, "and commit it to memory. If you're the last one in, you'll be picking up the coffee, and no one likes to have their morning coffee mixed up."
"But on Thursdays, I like to have hot chocolate," Jules added. "At least, in the colder seasons. In the summer all of our orders change, but you won't have to worry about that for a while."
As Jules layered unnecessary complexity into Ciara's life, Mindy tore the page from the pad and wheeled across the room. The paper rustled as it was thrust through the air to dangle before her. Ciara set her lips and dropped her gaze;
if she was going to fit in here, she needed to make a good impression on her coworkers.
"Got it," she relented. Tens of thousands of dollars on a degree spent to fetch coffee. The humiliation burned in her cheeks, but she snatched the paper out of Mindy's hands. In time she would fit in. In time she would excel. In time she would rub her success in Mindy's smug little face. Right now she had to roll with the punches. The experience she earned now was invaluable, worth more than the frustrations of a coffee run. "Is there anything else that needs to be picked up when I'm out? Once I get back I really have to settle down and get to work."
"Does anyone want to split a bagel with me?" Heidi asked. "I can't deal with all the carbs, but I can deal with half of them."
"I'll eat your other half," Mindy said as she propelled herself back to her desk. "So, yeah, add a bagel onto that, and then it'll be all until our lunch run. By then, I hope you'll have your story ironed out. You're falling behind, Shania. It's not good for someone so new. I thought someone so fresh out of college would be a little more excited to land a job at TCD."
"As soon as I get back," Ciara said between gritted teeth, "I'll be happy to get started."
"Guess you'd better start going, then. And make sure graphic design and marketing doesn't know you're heading out on a coffee run, or that order will double."
Ciara pursed her lips, nodded, and turned on her heels. The urge to bite back and give Mindy a piece of her mind was burning on her tongue, but Ciara's drive to succeed was greater.
Professors and mentors had warned her from day one that the industry was cut-throat. That those higher up the ladder would be eager to cut down competition before it rose up to become a threat. For now she'd play Mindy's game, lay low, and then upstage her. There was more than one way to strengthen a journalistic career; her voice and determination would speak for her. No amount of snark or coffee runs would change that.
No more words were exchanged. Ciara's kitten heels clicked down the hallway and back towards the elevator. For such a successful celebrity blogging website, TCD operated in a tiny space. She'd always heard that property in New York was expensive, but until she'd arrived, Ciara hadn't understood to what extent. The tiny bachelor off-island cost more a month than even the most luxurious apartments back in Iowa. Rental space downtown was astronomically expensive. TCD likely put more money into their rent than their reporters. Maybe she was in the wrong business — landlords obviously made a killing in the big apple.
