Strip Poker: Bad Boys Club Romance #2

by Olivia Thorne

  42

  As soon as the jet landed, a limo was waiting for us (of course it was). It was hours until the party would be in full swing, so Vic offered to drop me off and pick me up later.

  We pulled up in front of the crappy corporate housing complex where I was staying until I got hired and could afford something better.

  “This is it?” he asked in surprise.

  “We can’t all sponge off of rich uncles.”

  “Touché. So, you gonna invite me up?” he asked with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

  “And why would I do that?” I asked, disgusted.

  “Maybe get an early start on when you lose that bet tonight.”

  “Oh yeah… speaking of which, what about that escrow account and all those lawyers?”

  He laughed. “I was wondering when you were going to remember that.”

  I sat next to him in the back of the limo as he made a conference call on speakerphone so I could hear everything. His lawyer and banker (both of whom were apparently available 24/7) seemed blasé about the whole thing, like it was just another Saturday evening with Vic Cortelian as a client.

  “Do you do this often?” I asked Vic.

  “More often than he should,” the banker grumbled.

  “Amen,” the lawyer agreed.

  After about ten minutes, I got an official-looking email from Bank of America stating there was now a bank account with one million dollars in an escrow account with my name on it, along with the lawyer’s name and a number to call.

  “You’re really serious about this,” I said, completely dumbfounded as I looked at all those zeroes.

  “I am,” he chortled. “I hope you are, cuz you’re in it now.”

  I rolled my eyes and got out of the limo.

  “You never answered my question,” he yelled out of the rolled-down window. “You gonna invite me up?”

  I flipped him the bird over my shoulder as I walked away. “Does that answer your question?”

  He laughed again. “See you at ten o’clock.”

  “Great,” I called out dourly as I walked in the dingy lobby.

  But once I got in the elevator, my knees started to shake.

  I looked again at the email and all those zeroes in the number.

  Was this real?

  Was this really happening?

  I felt bad about what I’d done – ashamed that I’d made such a morally effed-up wager.

  But, like he’d said, it wasn’t really gambling because there was no way he could win, right?

  …right?

  43

  I ate at a diner around the corner, then took a long shower and fixed myself up.

  Vic texted me at a quarter after ten (late, of course).

  I’m here! Ready to pay up?

  I’m ready to get my million dollars, I texted back.

  Too bad – I never welch.

  Then prepare to be my bitch for a month, BITCH, I typed.

  He just texted back LOL and a little emoji crying tears of hilarity.

  I walked outside to find him standing outside the limo holding the back door open. I was about to sardonically comment ‘What a gentleman,’ but he spoke first.

  “Why didn’t you change?” he asked.

  “I did,” I said as I got in the limo. Vic piled in behind me, and the driver took off.

  “You’re wearing the exact same thing you were in Vegas!”

  “No I’m not.”

  “You’re wearing a business suit!”

  “A different business suit, and a different top.”

  “Ohhhhh, yeah, this one’s navy with an off-white blouse,” he said mockingly, then shook his head. “You could stand to shake things up a little, you know.”

  “Said the guy who wears the same damn thing all the time,” I jeered.

  “Hey, I changed.”

  “Yeah, I can tell by your shirt.”

  It was black with a Captain America shield on it. I’d never seen it before, but it was just as tacky as everything else he wore.

  “We’re going to a party,” he said. “At least I’m dressed for it.”

  “Well, I’m going to work – and I’m dressed for it,” I countered.

  He sighed. “Wow, sex with you is just going to be a barrelful of monkeys, isn’t it?”

  “No, it’ll be a unicorn.”

  He looked at me and grinned. “How’s that – because there’s a really big horn?”

  Oh God. Walked right into THAT one.

  “No,” I said, “because it never existed, and it never will.”

  He laughed. “You know, a unicorn in the VC world is a start-up with a billion dollar valuation at IPO.”

  “I know.”

  “My uncles’ offer to Bradley Middleton would mean his company’s a unicorn right out of the gate.”

  “Yes, and?” I asked in irritation.

  “So I guess we’re going hunting for two unicorns tonight,” he grinned.

  “Unfortunately for you, you’re not going to bag either one of them.”

  He chuckled. “We’ll see.”

  44

  The party was in a huge mansion in Palo Alto, with an endless stream of Ubers dropping people off at the front door. Vic’s limo was the standout amongst a good deal many cheaper cars – and most of the guests looked like they’d just got off of work on Casual Friday and were headed to happy hour at a mid-priced restaurant chain.

  “Interesting,” I said as we got out.

  “What?” Vic asked.

  “There’s going to be some rich people at this party, right?”

  “A ton of them, actually. Why?”

  “Everybody’s showing up in Ubers – and not Uber Blacks, either. Like, Hondas and Toyotas.”

  “People aren’t ostentatious about their wealth here. At least, not the way they are in other places,” Vic said. “In New York City, if you want to know who owns the building, you look for the guy in the most expensive suit. In San Francisco, if you want to know who owns the building, it’s usually the guy who’s dressed the worst – because he can afford to dress any way he likes.”

  “Is that the reason you dress in camouflage pants all the time?” I asked sardonically. “Because you’re trying to look rich in San Francisco?”

  “That’s half of it.”

  I looked at him in surprise – partly that he was that strategic in his thinking, and partly that he would admit to it. “Really?”

  “Yup. Most of the work I do for my uncles, I do here in town, so it’s not a bad idea to dress like the natives.” He grinned, then added, “Plus, I just really like camo pants.”

  I was about to walk through the mansion’s front door when Vic grabbed my arm. “Wait a minute.”

  I turned back to look at him. “What?”

  “Hold on, they should be here any second.”

  A few minutes later, a second limo pulled up – and six models in miniskirts and midriff-bearing tops poured out. As soon as they saw Vic, they all squealed and ran over and hugged him.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I said, disgusted once again.

  “Hey – I got an image to uphold,” he said cheerfully as he linked his arms with the two closest ones. “Especially since somebody nearly ruined it earlier today.”

  I shook my head and followed the seven of them inside.

  As we walked through the mansion, I noticed that the male guests tended to prefer checkered shirts and plastic-rimmed glasses, and the women were more likely to be wearing casual slacks than little black dresses. There were four beer pong tables set up in the downstairs den, all in heavy use.

  Not exactly a glamorous party.

  Although there were hints of higher quality. A typical party with dressed-down twenty-somethings would normally sport a sea of red Solo cups, but here everyone was sipping from fancy wine glasses or crystal cocktail glasses.

  That was another thing – wine and cocktails were just as prevalent as beer bottles, which tended to have labels from cra
ft breweries I’d never heard of. Over at the bar, five mixologists crafted gorgeous-looking cocktails with sprigs of lavender, orange twists, and bottles of exotic-looking liquor. And the wine seemed expensive, too, with a variety of reds, whites, and champagnes chosen more for taste than to flout brand names like Cristal or Dom Perignon.

  There was a DJ out back by the pool, but he was spinning mellow ambient music rather than dance hits. Everybody was just standing around talking in little cliques.

  Not exactly a lively party, either.

  Not until Vic and his six models walked in, anyway.

  As soon as people saw them, the whispers spread like wildfire. There were snickers in some groups – I saw a few people point at me, and I knew it was about the video. But once the first guy came over and shyly asked for a selfie with Vic and his girls, the dam broke, and another dozen nerds rushed over.

  Vic glad-handed like a pro. He and the models took as many photos as people wanted. He shook hands and engaged in short discussions, all with a beaming smile on his face. For the second time in as many days I was struck at just how good he was at putting people at ease and making instant friends – whether it was rap stars in Vegas or nerds in Silicon Valley.

  Oddly enough, one of the attendees was most definitely not a nerd.

  “We must stop meeting like this, carina, or people will talk,” said an Italian-accented voice behind me.

  I whirled around –

  Domenico.

  He was looking gorgeous as always in an expensive suit and a blue silk shirt open halfway down his chest. His eyes sparkled as he peered at me – though there was a hint of something devious there, too.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, astounded.

  “Our host has a poker game upstairs. I was getting a drink when I happened to notice you. You are, as they say, a sight for sore eyes.”

  I felt my face flush the slightest. I have to admit, he was just as charming as Vic had warned – and his gaze was utterly hypnotic.

  By now Vic had seen the two of us together, and he separated from his entourage and came stomping over.

  “What the fuck are you doing, stalking me?” he growled at Domenico.

  “Actually, whenever we meet, I am always here first, if you will recall. So my question to you is, why are you stalking me?”

  “Because – I – fuck you, man,” Vic said, obviously thrown off his game by Domenico’s presence. “Why are you here?”

  Domenico turned to me, cutting Vic out of the conversation.

  “The better question is, why are you still with this clown?” The edges of his lips curled up in amusement. “I would have thought after your quite public exposure of his shortcomings, you would have started looking for someone more capable of satisfying your appetites.”

  “So you saw the video,” I said with a tight smile.

  “Who hasn’t?” he confirmed with a laugh.

  “That was bullshit,” Vic snapped, then noticed a couple of people listening in around us. He said to them as much as to Domenico, “She never saw my package – well, not before the video,” he added with a smug smile.

  UGH.

  I halfway wanted to lie and embarrass him all over again, just for being such a self-satisfied douchebag.

  But Domenico beat me to it.

  “Don’t worry, Victor,” Domenico said with a patronizing pat on Vic’s shoulder. “You can learn to please women in other ways.”

  “Ha ha,” Vic snarled as he shrugged away from Domenico. “Get your hands off me, asshole.”

  As much as Vic was annoying me, Domenico was, too. Guys’ egos are very wrapped up in their size, I’ve noticed. They’re constantly wanting to one-up the other prick (pun intended) – and Domenico was definitely being the bigger dick here (second pun intended, too).

  Well, not on my watch, buddy.

  “Actually, I spoke out of turn on that video,” I said.

  Domenico turned back to me. “How so?”

  “Well, I actually hadn’t seen his… um… ‘endowment’ before I made that statement.”

  I saw Vic lean in expectantly, his eyes tinged with the tiniest bit of fear.

  “But you have now,” Domenico said in more of a statement than a question. I detected the slightest cooling of his eyes and hardening of his features.

  “I have. And I was very, very wrong in my previous assessment,” I said with a smile. “Enormously wrong, you might say.”

  Vic seemed happy, and puffed out his chest proudly – quite literally the cock of the walk.

  Domenico’s comeback was worthy of a champ, though. “Well, unfortunately, it is still attached to a buffoon,” he said, which deflated Vic all over again. “When you would like to experience the heights of passion with someone other than a circus clown, contact me.”

  He gave me a final wink, then glided away.

  Daaaaamn.

  “I’ll heighten your fuckin’ – ” Vic started to yell after him, then muttered, “Damn it, that’s not going to come out right.” He looked around angrily and yelled, “Where’s Bradley?!”

  A dozen pale, skinny arms lifted out of the crowd and pointed upstairs.

  Vic whistled at his posse of models, and we all started up the stairs.

  “Thanks for not tooling me back there,” Vic whispered in my year. “I know you wanted to – ”

  “Damn straight.”

  “But you didn’t, so… thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He couldn’t leave it at that, though. Couldn’t help himself.

  “Even though you were just telling the truth,” he said with a smug grin, then chuckled. “‘Enormously’… heh…”

  “The night is still young.”

  “For winning my bet?” he said with a leer.

  “No, for telling everyone you paid me to lie back there. So watch it.”

  “Alright, alright,” he agreed hastily. “No need to use the nuclear option.”

  45

  At the top of the stairs was a massive landing outfitted with several Vegas-style poker tables, each with a stunning woman in a corset as the dealer. Every table was surrounded by nerds in bowling shirts and polos, to the point where I was trying to figure out which one Bradley Middleton was – but he announced himself on his own.

  “Well, if it isn’t Little Dick Vic!” crowed the guy in the center of the closest table.

  He was a scrawny guy, late twenties, with a mop of hair hanging down in his eyes. As soon as he shouted out the part about ‘Little Dick Vic,’ all of his equally scrawny minions snickered behind their hands.

  Vic ignored them. He just swaggered across the room with a model on each arm and a big grin on his face. “Don’t believe everything you read on the internet, Bradley.”

  “Oh, I didn’t read it, I saw it.”

  Vic moved one hand down to his fly. “Well, if you really want to see it and settle this once and for all, I could just whip it out right here…”

  UGH.

  But it had the intended effect. Bradley made a face and put out his hand like he was trying to block an unpleasant sight.

  “Keep it in your pants, please.” Bradley pointed at the models. “So, do you have to pay for female companionship now that the unpleasant truth is out?”

  “Naw, they like me for my personality.”

  I snorted at that one.

  The sound drew Bradley’s attention. He looked past Vic to me, and an expression of surprise filled his face. “You’re still hanging out with her after she humiliated you?”

  More snickers from his poker entourage.

  As bad as Vic was, his getting ganged up on by a crowd mad me even madder. I kind of wanted to shout out, Okay, drop ‘em, nerds, and let’s see who’s got what.

  “You ever thought that maybe I planted that video?” Vic asked. “That maybe I wanted to put it out there?”

  I looked at him in surprise. That was an interesting tack.

  “Uh, no,” Bradley said, like Give me
a break.

  “Over sixty million hits in under twelve hours. I’m more famous than ever, dude,” Vic said.

  “I don’t think you want to be famous for having a tiny pecker,” Bradley said, followed by more snickering.

  “Counterintuitive thinking, my man,” Vic said as he pointed to his temple. “A big fake-out with a big brain. Which, if you’ll recall, is how I won 350 grand off you last time we met.”

  Ohhhhh.

  That did it.

  Middleton’s jaw set, and he got a dangerous look in his eye.

  Vic gestured at the packed table. “You mind? I’m assuming you want a shot at getting your money back.”

  Bradley looked across the table at one of his nerds and jerked his head. Get out of here.

  The nerd vacated his seat and Vic sat down in his place. “Thank you kindly.”

  “Oh, don’t thank me,” Bradley said. “I’m getting my money back – with interest.”

  “Delusional optimism – I love it. Spot me a million?” Vic asked.

  Bradley snorted. “NO. It’s strictly cash and carry here.”

  “For a bunch of millionaires, you people are SO stingy,” Vic said good-naturedly as he reached up under the back of his t-shirt. He must have been wearing some sort of cash-carrying contraption, because he came out with two fistfuls of stacked and banded hundred-dollar bills. Then he pulled out another couple and slapped them on the table. “I only came with half a mil, but I figure that’s enough to get me started.”

  “Billionaires,” Bradley said.

  “What?” Vic asked mildly, eyebrows raised.

  “You said ‘millionaires,’” Bradley said. “It’s billionaires.”

  “Well, YOU, yeah,” Vic snorted, then pointed derisively around the table. “Them, not so much.”

  Woo, talk about some riled-up nerds.

  Bradly just chuckled. “Big talk from a little dick.”

  The whole table exploded in laughter – even Vic’s six-pack of models.

  Vic smiled. “We’ll see who’s laughing in an hour.”

  It didn’t even take that long.

  46