Sexy

by JA Huss

  She takes a deep breath and then her anger gives way to frustration and what might be shame. “He used us, Miss Preston. He used us like—”

  “I understand,” I say, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving her a push towards the casino. “Let’s talk about it in my office, OK? And then you can tell me everything in private.”

  Cole buttons his suit coat. “I’ll come with you, if that’s OK.”

  Lisa Watkins sniffles, and gives him a nod. “But we all have to come, Miss Preston. He did this to all of us.”

  I motion to the girls off to the side. “You’re all welcome to come.” I smile sweetly at Lisa and then she turns and begins to walk out of the restaurant. Cole follows her and I steal one quick glance at Fletcher.

  He doesn’t say anything. Not a shake of his head like they are lying. Not a word to defend himself. He just stands there and frowns. Looking very, very guilty.

  I walk behind Cole and the group of girls as we make our way to the elevator that services the offices on the third floor of the East Tower. I think about Fletcher and what an asshole he must be to have slept with all those women. He probably left them the same note he left me this morning. And I can see how hurt a young woman might be if she had hoped for something more than just hot sex. Lord knows I’m thankful that I’m not even remotely interested in him. I mean, he has slut written all over him. I knew that going in.

  But some of these girls look very young. Especially Miss Watkins. Twenty-one? Maybe twenty-two? And Fletcher is pushing thirty. He’s got some experience and years behind him. Me as well. I’m no doe-eyed college girl.

  It’s sad really. That he feels the need to pump himself up with these young women. Use them to make himself feel better just because he can.

  But on the other hand, he’s a male stripper, for Pete’s sake. How dumb can these girls be? He’s only good for a one-night stand to begin with.

  When we get upstairs to the reception area I wave them all into a conference room just as Cole’s phone rings. He checks the screen, and then looks at me and winces. “It’s your father. I have to take this.”

  “I can handle it. But Cole,” I say, grabbing his arm real fast before he leaves. “Don’t mention this to him. He doesn’t need this on his plate too.”

  “Got it, Tiffy. I’ll leave it to you.”

  “Thanks.” I take a deep breath as he answers his phone and walks off. And then I plant a smile on my face, enter the room, and close the door.

  xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

  Two hours later the last girl is just finishing up. It’s been two hours of hell with the We hate Fletcher Novak Support Group of South Tahoe. Two hours of crying and threats to castrate my star stripper. Two hours of swearing and anger. Two hours of what-are-you-gonna-do-about-this.

  I don’t even have an answer. But I have to tell them something. “Ladies, first off, thank you for coming in and telling me your stories. As a woman, I know what it feels like to be objectified. And I know how bad it hurts when you feel misled by a man you thought was interested. But Fletcher Novak has no clause in his contract that prohibits him from sleeping with non-employees.”

  And I just fucked him, so I’m breaking more rules than he did, I don’t add.

  “But,” I continue, “I assure you, I will take action regarding this matter. And his contract will be redrawn the minute I can talk to the lawyers.”

  “You’re not going to fire him?” Lisa exclaims.

  “Well—” I stutter.

  “He deserves to be fired,” a girl named Cathy says. “Now.”

  “Yeah,” a few more echo.

  “I can’t promise that. You have to understand we are bound by labor laws. If he didn’t break his contract, then I have to write him up and give him a warning.”

  “How about poor representation of your show and casino? Don’t performers have that in their contracts?”

  “We do not,” I lie. I’m not sure why I lie. Maybe just because I need these girls to go away. I don’t want them following up or pressing matters. I don’t want my father to find anything out about this. I just want to clear the air, make the necessary changes, and then move on. “But I will be looking very closely at this issue. And I’m not saying he won’t be fired, I’m just not saying he will. You understand this is an internal matter and he has rights too. So I need to respect them and push this through the proper channels. But I can tell you, the Landslide is not interested in a performer who presents a bad image of our establishment.”

  They mumble a few more complaints, but I wrap things up, give them one more assurance that things will be dealt with and usher them out of the hotel.

  I watch them leave by the front entrance, and cringe when Lisa Watkins gives me an angry look over her shoulder. She’s not satisfied.

  And neither am I.

  Fletcher really does need to go.

  I turn back and walk into the casino, wondering what I should do next. I wonder all the way back up to the office floor, and then I take my indecision back into the conference room and sit down.

  “Leslie?” I call out for the receptionist.

  “Yes, Miss Preston?” She gets up out of her chair and rushes in to see what I might need.

  “Can you text me Fletcher’s number?”

  “Sure, ma’am. Let me go get it.”

  I stare out the window as I wait. It’s late afternoon now and the sun is making its way towards the mountains on the west side of the lake.

  Well, this day certainly started better than it will end.

  I still can’t believe I slept with Novak. What an idiot I am. And not because I feel used, like those girls. I don’t. I’m not interested in a pretty boy like him, a man who thinks he can manipulate the world with his charm and good looks.

  I just feel disappointed in myself because if my father finds out, he’ll be disappointed in me for making a bad decision.

  I’m not afraid of my father. I’m not afraid of being yelled at, or losing my job, or my trust fund. I just want to please him. And if he finds out I had such a monumental lapse in judgment, well, it will kill me to see his face.

  My phone buzzes in my purse, and Leslie calls out, “That’s the number,” from her desk.

  “Thank you,” I call back. I get up, close the door, and press send as I walk back and take a seat in my chair.

  “Yeah,” he answers on the first ring.

  “It’s Tiffy.”

  “I know.”

  “Can you… come down to the conference room on three?”

  “That’s OK, Tiffy. I’ll save you the trouble. I’ve already got a lawyer. He’ll contact you tomorrow.” And then I get the hang-up beeps.

  Fuck.

  I press send again and this time it rings through to voicemail.

  Shit. Lawyers are bad news. If lawyers get involved, I’m screwed. My father will definitely hear about that.

  But I can’t let Fletcher get away with it. I really can’t. What he’s doing is wrong and he needs to know that.

  I think the professional thing to do is to have an adult conversation. I mean, I haven’t exactly been professional today. But as my father always told me, it’s never too late to turn over a new leaf.

  I get up and open the door. “Leslie? Does Novak have a room here?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He stays on fifteen in the penthouse tower. He and Chandler both have a complimentary suite.”

  “What number?”

  “Fifteen thirty-nine.”

  “Thanks.” I go back in the conference room and grab my bag. I guess I will have to go to him if he’s not going to take my call.

  My heart races on my way up to fifteen. He’s in the same tower as me, and all I can think of the whole way there is how much I want to go back to my room and take one of those long bubble baths I was craving this morning.

  Gah, and then I feel guilty for what I did with Fletcher. How could I have fucked up so badly?

  I stop in front of his suite room and then hesitate. Maybe I shou
ld just let legal handle this? I might make things worse if I confront him.

  But no. I run all the reasons through my head why my father can’t know about this, and then I rap on the hard wooden door.

  I hear footsteps inside, and then a pause, which means he’s probably looking through the peephole.

  So I wave at him. “I just need to talk,” I say in my most businesslike tone. “Five minutes, that’s it.”

  The door opens a crack. “What?”

  “Don’t you want to give your side of the story?”

  “I will, when my lawyer is present. I’m not gonna let you corporate people fuck up my life.”

  “Fletcher—”

  “Save your breath, princess. Because I’ve got nothing to say. I don’t want to lose this job just yet and if you think I’m gonna let some bimbo trash take it away from me, you’re mistaken.”

  “I never said I was going to fire you, OK? I just want to hear…” What do I want to hear? “All the right things,” I say with a heavy sigh.

  He gives me a crooked smile. “You want me to lie and say I didn’t fuck them? That it’s their word against mine?”

  “So you did sleep with them all?”

  “Yeah,” he admits like this is a foregone conclusion. “So fucking what? You’re gonna come up here and lecture me on safe sex? I use condoms, as you well know.”

  “Hey—”

  “Hey, nothing. I was upfront with you and I was upfront with them too. It might be a douchebag move to fuck around like that, but it’s not illegal.”

  “Can I come in?”

  He squints at me. “Why?”

  “Because,” I whisper, “I don’t want to have this conversation standing in a hallway.”

  “Five minutes, you said. I’ve got you on the clock.” He opens the door and I step in.

  His suite is nice. There’s a small foyer with a table and a door to a closet and a second bathroom. I’m familiar with the floor plan. “This is quite a perk we give you. Free room? It must be nice living in a luxury hotel.”

  “It is. Get to the point.”

  I walk towards the living area and take it all in. He’s got a laptop open on the coffee table and tons of papers scattered around. He pushes past me and starts gathering them up and then tucks them away in an end-table drawer like he can’t get rid of them fast enough.

  “I have to admit, the story the girls tell is sad.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s because they are sad people. They go to strip shows looking for a piece of ass and then act surprised when it’s just sex? Come on. They’re not pissed because I fucked them. They’re pissed because I only did it once.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Yeah,” I say, about to get sarcastic. But I realize it’s true. He’s… hot. I mean, let’s face it. Fletcher Novak has a six-pack, thighs that make you moan just thinking about them gripping your hips, fingers and hands that know just where to touch you, and a cock the size of a cucumber. So instead of being sarcastic, I just sigh and say, “You’re probably right.”

  “What?” he asks, thrown by my surrender. “You believe me?” He stares me in the eyes and I get a little lost in the blue.

  “What’s not to believe? You’re… desirable,” I say, coming up with a better word than hot. “They got hurt. And I’m sure you were up front with them, since I got the Novak treatment this morning and you were perfectly clear with me. So yeah, I believe you. But that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, Fletcher. I can’t win here. You’re gonna call a lawyer if I take action and they’re gonna… well, who the hell knows what they might do. Tell the media? Write a letter to my father? Try to sue us for letting you assault them?”

  “I didn’t assault them, Tiffy. I slept with them. And it takes two to do that shit, right? So why is it always the man’s fault? Why do I have to pay for doing the same thing they did? Why am I the bad guy when they came on to me? Hell, I didn’t even have to go looking for them. They found me.”

  And he’s right. Every bit of it is right. “It’s a double standard. I get it. But that’s not the point. The point is, you can’t do that shit and work for this company. My father would blow a blood vessel if he knew you were acting this way.”

  “I’m a fucking male stripper. This is how I’m supposed to act.”

  “Well, none of the other guys in the show have a pack of angry women slapping them in the face in the casino restaurant. That’s you. And I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to—”

  “I want to keep this job, Tiffy. I’m not kidding. I want to keep this job for a little bit longer and I won’t let you force me out without a fight.”

  “What’s that mean?” Seriously, can he be any more cryptic?

  He stares at me for a second, like he’s not sure what to say. But the indecision passes just as fast, and his answer pours out of his mouth like all the other lies. “I’m the one who decides to leave, Tiffy. And if I broke your rules, then you’d have cause to get rid of me. But I didn’t. We both know that. So I’m staying and that’s the end of it.”

  I walk away. I have no good way out of this. I need to just be a professional and do the job I was hired to do.

  “Hey,” he says roughly, coming up behind me. “I saw you today.”

  “What?” I ask back, looking over my shoulder at him. “Saw what?”

  “You at the table with Cole. He’s the guy, right? You like him, don’t you? You took notes this morning and then you used them on him at lunch. I saw the whole thing.”

  “We’re not talking about me, Fletcher. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You fucked me this morning.”

  Shit.

  “You liked it. And”—he chuckles—“you understood that it was just fun, right?”

  “So what?” Dammit. Now he’s gonna threaten me. He’s gonna say, Tiffy, I’ll tell your father what a disappointment you are. I’ll tell him you fucked a complete stranger on the roof of his hotel and you came three times.

  Jesus Christ. Why the hell did I ever do that?

  Fletcher Novak will use this against me for eternity. Why didn’t I think of all this before I let my vagina have a party with him?

  “So let’s make a deal.”

  “What deal?” I ask, spinning around. “I let you keep your job and you don’t tell on me? No. I’m not gonna play that game. I’d rather tell my father that I fucked up and get it out in the open.”

  “Wait. What the hell are you talking about? You think I’m gonna tell your father?” He laughs.

  “Aren’t you? Aren’t you gonna threaten to ruin my life if I don’t let you keep your job?”

  He frowns and lets out a long breath of air. “You have a really low opinion of me, don’t you?”

  I stop a sarcastic remark once again. Because he’s got a look on his face. A look that appears oddly similar to the same disappointment my father might have.

  So I reconsider him.

  He’s smart, I know that much based on the proposal this morning. And he’s got ambition. That’s for sure. He’s only worked here nine months and he’s a star. He has a Wikipedia entry, I remind myself. I don’t have that, and I’m the daughter of billionaire Randall Preston. And he’s honest. I have to admit that too. He hasn’t lied about anything. I mean, I don’t care for his brand of truth, like, at all. But he still gives it to me.

  “I don’t, actually. I think there’s a lot more to you than just taking your clothes off.”

  He smiles. It’s the same smile from this morning when we were up on the roof. His eyes light up a little and his grin gets wide. “Then let me help you.”

  “Help me how? By not telling—”

  “I’m not gonna tell a man I fucked his daughter, Tiffy. Just what the actual fuck?”

  I stare at him. And blink a few times, trying to grasp what he’s saying. “Then what?”

  “You want Cole, right?”

  I just shrug. “I like him a little. I think we’d make a good couple.”

  “Just adm
it it,” Fletcher says, bringing his hand up to my cheek and stroking it softly. My insides do a little flip as I recall all the ways he touched me this morning. “You think he’s hot. You were flirting with him using my trade secrets—”

  “Trade secrets?” I laugh out loud. “What?”

  “—and they were working. Probably be working right now if those psycho bitches hadn’t come up and ruined it.”

  “Actually, Cole’s in San Francisco—”

  “I was being figurative, Tiffy. My point is, you know they were good tips. Look, you got dressed up, took that business suit off and did all the things I told you to. I’m good at this. So look, I’ll patch things up with Lisa and the other girls, you agree that I should keep my job, and as a way to show my appreciation, I’ll help you reel Cole in. What do you say?”

  I give him the stink eye, sure that I’m being set up. “What’s the catch?”

  “What catch? I just told you. I keep working, I apologize for hurting those girls—even if it wasn’t my fault—and help you get the guy.”

  “How will you make things right with those girls? They are pissed. They want you fired, Fletcher. I can’t just ignore that.”

  “I’ll find them guys too. New guys,” he adds quickly. “Not me. Nice guys.”

  “What, you’re some kind of matchmaker? Where the hell are you gonna get guys to date them?”

  He walks across the room and opens a drawer filled with files. “I am a matchmaker. I have a secret side business. Because sexy doesn’t sell, Tiffy. It’s for sale.”

  I laugh out loud again. “Is that your tagline?”

  “It’s good, right?” He smiles at me, one hundred percent serious. “I’m a hookup genius, Tiffy. I will find a guy for each girl and I’ll hook Cole for you too. I’m good at this, I swear.”

  “What is all that?” I ask, pointing to the files.

  “Satisfied customers. Clients. It’s a side job I started a few years ago and I’ve got seventeen real hookups. My first two are already engaged. And another five are heading in the same direction. The other ten are, well, works in progress. But all of them are still going. And before you blow up at me for having two sleazy jobs, ask yourself why women might need me. For real.” He stares hard at me like he’s waiting for an answer.