The Holly Hearth Romantic Comedy Collection

by K B Cinder

  Since I was someone absolutely petrified of heights, it was believable so, naturally, he shot upright in a panic, only to cuss me out once he figured out I was screwing around.

  After that little game of Terrify Sage, he promptly fell back asleep, cuddling toward the window in a huff. He stayed asleep, too, even through a rough landing that made the pretzels I swiped from the snack cart over Utah revisit my throat with a vengeance.

  He didn’t say another word to me until we were at the hotel front desk an hour after landing. Even then, he wasn’t talking to me; he was talking about me.

  "I'll need a room a few floors away from her," he requested, tilting his head at me as I worked with a clumsy bellhop to load my bags onto a squeaky luggage cart.

  I straightened and looked to Sage, watching him push a keycard back to the desk clerk with a frown.

  “She’s a screamer with sexsomnia. I want no parts of that.”

  We booked three rooms in a row to stick together, but Sage, as fucking usual, had to be the difficult one. He probably wanted a room he could whore around in with no witnesses. Pig.

  “He’s deranged,” I explained, glancing at the wide-eyed clerk. “Don’t listen to him; he’s full of roids: steroids and hemorrhoids. The room is fine.”

  I was equally lying through my teeth, but I knew the steroids jab would get under his skin since the freak of nature made it a point to go all-natural in his pursuit of becoming a walking masculine masterpiece.

  I let him book the room using my discounted rates as a convention attendee. The place was booked solid, so he’d have to deal with it. We all knew what a manslut he was, anyway; there was no need to hide it. He could fuck until his dick shriveled up and fell off for all I cared. He wasn’t my problem.

  “The only room available is a penthouse suite, sir,” the clerk squeaked, her eyes skittering back to her computer screen.

  I didn’t blame her for being nervous. Sage could be more than intimidating if you didn’t know how to handle the bear of a man. I’d been part of his circus long enough to learn.

  “Sold.” The bastard didn’t even wait for a price.

  It wasn’t my first rodeo, however, and I knew how pricey those rooms were. We weren’t in Atlantic City anymore. We were in the land of real high-rollers. He might have been a dickhead, but I knew what he could and couldn’t afford.

  “Sage, that’s at least a grand a night.”

  He shrugged, and that’s when I saw what he was up to as his bulging bicep moved and revealed his true intentions.

  A woman was checking in with another clerk beside him, the petite thing wearing a red latex bodysuit and heels, her long platinum extensions flowing to rest at a tiny waist.

  She wasn’t just any woman, either. She was Kendra Kum, the winner of more adult awards for sloppy sword swallowing than any performer in history. She was also prominently featured on a poster in Sage’s office at the gym he owned. You could buy a sex doll molded in her likeness — holes and all. It wouldn’t surprise me if he owned it and a back-up just in case.

  “Whatever.” I shoved my carry-on bag on top, pretending it was Sage’s balls I was smashing beneath it as I did. “Have fun.”

  I tried to save him from his own stupidity. If he wanted to pay out the ass, that was on him.

  Juni waved as she and Dash embarked on an epic selfie session with a knight statue at the far end of the lobby. Despite being the ones that flew coach, both looked more refreshed than Sage or me.

  I was ready to sleep the day away but couldn’t. I needed to walk the convention space to get my bearings, plus make an appearance at an attendee cocktail event. I didn’t have an assistant like the others. I was a one-woman show.

  I waved back at my best friend, trying to ignore Sage and his wandering eyes that drank up everything and everyone in the room.

  Life was a real bitch, sometimes.

  3

  Primping to go out on a regular night took long enough, but primping to go to an event where I’d be surrounded by perfect tens was a fucking process.

  My natural curls weren’t cooperating, leading to a battle with a flat iron that I lost miserably. I had the burn on my wrist to prove it, too.

  And my usual makeup wouldn’t cut it, either. I had to go full-glam: smoky eyes, false lashes, contouring, and sexy lips. Yeah, all that, and then some.

  Worst of all was the fashion. You’d think that an industry cocktail party meant business, right? Wrong. In the world of skin, it meant showing plenty of it. I was selling sex; therefore, my outfit needed to as well.

  It was the only way the limp-dick moneybags would notice me in a world where cheap products reigned supreme. Products that could do all sorts of funky stuff to your hooha if you weren’t careful.

  I adjusted my dress to cover mine as the elevator ticked down, the white frock likely to receive a ticket for indecent exposure if a dared to wear it back home.

  I spilled into the lobby as soon as the doors opened, crossing the marble as seductively as I could in five-inch Jimmy Choos. As expensive as the shoes were, you’d think they’d come with a lesson on how to walk in them. I felt like a newborn fawn on ice, not that I’d show it.

  I glided down the long hall to the lounge, making every inch of marble my bitch as I hyped myself up. I was a natural at talking to strangers, but industry events always made me a little edgy. Being surrounded by people that could literally buy other humans tended to do that. Money was power, and they had a terrifying amount of it.

  Female partygoers were easy to spot with their miles of skin on display, making the gowns that gynos handed out seem modest, even with your legs in stirrups. In all honesty, I looked like the very prude I was trying to avoid in contrast.

  Hopefully, it would help me stand out. Maybe investors would look at more than just my twat and tits while talking to me.

  Male attendees were just as obvious, the slicked-back hair and flashy attire serving as beacons of hey, I’m in the adult entertainment business.

  “Karine? Kinx Karine?”

  I stiffened; I’d recognize Trey’s voice anywhere. Trey Well-Hung that is. Yes, he changed his name to that. I made him show me his license once as proof.

  I swallowed the urge to vomit, cocking my head toward the sound of gross. Sure enough, there stood the five-time male performer of the year, his bronzed chest bared in a plunging v-neck with a pair of diamond-shaped anal beads dangling like a pendant from a chain around his neck.

  My anal beads.

  No, not ones I owned, rather a best-seller from my latest line, Gem. The sales paid for my Audi. A used Audi, but an Audi nonetheless.

  “Hey, Trey.” I plastered a smile on my face, vowing to play it cool. I wanted to kick him in his ten-inch dick, but that wasn’t an option. He could end Kinx forever with his connections.

  “Beautiful as always!” he exclaimed, the sound of his leather pants making my skin crawl as he hurried over, flanked by two blondes with permanent trout pouts. “I haven’t seen you in forever, babe!”

  Intentionally.

  I accepted the unwanted hug he laid on me, remaining rigid in his arms. I would never forget how he acted the last time I saw him.

  After relentlessly badgering me to join his penthouse orgy, he told anyone that would listen that I was a stuck-up bitch after I refused. It took two years to make up the ground he destroyed with that campaign of terror. I avoided him like the plague ever since.

  “I’ve been around,” I replied, pulling away as soon as there was an opening.

  “Not with me,” he teased with a wink, flashing his trademark Ken-doll smile of dazzling veneers. “We should rectify that.”

  “I’m engaged,” I lied. “Sorry.”

  He frowned, his face surprisingly still capable of wrinkling. I was amazed it could, given all the work he had done to maintain his doll-like design. “Really? Who’s the lucky guy? Do I know him?”

  “Nope. He’s a regular Joe Schmo.”

  He glanced at my lef
t hand, his eyes narrowing. “I can tell. He didn’t get you a rock? A woman like you deserves at least three carats, babe.”

  “I left it at home,” I explained with a shrug. “You know being engaged is about as popular as a herpes scare around here.”

  He laughed, his two trout pout companions mimicking like robots. They were dressed in matching blue rompers, their fronts exposed to the navel. I didn’t want to imagine all the titty tape they had going on underneath to keep their F-cups at bay. It hurt my nips just thinking about it.

  “Well, I’ll see you inside!” I hurried away, knowing he was staring at my ass as I walked toward the double doors containing more men like him.

  It wasn’t that the business was completely creeptastic, but it had its fair share of questionable characters, like any other. Trey happened to be one of the biggest monsters I’d come across, but I had no qualms slaying dragons.

  A glass of champagne and a sangria later, I was ready to make a break for it. I’d reached my schmooze quota for the night, hopefully winning over a pair of Japanese investors with my pitch.

  Kinx was making money moves, but to reach the next level, I needed cash. More than I could earn slinging sex toys at mid-level shows and online. More than bartending every weekend in the city could land. I came to Vegas dead-set on securing the funds, and I’d die trying.

  I ducked out just as a few attendees got frisky with the chocolate fountain, fists, and a fleshlight. In all the fuss, I wouldn’t be missed, so I rushed down the hall toward the elevators, ready for part two of the night.

  I promised Juni I’d meet her and Dash in the nightclub downstairs, even if we only had one drink before I passed out for the night. I owed her that much, seeing that she was my biggest cheerleader.

  When everyone lost their shit over my chosen career, she stood by me. It’d been a long, hard road, but at least my parents could finally look at me again. They could crack jokes, too, hinting that all was forgiven. I had Juni to thank for supporting my dreams until they reached that point.

  I leaned back against the wall of the elevator, taking in a deep breath and exhaling it slowly, letting all negativity escape with it.

  It only came rushing back in as Trey muscled between the doors before they closed, his pair of pet blondes nowhere to be found.

  “Sneaking out so soon, sugar?” he cooed, running his tongue along his lower lip. “Where ya headed?”

  I had to count to ten before I answered, done with his crap before he even got started. “I’m meeting friends,” I replied, irritation itching in my throat.

  “Mind if I tag along?” he dared, arching an overly groomed brow as the doors closed.

  I preferred heavy brows on a man. Like Sage’s. Dammit.

  “Actually, I do,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “My friends and I just arrived, and I promised a night out with them. Alone.”

  He chuckled, a throaty laugh that read predator rather than sexy. “Joe Schmo among them? I’d love to see what man snagged my dream girl.”

  Dream girl? Ha. Trey had dipped his stick in more than half of the girls in the business. He didn’t have a dream girl. He had a dream number, and that was infinite.

  I rolled my eyes, not bothering to hide the act. “My relationship isn’t a game, Trey. I asked nicely. Please.”

  None of my relationships were his business — not even the one with my new fake fiancé. Someone needed to teach the perv about boundaries. He acted as if the world should bow at his feet.

  News flash: I wouldn’t bow to anyone.

  “Easy there, filly!” he laughed, holding up his hands innocently as if I were a fucking horse. “No need to get all spooked on me like last time.”

  “I wasn’t spooked,” I snapped, staring angrily at the floor numbers as we descended. “I wasn’t interested. There was no fear in that exchange — just rejection. I know it’s hard to grasp someone telling you no.”

  “You’re right,” he said, taking a step toward me. “No one tells me no. You’ll learn that if you want a successful career in this business, honey.”

  “Well, I just did, and I’m doing it again: no, no, and fuck no.”

  “You know,” he started, fingering the beads that hung around his neck. Beads that I designed myself. Beads that I suddenly wanted to pull from the shelves. “I’m playing golf with the Akagi brothers tomorrow. It would be a real shame if I let them know how difficult you are to work with.”

  My heart dropped. The Akagi brothers were the investors I’d spent a good portion of the night chitchatting. They ate every line I fed them and had seemed genuinely interested in Kinx.

  “Trey…” I started, swallowing down the urge to tell him where he could stick his damn golf club. “I’m a fantastic supplier. You can’t lie.”

  I rarely, if ever, missed a deadline, provided there wasn’t a freak storm affecting production in New York. I’d inked a sweet deal with a factory, supplying the materials and a cut of profits in return for the labor and services. The result was a match made in sex toy heaven.

  “You’re a shit supplier,” he sneered, taking another step closer. “Supply and demand, baby.”

  “What are you talking about?” I moved to the corner of the elevator, hoping the damn thing would hurry up so I could escape the leering creep.

  “I have a demand you’re refusing to supply.” He leaned close as if to kiss me, his lemon cologne surrounding me in nothing but Trey.

  Crack.

  I slapped him across the face without hesitating.

  More like backhanded.

  He staggered back just as the doors popped open, an angry red handprint across his cheek.

  I skidded past him, rushing out of the metal box to freedom.

  “I like it rough!” he laughed from behind, not missing a beat as he followed me. “You’ll learn, baby. Trust me.”

  I didn’t look at him, continuing to the line outside the club entrance. I was embarrassingly close to tears, ready to cry away an hour’s worth of makeup over some loser in a v-neck.

  He stopped behind me, placing a hand on my hip that I immediately slapped away. All he did was laugh, his breath hot on my neck as he leaned close. “Wouldn’t it be a shame if you flew here for nothing again? At least it’s a tax write-off, huh?”

  “Can you do me a favor and fuck off?” I snarled, wishing the anger would scorch the urge to cry.

  “One night, honey. That’s all I need. One night and the whole world will know your name. You’ll have more opportunities than you’ll know what to do with.”

  I blocked out imagining it, staring straight ahead. No amount of money was worth it. “In exchange for my soul? No thanks, scumbag.”

  “No more waiting in lines…” he trailed, dipping under the velvet rope to walk around the queue, those waiting groaning as he was immediately waved in.

  “She’s with me!” he boomed, pointing my way.

  I ignored him, maintaining my ground.

  I’d earn my spot like everyone else. I wouldn’t take shortcuts.

  4

  While Trey disappeared inside, I stayed in line as it inched forward slowly but surely. Scores of potential patrons were turned away at the door for not satisfying the look of the venue.

  Leave it to a nightclub to refuse customers because they didn’t fit an aesthetic, like furniture.

  It reminded me of the modeling scouts that gave me their cards as a teenager only to shoot me down savagely at auditions. Maybe once you lean out or hit a growth spurt, sweetie. All because I was cursed with a lack of height and an abundance of ass.

  At the time, it was crushing, especially paired with a certain someone’s rejection, but eventually, I learned to love what I was born with.

  Sorry fashion gods. My ass looked damn good in jeans.

  And as for that boy? Screw him.

  A gaggle of girls stumbled inside ahead, penis necklaces and pink sashes signaling the bachelorette party a mile away. Soon, I’d be in their shoes. Juni wouldn’t k
now what hit her when that party arrived. I couldn’t wait.

  The bouncer waved me forward with a thick, hairy arm, his dark eyes casting over my outfit before he nodded in approval. I handed him a twenty for the cover charge, but he refused with a shake of his bald, sweaty head.

  “Already taken care of, little lady.”

  I shoved it toward the hulking man anyway, not willing to accept anything Trey threw my way. “That’s okay. I’d prefer to pay.”

  The bouncer shook his head again as he refused the cash. “Not happening, Missy.”

  “Well, take it for the person behind me then,” I urged. It was the next best thing, and it wasn’t technically letting Trey pay for me. He could pay for a stranger.

  The man grunted, but obeyed, taking the crisp bill and waving me inside. I cleared the velvet rope and stepped behind a black curtain that another bouncer held open. It shielded a thick door that I pushed wide, immediately bombarding my senses with all things Vegas — bumping bass, bright lights, big money, and bigger tits.

  Glowing pink lights gave the space a seedy vibe despite the swanky finishes of platinum and marble. Go-go dancers worked the room from birdcages hanging above, each dressed in nothing more than feathered patches covering their bits and pieces. Occasionally, they’d toss handfuls of glittered confetti, the stardust dazzling as it fell over the dance floor. The area was sunken in the center of the club like a gladiator pit of grinding.

  The main attraction and my first stop was the bar, a mass of sleek metal manned by a crew of the most beautiful people I’d ever seen — another reminder that we weren’t in Jersey anymore. They were otherworldly in their looks, their features seemingly picked from fashion magazines to craft perfect faces.

  As I weaved through the crowd toward it, I scanned the leather benches hugging the perimeter of the club, each crowded by couples locking lips and drunken partiers. I hoped to find Juni and Dash among them but came up empty.

  I waited my turn at the bar, searching the patrons around it, but all I found was Sage with his arm around a redhead’s waist as he sipped a beer. His fingers stretched across her mesh-clad hip in a protective hold.