Brazen Bachelor: A Hero Club Novel

by Dani Rene

  “Yes,” she agrees, then settles on the chair, picking up a small espresso cup and sipping the sludge I know fills it.

  “Well,” Clarissa begins, “I’d like to find out what you’d like us to do since you’ll have other media in attendance.” She meets Blythe’s cool stare before sitting back in an attempt to appear calm; however, she’s anything but.

  “You’re one of the most reputable fashion magazines in the country,” Blythe starts. “For this line to work, we need your name behind us. I’m not going to lie; this wasn’t my first choice, but since we’ve worked together before on a few articles, I’m sure you can handle the task at hand. I want a journalist and photographer on Colton at all times during the party.”

  “That won’t be a problem.” Clarissa smiles happily. Her face is alight with excitement, which doesn’t truly calm me, because what she fails to mention to Blythe is that I’m not a journalist — yet.

  “I also want nothing mentioned about Colton’s…” She glances around, before continuing in a hushed tone. “Extracurricular activities.” Her gaze lands on me, taking me in for a long moment before turning back to my boss. “And if I find anything untoward going on, anything intimate going on between the journalist and my star, I’ll pull all collaboration from your publication.”

  “That’s not something you will need to worry about,” Clarissa proclaims and then glances at me. “Violet is professional, and I trust her implicitly.”

  My gaze snaps to my boss, who has never really said anything that nice to me since I started working at her publication a year ago. I’ve put up with her crazy tantrums, and the only thing that got me through was reading "Ask Ida" and getting advice from her on how to deal with a tyrant boss.

  “Of course,” I finally respond, clearing my throat. “I’m here to do a job, nothing more.”

  “Great.” Blythe smiles, she actually fucking smiles, before standing and shaking Clarissa’s hand. She looks down her nose at me, considering her next move, then offers me a hand, which I wasn’t expecting. “See you on Saturday. And …” She rakes her gaze over me once more, clearly unimpressed by my outfit, before saying, “I’ll send a dress for you to wear.”

  Once she’s gone, Clarissa blows out a relieved breath. “I’m so happy you’re doing this.”

  “It means a lot to me that you trust me with something so important.”

  She smiles, nodding before telling me, “I do. You’ve shown up each day and proven yourself. And that’s why, once you land the interview and get that article written, I’m going to be looking at that promotion. Your name will be at the top of the list.”

  “I’m … I’m so thankful.” I’m smiling from ear to ear when I leave the office at five. The sun is slowly disappearing, not hearting the early evening when I get out of the bus, which stops right on my block.

  I decide to stop at my local pizza place to grab a small pepperoni-topped treat and then head home a block away. The scent of melted cheese has my stomach grumbling when I get to the kitchen of my small, one-bedroom apartment.

  I was nervous about the thought of a party at Lush on Saturday, but the goal of landing my first major promotion has lit the excitement in my belly, and I know I can definitely make this happen.

  There is one more day before the party, which means I need to get my hair and nails done on Saturday morning. If I’m going to party with the Upper East Side, I may as well look the part.

  3

  Colton

  Friday night and the rooftop bar I’ve just been escorted into is filled with a bevy of beauties not wearing much who catch my attention as I move deeper through the crowds.

  “Colton.” Blythe’s voice comes from somewhere amongst the people who look like they should be on a beach, not in the middle of Manhattan. “Come, meet everyone.” She smiles at me, her dark lashes along with the cat eyeliner that flicks up at the corners makes her look like an evil seductress.

  If she wasn’t my agent, I might even bang her, but I never mix business with pleasure.

  “Thanks for having me,” I offer as I sidle up to her. She’s a few inches shorter than me, even though she’s wearing the highest heels I've ever seen.

  Fuck-me heels.

  Working in this industry, I’ve gotten to know a lot about women’s style, fashion, and makeup. When you spend all day with dolled-up models, you definitely pick up a thing or two.

  “This is Colton,” Blythe introduces. “And this is Regina, Bianca, and Karly.” She points to three women who are wearing strap dresses, which look more like mummy bandages wrapped around their tits and crotches, leaving their flat stomachs on show with diamond piercings shimmering from their belly buttons.

  Blonde, brunette, and a redhead in order of introduction.

  “Hi, ladies,” I greet them and get the general giggling responses of "Oh, I love your accent," and "Can you say that again?" It gets old after the first few hundred times I hear it. But they’re attractive, so I intend to invest my attention on them this evening.

  “Come.” Blythe drags me from the gaggling women and stops at the bar. “What are you drinking?”

  “Sparkling water, or juice,” I respond, reminding myself I have gym in the morning and don’t need a nasty hangover while working out. With all the bodies almost crammed together, it’s warmer here than it is outside, and I’ll be happy with a drink to cool me down. She orders water and a white wine, then turns to me.

  “Tomorrow night, we’re having the launch party at Lush. It’s a local place, not far from your apartment, and it’s the place to be at the moment, which is the reason they chose it as the venue. It’s going to be filled with the who’s who of the media industry.”

  “Sounds riveting,” I snark, but she doesn’t bite. I love a woman who’s able to banter with me, but Blythe is not that woman. Her cold exterior is not something I can handle. Even though she’s tough as nails, she does nothing more for me than look professional while helping me put dollars in my bank account.

  “You need to be on your best behavior,” she warns me.

  “Aren’t I always?” I chuckle. Picking up my drink, I head back to the three ladies I met a few moments ago and allow them to fawn over me. I take each one in, the blonde catching my attention first.

  “So.” She sidles up to me, and I know what’s coming. “Do you have anyone to show you around?”

  “No.” I take a sip of my drink as she drapes her lithe frame over me. “Perhaps you’re available to show me the sights of the city?” I ask. “I’ll pay handsomely.”

  She laughs. “Perhaps we can leave here and go down to the hotel.” Her brow arches as her blue eyes dance with mischief and promise.

  I’m about to answer her when I’m dragged away by my agent. “Like I said, behave.”

  “Not my fault she wants to show me the sights,” I contend.

  “Oh yeah,” she sasses. “I’m sure she wants to show you all the sights.” Blythe is stunning, but she’s aloof, closed off to any fun. Perhaps that’s what makes her the best in the business. But what she doesn’t get is that I’m single and I’m always ready for a party. And if Blondie over there wants to show me what’s between those slender thighs, who am I to deny her the privilege?

  “Hey, I’m single. I’m guessing she is as well.” I shrug it off, taking a drink of my water. Blythe’s cold, shrewd glare is on me. She’s most certainly aware of my reputation back home. I may not be the guy you take home to your mother, but I’m certainly the man who will make you scream my name over and over again until you’ve forgotten your own.

  “Just be careful,” she warns me in a hushed whisper. “The media is everywhere tonight. You don’t want to gain a reputation in New York too.”

  “Of course not,” I smirk. Leaning in, I whisper in her ear, “It’s not my fault women tend to offer me their hotel room keys when they meet me. Comes with the job. But don’t worry, I’ll behave, just for you.”

  I turn and leave my agent, glaring a hole into my back a
nd wrap my arm around the blonde. She’s all too happy to have me back in her orbit, and I lead her out of the bar, and I know tonight is going to be a good night.

  When I open my eyes, a banging headache attacks me with a vengeance so fierce I groan in agony. Jesus, how much did I drink last night? I do remember a shot of tequila at almost midnight after some coaxing from the women, but I had water in my hand for most of the evening. I glance over to my left and find the opposite side of the bed empty.

  Thank fuck.

  I don’t need to have made a mistake by having a one-night stand when I promised Blythe I’d behave. Even though I’m not known for being celibate, I know I have to have my head in the game today.

  I try to get up, but my body and my mind are at war with each other. If Blythe walks in here now, I’ll be sent to the slaughterhouse. She warned me to be careful, but I’ve never had a careful bone in my body.

  I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, and another groan rumbles in my chest. The floor is strewn with clothes. I don’t know whose they are, because mine is on the chair, but I take note of not one, but three pairs of panties on the carpet, all different colors. Shit.

  Giggles finally break through my hangover fog, and the bathroom door opens to the three ladies I met last night. They’re all still in their outfits from the party.

  “Hey, you’re awake,” the blonde one states. I don’t know her name—at least, I can’t remember it. But I watch her pick up the pink pair and slip them up her thighs. “We’re all heading out for breakfast at Harold’s,” she announces. “Are you coming?”

  Shaking my head, then stilling all movement because I feel like shit, I respond, “No thanks. I’m not the breakfast type.”

  I can feel her disappointment. She rushes toward me and plants a kiss on my cheek before setting a card down on the nightstand, which I don’t bother looking at.

  “Call me.”

  And soon, I’m alone in my room with no more giggling and squeaky voices. I take a long, deep breath and focus on the thumping headache playing a heavy drumbeat in my head.

  Pushing off the bed, I grab the landline and dial for room service. I told her I’m not the breakfast type, but I didn’t feel like the needy morning-after conversations that usually comes from women like them.

  They want to be seen with me. It’s the same back home. And that’s not something I need or want right now. Perhaps Simon is right. It’s time to change my lifestyle.

  But that will mean settling down. Finding a woman that I’m worthy of, and that’s never been who I am. Can I even do that? Have one woman for the rest of my life?

  I chuckle and shake my head as I make my way to the bathroom and focus on getting rid of this fucking hangover before I meet Blythe for lunch.

  4

  Violet

  From the moment I step into the salon to the second I walk out, I feel the nerves ebb and flow through me. I shouldn’t be this wound up. It’s my job, something I’ve wanted all my life, but the thought of being around Manhattan’s elite just for a story makes my stomach twist in knots.

  The dress Blythe promised arrived this morning. When I opened the zipper on the bag, I almost fainted.

  She expects me to wear something that has less material than a goddamned bikini. Well, okay, maybe I’m exaggerating. But there isn’t much to the garment, and the soft, pastel blue of the silk is not a color I would’ve chosen.

  When the stylist asks what I want to be done to my hair, I tell him to go wild. And that’s what he does. After asking me a myriad of questions, he opts for a raven color, then feathers the layers to surround my face and drops in a few electric-blue highlights through the dark strands.

  They’re not noticeable, but the moment I step into the sun, they’re almost luminous. It’s not something I would’ve chosen, but it works. And I know it will look great with the dress.

  My nails are painted blue along with my toes, which will be visible in the strappy sandals I've picked out for tonight. I have two hours to get home, try to eat something, and then get ready.

  I didn't eat breakfast because it felt as if a flurry of butterflies came alive in my stomach attacking me with a vengeance. The last time I was this nervous was the day I went for my interview with Clarissa.

  And of course, that went well. So, there’s no reason this should be any different.

  By the time I reach home, I’m thinking about taking a long nap, but I know that will be a mistake, so I open my laptop and open my favorite website.

  "Ask Ida."

  I open the contact page and type out my message.

  Dear Ida,

  I have a very important event this evening. One that could change my career. But the nerves that have hold of me make me feel like I’m on a roller coaster, and I cannot get off.

  You know the feeling? Like you can’t eat or sleep, or even thinking of anything else? Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m suffering through at the moment. My first thought was, I should get some Dutch courage in me, but I haven’t had a thing to eat, and that may be detrimental to my evening.

  What would you do?

  Crazy in Brooklyn

  I hit send and go to the kitchen. Even though I’m starving, I can’t think of anything to make. Toast could be a good option since it’s not rich with spices, but that would mean carbs, and if I’m going to pull off that dress tonight, I want something lighter. Nerves rattle me, but the job is more important than my anxiety of being out at a club.

  Opening the fridge, I opt for Greek strawberry-flavored yogurt, which is easy to swallow, and it’s not sugary. I keep telling myself I’m nervous about the party, but in actual fact, it has nothing to do with the nightclub. The reason my body is in disarray is because I’m going to meet Colton King for the first time. And even though he’s a player and would never look twice at someone like me, I can’t deny he’s gorgeous.

  Settling on the stool at the breakfast bar, I spoon some yogurt into my mouth. The smooth, creamy taste of the yogurt hits my taste buds, and I’m happy with my decision.

  My thoughts go back to Colton. He’s one of those guys you have a crush on in high school or college, but he’s unattainable because he’s far too lovely. He’s far too perfect, and those are the ones you need to steer clear of because they’re trouble.

  A rugged, chiseled jaw, with a sharp nose, and gorgeous teal eyes. His tousled brown hair always looks messy, but it’s sexy because he’s wearing it. The smooth, tanned skin that’s adorned with a touch of ink on his shoulder. But it’s the one on his toned torso intrigues me. The tattoo that sits on his ribs, the dreamcatcher, is striking, and I find myself curious. I wonder what it means. Is there something that brought on the decision to mark his skin for life?

  I’m almost certain no man would be caught dead with something so feminine on them, which begs the question—was that for someone special, or what meaning does it have for him?

  His clothes look like every item was tailored for him because his body is perfectly sculpted with dips and peaks of toned muscle, from his broad shoulders down to his tapered hips, and those deep-cut oblique muscles that point to low-hanging jeans.

  I’m lost in the reverie that is Colton King, and I know I’m in trouble. I’m not meant to salivate over him. I’m a professional, and he’s just a story I’m meant to write.

  Shaking my head of my errant thoughts, I focus on my pastel pink yogurt and try to not imagine him without his shirt on. Even though I’ve studied all his photos with an eagle eye.

  I know I shouldn’t care, but I can’t help myself. I’m naturally curious. Shouldn’t all journalists be? I try to convince myself it’s part of my job to ask questions, but deep down, I know it’s not the case with Colton.

  My breath is stolen when I walk into the club. There are blue and purple strobe lights illuminating the large, open-plan space. Those wearing white, or any pale color, myself included, seem to be illuminated more so than those in darker shades.

  People crowd the bar, so I fo
rgo the area, heading toward the throng. Instead, I make my way past the dance floor and head deeper into the club where I find booths decked in dark leather.

  The dance floor is bigger than my living room, and it already has bodies swaying to loud music, gyrating to the rhythm of some Latin pop star I can’t remember the name of right now.

  Even though the song is catchy, I need to find Blythe and Colton before anything else. I notice a second-floor landing which surrounds the perimeter with dark railings keeping everyone from tumbling down onto the lower level.

  My gaze trails along the faces. Even in the dim light, I find Colton surrounded by at least a dozen good-looking women, all draped over him. A blonde sits astride his lap and has her arms holding onto his neck, which has my stomach twisting with an unwarranted feeling—jealousy.

  “There you are.” Blythe comes up behind me and offers me a friendly grin. “Come. I’ll introduce you to Colton if I can get those famewhores off his lap for long enough.” She rolls her eyes, which makes me laugh. Thankfully, I’m not the only one who doesn’t like the fact that they’re stealing his attention.

  But do I want his attention on me? Or is this purely part of the job?

  I follow her through the throng, and we reach the steps leading up to where the model himself is seated. The moment Blythe is spotted, the fangirls seems to scatter, except for the blonde who looks like she’s glued to him.

  “I need to speak with Colton,” Blythe sneers, glaring at the half-naked woman. For a moment, they’re in a standoff, but Blythe is no match for her. Once he’s freed from the woman, Blythe turns to me. “This is Colton King,” she introduces, gesturing to him.

  I thought I was ready.

  I thought I was professional.

  But when he stands to greet me, I know for a damn fact that I wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of gorgeous male testosterone wafting from him like cologne.