by Alexis Angel
“That’s beside the point,” I continue to argue, skirting around and dodging Jay’s question. “I’m a goddamn paying customer; I have my rights.”
“This isn’t a fucking court Owen.” Jay gives me a chagrined look. “The board says your actions are disruptive and worthy of the offense. My hands are tied,” he admits.
I pound the steering wheel in frustration, then look back at Jay as an idea comes to me. “Let me talk to the board,” I request.
“Sorry, man. No can do,” Jay denies firmly.
“Why the hell not?” I growl, desperation filling me to the core.
“They don’t speak directly to the customers,” Jay admits. “That’s where I come in, as a liaison of sorts.”
“That’s fucking made up bullshit!” I yell.
“I can’t help you, Owen,” Jay says and walks away, apologetically telling me I should go home and get some sleep.
I watch in fury as he walks back into the club and out of sight. I stub out my cigar and speed off.
You remember that I said I only live a few blocks away, right? Yeah, I could walk to the club, but I just got this fucking new car and I want to drive it around for the hell of it. So sue me.
Did I mention I live right here in the city that never sleeps? My ride home isn’t long, but I’m pissed enough to drive a hundred miles; although right now, I just pull up to my ritzy and luxurious apartment building.
I step out of the car, tossing the keys to the valet man who appears to be a lanky young guy, wearing a red bellhop outfit with gold trim.
I give him a slight nod in thanks and give him a hefty tip before walking towards the building to the lobby inside.
“Good evening, sir,” our elderly doorman greets me with a twinkle in his eye.
“Hey, George.” I give him a wink and a smile.
George Worthington is the glue that holds this building together, and I can’t imagine a world where I don’t see his shining face waiting for me to come home each night.
“Thank you, George,” I say and walk past him as he holds the door open for me.
I’m immediately hit with the refreshing coolness of air conditioning as I leave the damp, humid summer night behind me.
Good fucking riddance, as far as I’m concerned.
I pound the elevator button to the forty-ninth floor where my penthouse apartment overlooks Central Park. On the way up, a terrible thought comes rushing into my head, and I know I’m not going to fucking sleep a wink tonight.
If I’m banned from the club right now, I’m going to miss my “date” with Crystal Caspen, the prestigious five-star stripper that I’ve always wanted, but who’s always fucking booked up.
I punch the elevator door as I exit into my hallway, seething with the realization that I’m going to have to give up my coveted spot with her this month. I need to think of a plan, and fucking fast.
3
Owen
The next morning, I’m still reeling from my unfair, bullshit ban from the Expose Club and trying to brainstorm a way to weasel my way back into my favorite spot on earth.
I click on the lights to my corner office with the window overlooking the Hudson River in Lower Manhattan. I plop down at my desk and sigh as I press my tie to my chest and rub its surface absentmindedly.
“Uh, sir?”
I look up to see my secretary Melissa staring at me. She’s in her early fifties, the best in the fucking business. There’s not a schedule out there that Melissa can’t tame. There’s not an asshole she’s too scared to send away.
She’s my ultimate go-to person, and I’m the envy of the entertainment world because of her.
“Melissa?” I stare up at her, wondering how she fucking got in here so fast because I just sat down.
“Sorry, I followed you in here,” she says, adjusting her grey pants suit.
“Oh, that’s okay.” I wave my hand dismissively and glance around my desk, although I have no fucking clue what I’m looking for.
“You have a meeting with the director on the Miller project set for noon, and then you have a table reading with the producers on the upcoming action/adventure flick at one. Do you want me to push one of those back and one forward, so you have some additional wiggle room to get to both on time?”
Melissa eyes me expectantly through her big, green eyes. She has sandy blonde hair, which she’s wearing in a ponytail. She has nice curves but she’s out of my desired comfort range for age on a woman.
Not that I’m saying I’d never want to fuck a cougar because I’d fucking jump at the chance, I just don’t want to fuck anything up with Melissa because she’s indispensable.
“Uh,” I stammer, feeling fuzzy inside.
“Owen, are you okay?” Melissa has concern etching on her face.
“Me? Yeah…um, I’m fine.” I smile and clear my throat.
“Okay,” she says, but I can tell I’m not really selling her on that fact. “You just seem a little disoriented, that’s all,” she adds.
I square my shoulders. “I won’t be participating in any pitches or meetings today,” I say firmly. “You need to do it in my place,” I direct her, knowing full well she’s capable and trustworthy. This isn’t the first time I’m asking her to do something like this.
“Okay, whatever you need, sir.” She casts me a slight bow and begins to walk away back to her own desk outside of my office door.
“Hey, Melissa?” I call out before she leaves completely.
She turns back around. “Yes, sir?”
“Will you fetch the intern and tell her to bring me my morning coffee? Make sure she doesn’t fuck it up this time.”
“Yes, Owen, of course.” Melissa gives me a smile and spins on her heel to leave.
Melissa is used to my bossy undertones, and she takes it all in stride like water rolling off a duck’s back. She knows exactly how I like my fucking coffee, too, with two splashes of cream and no sugar.
I just hope the fucking intern will learn how to get it fucking right. Maybe at that point I’ll take the time to learn her name—although that’s doubtful, because the interns never last around here; they always end up crawling back into the same hole they came from and getting a real job somewhere else.
I dial my best friend Victor from my office phone and leave it on speaker phone until he answers. I pick up the receiver. “Hey, man.”
“Hey,” Victor says.
“What’s going on?” I ask, feeling like venting my problems to my number-one wingman.
“I just got to work,” Victor comments.
Victor is a director for my films who lives in the façade of a sleepy life out in the Greenwich suburbs of Connecticut with his wife and twin five-year-old daughters named Belle and Allie.
He’s not considered a billionaire, or even a millionaire, but he does pretty fucking well for himself while his wife manages the kids at home, baking and toting them around in her brand new Suburban. He loves to go to the Expose with me any fucking chance he gets.
He’s been my friend since freshman year of college, and I fucking love him to fucking death.
“What’s up with you?” Victor asks.
“A shit storm,” I chuckle.
“What else is new?” Victor teases.
“You won’t believe the fucking night I had last night,” I begin. “My chance of tapping Crystal and getting a front row seat to tasting that sweet pussy is becoming a dream once again.” I shake my head woefully.
“What happened?” Victor’s voice is curious.
“Crystal is going up in smoke, yet again untouchable,” I complain, still fucking pissed.
“What the fuck did Owen Wolfe do now?” Victor cackles into the phone. He knows my personality fucking well.
“Well, it started with me fucking Lola in the third floor bathroom at the Expose,” I begin. “I accidentally shot some of my cum onto the health inspector’s shoe when he was in the stall beside us.” I shake my head with the fucking irony of the situation, and
in spite of the consequences I can’t help but grin.
“Damn, dude,” Victor responds.
“So, of course the fucking prick has to go and tattle about me to the board members. Jay tells me my Gold Card membership is suspended for now.”
“So when will you get it back?” Victor asks.
“I have yet to fucking find that shit out myself, brother,” I admit.
I’m distracted momentarily when the intern pops into the room, holding my coffee. I motion to the desk for her to place it down and wave her back out of the office.
“So, why didn’t you just pay off the health inspector to keep his mouth shut?” Victor laughs.
“Wow…that’s a really fucking great idea,” I admit. “In retrospect, I probably should have fucking done that,” I chuckle.
Victor’s suggestion gives me an idea that’s full of fresh hope. “Hey, man, do you think you could go to my meetings for me in my place?”
“What? How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Victor protests, but it’s not the first time he’s helped me either, much like with Melissa.
“I have an idea,” I say. “I really fucking need your help man. Don’t make me beg.”
I hear Victor sigh. “Okay, Owen, but you owe me.”
I laugh. “I owe you everything, forever,” I remind him.
“True,” he chuckles.
“Can you meet me at my apartment later tonight?”
“I’ll be there,” Victor agrees, then we hang up.
Victor rules his house with an iron fist, and as long as he keeps giving his greedy wife fat stacks and handfuls of cash to spend, she’s not going to complain if he comes home late every now and then.
I need to fix this fucking mess I’m in—right the fuck now.
4
Owen
I walk into the Health Inspector’s office like I owe the fucking place. The mini blinds on the windows are drawn, which gives the receptionist’s area a dingy and dark feel, ironic given that his fucking job is to tell people how to clean.
A sound of a little bell chimes through the room when I close the door behind me, alerting the secretary at the front desk that there’s a customer walking in.
“Good afternoon,” she says cheerily.
Okay, this might be easier than I fucking think. I paint on my most charming and charismatic smile as I approach the woman.
She’s a little on the heavier side and has the best-looking set of birthing hips ever. She’s wearing a burgundy infinity scarf even though it’s fucking summer outside. She has blonde hair that’s pulled back in a bun with a cute set of bangs.
“Hi there, sweetie.” I grin at her, flashing my perfectly straight, white teeth. I run a hand through my full, dark thick hair for effect and wink at her.
I notice she has a half-eaten donut lying on a napkin beside her keyboard.
“Having a little afternoon snack?” I point to the donut.
She giggles. “You know, just a pick-me up of sorts to get me through the rest of the afternoon.”
“I hear you on that one,” I say, trying to be relatable even though I don’t eat fucking junk food.
Have you seen my muscular body? I pride myself on having almost no body fat.
She continues to chuckle. “Can I help you with something?”
“I’m sure you can.” I wink at her.
She blushes and places a hand over her mouth.
“I’m looking for Leonard French.” I ask for the Health Inspector who’s ruining my fucking life one minute at a time.
The woman gives me a slight nod and then looks at her computer screen. “He’s actually not in a meeting right now,” she says.
“Wonderful,” I exclaim and open my arms. “Perfect timing, eh?”
The woman looks sincerely apologetic and perhaps even a little sheepish. “Unfortunately, Mr. French doesn’t normally allow for impromptu meetings.” She looks up at me and offers another solution. “If you’d like, I can try to squeeze you in tomorrow.”
I lean against the side of her desk. “Hmm,” I whisper. “I don’t think tomorrow will work. You see, I’m having sort of a health inspection emergency…” I trail off, hoping that my sweet talk and feigned desperation will help me here.
“Well…I…uh…” The woman looks between me and the computer, clearly feeling backed up into a corner of indecision about whether to send me away or allow me to talk to Inspector French.
“It’s really fine,” I continue, piling on the charm to try to convince her. “We’ve actually met before, last night even. He might be expecting me, to be honest.”
Okay, so I know he’s not expecting me to barge right into his office, but the other part of my little white lie has some truth to it. I did actually meet him last night.
The woman looks truly torn, but I egg her on further. “Come on, I’m having a really shit day,” I tell her, laying it on thick. “You would be my hero if you let me go talk to him. And by the way, I love your scarf.” I point to her neck.
She blushes again, and I can tell she’s soaking in all the fucking compliments I’m pouring her way. And probably fucking soaking her panties. The sad bitch probably goes home alone to eat her feelings every night. If I can help her feel better about herself for five fucking minutes, then just call me the good Samaritan of the day.
“Okay,” she finally caves. “You can go back there on the one condition—that you tell him I protested,” she says.
“Trust me, that won’t be a problem,” I say to her and give her another wink.
She takes a deep breath as if she’s excited just to be talking to a guy as hot as myself. “If you go through that set of double doors, go all the way to the end of the hallway and turn left. His office is the first one on the left.”
She points in the direction she’s instructing me to go.
I nod. “Thank you so much, darling.” I blow her a kiss before walking away.
A few seconds later, I burst into the inspector’s office, not giving two shits what he’s fucking doing in there. As soon as he sees me, he jumps up from his computer and peers towards the door as if he’s expecting a fucking bodyguard to come and rescue him.
He has a black eye from where I punched him. Good for the little fucker, that should teach him a lesson not to fucking mess with the master.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks as he takes a few defensive steps backwards.
“I’m here to bring Christmas a little early this year,” I say and pull out my checkbook.
“What is this?” He points to it as I scrawl out an amount on its surface.
“Consider it a peace offering.” I grin at him as I tear the check from the book.
I toss it to him and he looks at it, his eyes growing wider by the second.
“Twenty-thousand dollars? What the hell is this for?” He waves the check in the air but then quickly looks out the office door as if he’s paranoid someone will walk in.
“I need my Gold Membership reinstated at Club Expose,” I say matter-of-factly.
“I can’t help you.” He immediately shakes his head and tries to hand the check back to me, but I refuse.
“I think you’re mistaken,” I say and shove the money on paper back to him. “This is a non-optional negotiation here.”
I picture the hot as fuck stripper Crystal in my mind, and she’s the fuel I need to make sure this guy agrees to my plan. In my mind, I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get my suspension from the club lifted and removed from my record.
To my surprise, the inspector starts laughing.
“Is there something fucking funny?” I give him a sour look.
French scratches his head with his long, lanky fucking fingers. “Yeah, actually there is. Your money isn’t necessary, especially not from the douche who came on my shoe.”
I shift my weight and square my jaw. “Do you have a point to your bullshit babbling?” I snarl.
“Beyond that, if you think I’m the one in charge
of suspensions, you’re sorely mistaken.” French shakes his head. “It’s my job to simply inform the board that the club will be failing the inspection, and I have to give them an honest reason why.”
“So you fucking tattled on me like this is fucking fifth grade?” I scoff.
“I’m just doing my job, man.” The guy raises his hands defensively. “Whatever happens after that is beyond my control.”
“Just go back to the board and tell them you changed your mind or something,” I toss out, finding any excuse that comes to mind.
“Sorry, no can do,” the jerk says, and continues to shake his head. “The board already tried to pay me off to pass the inspection. I guess they beat you to the punch,” he adds with a flare of smugness.
“So, are you telling me you’re fucking useless?” I shout.
“I’m saying that it looks like your suspension is your punishment.” He raises his eyebrows at me.
I want to punch him in his fucking face again and even out his black eyes for symmetry, but I hold back because I know it’ll get me fucking nowhere.
This fucking weasel isn’t going to do shit to help me.
French’s expression softens, but only slightly. “If you want to have your suspension reversed, then you’ll have to go back to the club and take it up with them. Only the owners have the power to change that decision.”
“Thanks for nothing,” I murmur, and stalk out of the office.
Great. Just fucking great.
Well, I guess I need to place Plan B into motion—if only I fucking knew what Plan B was.
5
Molly
I always have my alarm set on the opposite side of my room. That way, when I hear it go off in the morning, I have no choice but to jump out of bed and turn it off.
Once I’m already up, there’s no point in getting back under those warm and cozy covers—that’s the mentality I live out each and every day.
I’m Molly Quinn, and if you know anything about me, it’s that I’m a work horse—a competitive woman just trying to carve a path of success for herself. I stop for no one, and I put every ounce of blood, sweat and tears into everything I do.