Her eyes drop back to her phone as she answers, “Third door on the left.” She waves a hand in the general direction of a hallway off to the side.
I don’t bother saying thank you because she’s already scowling at her phone and ignoring me again.
Hustling to the hallway she indicated, my heels sink into the lush carpet as I count doors. I get to the third one, which looks remarkably plain, and pause. I smooth my hands over my hips, straightening the jumpsuit I chose for this shindig. It’s a few shades darker than my pink bag, with a deep V neckline and small ruffles at the shoulders that give it a feminine look but wide legs that flow like trousers. I shake my dark curls so they flow down my back and take a steadying breath.
“Here goes, girl. You’ve got this.”
I’m expecting to walk into the sexual wonderland of shoppers, tapas, and cocktails Jaxx told me to expect from a Bedroom Heaven quarterly party. Instead, it’s dark and I hear faint applause. “Shit, I’m late,” I whisper to myself, thinking I’m missing the intro to kick off the festivities.
I try to make my way through the darkness toward the sliver of light ahead, but I trip over something. A cord, maybe? Whatever it is, I go flying forward and hit solid ground with a hard thud. “Fuck,” I hiss, suddenly blinded by a bright light.
Any other time, I might think I’ve died in some freak Final Destination type accident, but my hip hurts too much for me to be dead.
I hear a chorus of gasps, and as I blink away the dark spots in my vision, I realize that I have an audience filled with young men watching my misfortune with rapt attention. Some look horrified, others seem amused, and still others are looking at my askew legs.
I shift, trying to make sure a breast hasn’t escaped in my fall, and vaguely wonder where all the women are. I was expecting a penis party, but I figured they’d all be silicone, not flesh and bone.
And then I realize that with my tumble, my bag of goodies has spilled everywhere and I’m surrounded by dildos, vibrators, butt plugs, and cock rings of every size, shape, color, and texture. It’s a ‘lions, tigers, and bears, oh, my!’ type situation of the toy variety, including one dildo that’s rolling toward me threateningly, stopping mere inches from my face with the pee hole—which is a convenient lube dispenser—pointing right at me.
I wish I were dead.
But as bad as this is, it gets worse as a tall, blond man stomps toward me, each step sounding like a hammer of doom. He’s glaring angrily and kicking dicks as he comes closer. “What are you doing?”
He’s a few years older than me, wearing a finely tailored blue suit with a gold lion pin on his lapel. Under his withering gaze, my eyes fall and I note the fine leather of his brown lace-up dress shoes.
“Uhm, could I interest you in a . . . novelty?” I mutter, not meaning for him to hear. But given the faint growl emanating from him, he heard every word.
Ah, fuck.
CHAPTER 3
CHANCE
Ten minutes ago . . .
Straightening my blue blazer, I pause for a moment to affix my club pendant to my lapel and clear my throat in preparation for my speech. Once upon a time, I would’ve been a bag of nerves having to speak in front of a large crowd, but today, I feel as cool as a cucumber.
Might be the shot of brandy I had half an hour ago. But more likely, it’s the years of speaking experience under my belt.
I feel pumped and ready while listening to my business partner, Evan White, come to the end of his speech to the slightly bored crowd of college-age young men. It’s not Evan’s fault they’re bored. He’s just not who they’re here to see.
I am.
“There’s not a man in history who hasn’t needed a wingman,” Evan says, smiling as he looks out into the crowd. He’s tall and dark-haired, dressed in a crisp black suit, and his gold lionhead club pin gleams under the spotlight. There’s a reason he’s the lead-in and I’m the star of our two-man show. His skills are top-notch on paper, tracking our growth, budgets, contracts, and more.
I’m the dreamer with the charisma to bring people in.
“Kobe needed Shaq. Brady needed Gronk. Maverick needed Goose. And I’m in the same boat. Without our next speaker, I wouldn’t have gotten where I am today, and the Gentlemen’s Club wouldn’t be over four hundred members strong and growing by the day. Without question, he is one of the smartest, most thoughtful men I know, an exceptional business partner, and an even greater friend. He’s passionate and cares about our shared vision, and most of all, he cares about all of you and your future. For a lot of you, he’s been a great counselor and mentor, and he has been equally as such to me. So, without further ado, I hand the stage to the President of the Gentlemen's Club, Chance Harrington.”
The applause and whoops that ensue from the crowd fill me with fire as I purposefully walk to the center of the stage where Evan pulls me into a brief ‘bro’ hug, pounding on my back three times.
“Do your thing,” Evan whispers to me in support. I nod firmly once, letting him know I’ve got this, and he steps from the stage to sit off to the side, ready to watch me work.
Stepping behind the podium and focusing on the crowd, I can see the group almost leaning forward, eager to hear what I have to say. I haven’t said a word and they’re already eating out of the palm of my hand, so I’d better make this good.
“Thank you for that wonderful introduction, Evan,” I start off and then glance back to the audience. “But we all know you get paid to wax poetic about my amazingness and not mention my egregious flaws. Not that I have any.”
I wink comedically and pause for the good-natured laughter at my self-deprecating joke. Evan chuckles too, holding a finger to his lips as though telling me to keep quiet about that. We’ve done this back and forth for a long time, and bouncing off one another this way is second nature at this point.
“Seriously, though, we all come here today with strengths, weaknesses, needs, and desires. Each combination is as unique as the individual. Sitting in this room, looking over your faces, I see some I know and some I don’t know . . . yet. But each face is that of someone important. Look to your right, your left, behind you, in front of you.” I wait, giving them a second to scan the room and then return their eyes to me. “The men you see around you all have dreams, just like you. Maybe it’s to be a doctor or lawyer, mayor or governor, or hell, even the President of the United States. Or maybe it’s something closer to your heart.” I touch my own chest. “To be a husband, father, leader. An example for future generations to aspire to be like.”
I can see it happen across the room. They’re invested in what I’m saying, in the moment, and most importantly, in themselves.
“Today, we live in a different world from that of our fathers. Truth is, they lived in a different world from their fathers too. It’s a never-ending march of change. Unfortunately, too many in this generation have been led astray.
There are those who would have you believe that young men of today’s generation, like you, are victims. That the changing times have progressed us to a place where your very existence is rejected on a daily basis. That there is no hope left for you in society because women have become too powerful, holding all the cards in relationships and sex, as well as in the boardroom and business. That they, women, are your enemy.”