I nod.
“Forget it ever happened.”
“Done,” I say, but I’m thinking Not likely. It isn’t every day my debonair boss reacts this strongly. Not even a huge fire on the set of his last movie ruffled his feathers. The name definitely means something, and now I am insanely curious.
We drop our bags at the hotel, and I ask the driver to take care of Ryder and Elliot. They’re going to need a designated driver after they’re finished doing…whatever it is they’re planning to do.
“Have a great time,” I say to Ryder as the chauffeur holds the door open.
Ryder nods. His face is back to its old self, but there’s a hint of grimness to the set of his mouth. “If you change your mind about coming out, give me a call.”
The chauffeur shuts the door with care, and through the window I can see Ryder reaching for a bottle of scotch.
This is not going to end well.
Chapter Five
Ryder
We’re still in the first club. We were going to move on, but I don’t feel like leaving. Seems like too much damn effort.
It’s a sweet club. The VIP room isn’t bad either. Elliot picked it out, which means it has the nicest liquor, best music and hottest girls in the skimpiest outfits.
“You sure you don’t want to get any girls up here?” Elliot asks.
“Not really.” I don’t want their faux smiles, their grubbing hands and calculating eyes.
Lauren. A name I haven’t thought of in years. I pushed it out of my mind, and didn’t even associate with women with that name.
But the note brought everything back, ugly memories flooding my head like a cesspool. I knock back another scotch. I know Dad wrote that shit, and he did it to push my buttons. I’ll be damned if he succeeds.
Elliot peers at me. “You okay?”
I should be working off my frustration with hard partying, overdrinking and getting laid, but right now, all that stuff feels like superfluous bullshit.
Look at me. Not even thirty and already a cynical, bored bastard.
The slightest encouragement from me, and all the women on the floor will do anything they think I want. They’ll strip down, grind against each other, get on their hands and knees, put on a fucking live porno show and suck my dick. They’ll do all sorts of things and afterward, brag to their friends about having me, like it was some achievement on par with finding a cure for cancer.
I never let it bother me before, but now it does. It makes me feel like I’m Dad, leveraging my stardom to make them do what they wouldn’t normally do so I can get off on it. An orgasm provides great stress relief. Reduces tension too.
But the effect seems to be wearing off, like I’m developing a tolerance for it.
“You’re brooding,” Elliot says. “Look, this isn’t rocket science. Just find someone to marry for a year. Simple.”
“Easy for you to say.” I reach for another scotch. The fiery liquor burns my throat, but my belly stays cold. “You’re going to marry the first dumb, hot stripper you run across.”
“Yup. And even easier for you since you don’t have to leave home.”
I give him a look. “What are you talking about?”
“That sweet secretary of yours. Marry her.”
Holy fuck.
My scotch burns like hell as I choke and it explodes like a gas tank next to a lit match. My nose feels like it’s on fire. Half a mouthful ends up on my pants.
I cough, while glaring at him over the rim of my glass. “Asshole,” I gasp. “I’m not marrying her.”