“Now you get to see how we really do it after dark.” Ryan pushes the limo door open and steps out to a roar of cheers and flashing cameras, giving me his hand and guiding me out of the car after him.

We’re in SoHo at the opening of the new club, and there’s an actual, literal red carpet on the concrete under our feet. I look around at the people behind the velvet ropes and Ryan turns back to me, grabbing my hand.

The night air is cool and dry like the mist of silk against my skin. The air smells like leather and cologne, like Ryan’s offices back home. We walk a few feet along the carpet to the side of the club, where more paparazzi with cameras and microphones are lined up against a white backdrop with the name of some vodka brand and logo emblazoned on it.

“Ryan!” two young women squeal. They’re about my age, and I smile as I think they’re probably listeners of the show, hoping that Ryan’s been able to guide them through breakups and queries they’ve had about their bodies. Maybe they’ve had to be comforted through a divorce or through the death of a loved one.

He waves at them and then strides over to shake their hands, his confidence making me beam. I never thought I’d be here with him when I started working for him, but I never thought I’d even met someone quite like him when I started my search for this semester’s internship.

“Ryan,” a male reporter says, holding his microphone out. “What’s the weirdest question you’ve ever received.”

He taps his lip and rocks back on his heels, contemplating his answer. “One time a guy wanted to know how to find love. That was the weirdest question, because there’s no way to answer it. Now, I can tell you how to make yourself look attractive, or how to make yourself more appealing according to the standards our society puts out there. I can even tell you to go to the gym or get some new clothes or how to talk dirty to girls once you’re lucky enough to have them in your bed.” I’m standing a little off to the side, letting him take the spotlight, where he belongs, but he grabs my hand and brings me close to him and continues. “But there’s no way for me to tell you how to find love. It’ll sneak up on you when you least expect it. It’ll take you by surprise and knock you on your ass.”

Ryan slips his hand around my waist and kisses me on the forehead.

“I’ve got a party to go to, sir,” he says, shaking the reporter’s hand.

The reporter smiles and thanks Ryan, tapping something into his phone.

“Do you think he’s going to post that online?” I shout over the cacophony of voices and the pumping bass from inside the club.

Ryan rubs the back of his head and arches his eyebrows. “I mean, yeah, it’s possible.”

I hold my breath for a second and look around, then up at Ryan. I do feel like I’ve been knocked on my ass, but I’m starting to like it.

“It’s okay,” I shout. “I’m okay with that. I’m here as your date, after all.”

“That’s fucking right, you are,” he says, wrapping a strong arm around me and leaning down for a quick peck.

We make our way into the club, past more reporters and screaming fans, into a bar that’s unlike any bar I’ve been to before. Most of the bars I go to, when I ever go to one, consists of a simple counter on one side of the room, with stools lined up and maybe one or two bartenders. Maybe, if they really want to keep you in there, there will be an arcade game or two in the back, or maybe a pool table. Usually, there’s a unisex bathroom in the back, and there may or may not be a mirror over the sink.

As we step inside the club, my heart picks up speed to match the fast tempo of the thrumming bass. Large crystal chandeliers adorn the high ceiling, and there isn’t just one bar - there’s three, one on the far wall and one each to the left and right. The whole club is dark and packed with young, perfect women and sexy, gorgeous guys. We’re quickly ushered to a small, roped-off area up a small flight of stairs, a kind of stage where there’s a few reserved tables set up and large black cushions on a long, low bench against the wall.

The crowd claps as Ryan waves, giving them a taste of his trademark Dirty After Dark smile. The man and the show are nearly synonymous, I’m starting to learn, and being in proximity to something so great and really seeing how he enjoys it is making me smile.

Ryan steps back from the edge of the stage and grabs me, taking me toward one of the tables. Lexi is already here with a few other women, and for now she just waves, keeping her distance.

“I’m proud of you,” I say to Ryan. “These people all really love you. I’m actually just starting to get it now.”

“You’re just realizing that everyone loves me?” Ryan slips his hands over mine and laces our fingers together. He holds me tight.

“Yeah,” I say carefully. “I’m realizing that everyone loves you.” Something inside my chest aches, and I feel as though the world starts to slow down, and it’s only me and him. The loud sounds of the club and the bright lights strobing over his face throw him into relief as a warm blooms deep inside my chest.

“That’s all fine and well,” he says, “but one thing you have to remember about me is that I don’t care what everyone thinks. There’s only one person whose opinion I give a damn about.”

My body buzzes as Ryan takes my hand and leads me down the stairs to the dance floor, spinning me around in a move that doesn’t fit the music at all. He bring me body close to him, and I put my head on his shoulder. I don’t care if anyone sees. I’m here as his date, and everything just feels right.

Ryan slips his hands up my arms and tucks my head into his chest, and I respond by wrapping my arms around his muscular back. My fingers barely meet together around his body, and he sways with me to the music, caressing my hair. I close my eyes and feel a few people around us part and give us room to dance.

The electricity between us is popping and sizzling and crackling, and when I force myself to look up and into his eyes, he meets my gaze with a softness I haven’t seen before.

“Are you nervous for your presentation?” Ryan asks.

I’ve almost forgotten that this is a business trip. With all the excitement and the rush of being here with Ryan, I haven’t thought of my presentation at all. But I’m not nervous. I’ve worked hard on it, and I’ve always been good at public speaking. I even won an award for it in high school, when I was on the debate team. Plus, this is a topic I’ve been passionate about for a long time. For longer than I’ve known that I wanted to be a health professional.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ve got this. I’m going to make Dirty After Dark proud.”

“You’ve already made me proud,” Ryan says.

An older man walks toward us, weaving through the crowd of people and shaking a few hands along the way, until he comes up behind Ryan and puts a hand on his shoulder.

The man is probably about sixty years old, and he reminds me of what my dad would look like if he traded in his jeans and t-shirt for a custom designer suit.

“May I cut in?” he says warmly over the music, leaning in between me and Ryan.

“Mr. Craft, so wonderful to see you.” Ryan keeps me close to him and shakes the older man’s hand. “Sara, this is Mr. Craft, the man who taught me everything about broadcasting. He gave me my first job right out of college. He made me the man I am today.”

Ryan flashes a broad smile and scrubs the back of his head with an open hand, tousling his hair.

“I didn’t teach him everything, you know. But you could say that I discovered him. He’s the mind behind the show, though. Ryan, I was hoping to speak with you about some various opportunities.”

“Oh,” Ryan says, “absolutely. Could you have your assistant call Matt and we’ll set something up for tomorrow afternoon?”

“You can’t spare a few minutes for an old man?”

“Oh, stop,” I say, swatting him on the shoulder. “You sound like my father. You guys should go play parcheesi at the nursing home if you think you’re so old. You shouldn't be out at a party like this.”

“Let me just chat with Mr. Craft for a few minutes,” Ryan says to me, squeezing my hand. “Go grab a drink. We have bottle service in the VIP area.” He turns to Mr. Craft again. “Is Lexi going to be in this meeting?”

Mr. Craft nods and Ryan rubs my shoulder quickly and starts to make his way through the crowd with Mr. Craft, when I notice that there are a few big bodyguards with the older man, guys in suits and with earpieces.

I’m slightly taken aback, impressed with the kinds of people Ryan is palling around with, the amount of influence he must have.

I start to weave my way through the crowd back to our table, squeezing past people dancing and drinking. Some of the party-goers have plastic necklaces with little plastic penises hanging from them. Wouldn’t have been my first choice for an upscale party like this, but people like that kind of corny stuff, I guess.

As I approach the stairs to get to the VIP area, a bodyguard steps toward the rope separating the stairs from the main level of the club.

“Hey,” I say, “I’m with the show. I’m an intern.”

“Sorry, miss. You don’t have an ID badge.”

His stony expression remains unchanged, and his eyes continue to scan over the crowd. He doesn’t even look at me.

Heat starts at the top of my head and flows through me as I start to check my purse, knowing there’s no ID badge in there. I’m stalling for time because I don’t know what to say. I know it’s just a mix-up, but I’m flooded with embarrassment as I stand there, unsure of what to say next.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have one. But I’m with Ryan.” I shake my bag and shift around the contents, as though I’ve just misplaced by badge. But nope, I know I don’t have one, and I’m not even sure I ever received one.

I see Lexi sitting up in the VIP area, and I try to wave her over, but it’s dark and I don’t know if she can see me. She seems to be looking over at me, and I wave again, but it’s not working. Scanning the crowd for Ryan, my pulse quickens when I can’t pick him out among all the unfamiliar faces.

My eyes flash back to the security guard, unmoving and still not looking my way, but then I see Lexi get up and start to come over.

“Thank you!” I shout over the railing to her as she approaches me.

“I’ve got you, sweetie,” she says, flashing a smile down at me. “She’s the intern,” Lexi explains to the security guard with a touch of venom in her voice.

The guard, still stony-faced and expressionless, unhooks the end of the rope for me and I dash up the stairs, afraid he’ll change his mind.

“Gosh, I’m so sorry about that,” Lexi says, bringing me over to an empty table. “I guess they’re still trying to work out the kinks. It’s a new club and everything.” She flicks her wrist in the air and flags down a waitress, ordering two vodka martinis.

“Thank you for you that,” I sigh, settling down into the booth. “I never got a badge or anything.”

“He’s got a stick up his ass anyway,” she says, smiling sympathetically. “He’s just some security guard. He’s probably mad he isn’t here as a guest. We usually have our own security at these things, but the club said they were supplying the security. Dad has his own guards out there somewhere.”

“Oh,” I say, my ears perking up. The scantily-clad waitress, wearing only short black shorts and a push-up bra, comes over with our drinks and smiles sweetly. “Is your dad Mr. Craft?”

“Sure is,” Lexi says smoothly, putting the edge of her glass to her lips and looking over it at me, her eyes flashing to the crowd down below. “He helped your boss get his start in broadcasting.”

“I heard that,” I say, taking a small sip of my drink. The vodka is smooth and soothing, and I feel my nerves start to iron out with just the first sip. “I didn’t know he was your dad, though.”

“The three of us worked together for years,” Lexi says, placing her drink down on the table in front of us. “Me and Ryan used to pretend to date, too. But you know how that is,” she adds casually. “You have to give the audience what they want.”

I swallow hard and avert my gaze from her, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as her words pass over me slowly. Taking another sip of my drink, I feel my lips purse into a straight line as I look desperately for Ryan in the crowd.

But as much as I try to dismiss Lexi’s words, they stick inside my ear like a bad song. I shake my head and take another sip of my drink, recalling that Ryan told me Lexi was difficult.

I clear my throat and steady myself, taking my drink in my hand.

“Ryan and I are not pretending to be dating,” I say firmly and calmly. “He asked me to be his date tonight.”

Lexi’s head snaps back to me, her perfect hair falling into place around her cheekbones. “Sweetie,” she says, patting me on the knee, “that’s so cute. You know, when I first met him I thought we were something more, too. I thought he had something on his mind other than the show, other than money and getting his show to take off. But Ryan Hart only thinks about one thing.” Her eyes pierce daggers as the music dims and the lights come up, lighting up the dance floor. “The only thing he thinks of is Ryan Hart. I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but it’s better to know sooner rather than later. I worked with him for three years. That was three years that I spent falling for him. I wish someone had told me about him earlier.”

All of the air is sucked from my lungs as I feel tears start to prick in the corners of my eyes. I see Ryan in the crowd, illuminated by a spotlight and approaching the stage, surrounded by Mr. Craft’s bodyguards.

I take a deep breath as a disembodied voice booms from the DJ booth.

“Introducing Ryan Hart, founder and host of Dirty After Dark!”

The crowd erupts into cheers as I feel Lexi’s hand come down on my shoulder. I glance back at her, her eyes warm with sympathy.