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NICK
When my eyes blink open in the unfamiliar room, I look around and try to answer one simple question: Where the fuck am I?
As I turn over in the bed to search for my phone, someone nearby clears their throat. I flick my eyes toward the sound and see a guy on the opposite end of the room. He’s carrying a stack of white towels and staring at me with scorn.
“Are we finally awake, Sleeping Beauty?” he huffs. “I hate to disturb you, but you’re way past checkout time.”
I’ve never seen the guy before. He looks a few years older than me, with short brown hair, a gold hoop in his left ear and a patchy beard. The thick arms, trim waist and barrel chest suggest that he’s fit and well-built, and there’s a glint of malice in his eyes that reminds me of the bullies that used to torment me when I was a kid.
“Who are you?” I ask, pushing up onto my elbows.
He smiles, revealing crooked teeth the color of bleached bone. “Blake,” he says. “I’m Mr. Sinclair’s head of security here at Dirty Secrets. I also pitch in with housekeeping whenever Sylvia needs an extra pair of hands.”
As I process the reply, the previous evening comes rushing back. I was at Dirty Secrets Social Club. I met a man. We went to a room. He fucked me like—
“This is for you,” Blake says, pulling an envelope from his pocket. “It was on the vanity in the bathroom.”
After he drops the packet on the bed, I open it quickly. There’s a short note printed in crisp black lettering:
Nick …
Thank you for a night of magic and mystery.
Until we meet again … Adam.
“You obviously made an impression,” says Blake.
I look up. “Sorry?”
“The note,” he says. “I mean, c’mon. ‘A night of magic and mystery’? Adam isn’t known for being an easy mark. You must’ve really rocked his world.”
“You read this?”
He smiles. “I was straightening the bathroom.”
“But it’s clearly addressed to me.” I hold up the envelope with my name on the front. “It was personal.”
Blake sneers. “Where do you think you are, bud—The Ritz-Carlton? This is Dirty Secrets. We operate with a different set of rules here.”
“Well, that’s pretty fucked up.” I grit my teeth to stop from blurting the rest of what’s on the tip of my tongue. “Privacy should be respected no matter where you are.”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “Are you going to call him?”
I look at Adam’s note again, examining the strong handwriting, the black ink, the light gray card. It didn’t cross my mind when I read it the first two times, but there’s no phone number or email address.
Blake says something that I don’t quite catch, so I ask him to repeat it.
“The hot tattooed daddy,” he says. “Are you gonna call him?”
I’m definitely getting a hostile vibe from the guy, so I simply nod my head and smile.
“How tipsy were you last night?” he asks. “Seems like you might still be a little fuzzy around the edges.”
I take a breath, check quickly under the blankets and feel a small measure of relief to see that I’m wearing my boxer briefs.
“Where are my clothes?” I ask.
He points toward the hallway. “In the dressing area. Our housekeeping staff washed and pressed everything for you at Mr. Sinclair’s direction.”
His voice sounds familiar. It takes me a few moments, but I slowly assemble another piece of last night’s puzzle. I was in the elevator. Adam lowered my pants as we kissed. His hands were warm as they explored my ass. And then—
“I do hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Blake says. “But you should put yourself back together and move on down the road. We need to clean the suite to prepare for this evening. Mr. Sinclair has a friend coming in from Barcelona to stay for a week. He requested early access to the room so he can sneak in a nap before this evening’s festivities.”
“What kind of festivities?” I ask.
Blake sneers. “I’m sorry, but we really only share that sort of information with members,” he says with a frosty, arrogant tone.
“I was just curious,” I tell him. “Nothing more than that.”
“Sure. But you know what that did for the cat, right?”
There’s something more in his voice than disdain. There’s a cold, hard edge of bitterness and anger. It surprises me so much that I suddenly feel fear mixed in with the usual anxiety that accompanies awkward social situations.
“What do you think then?” Blake says. “Can you be out in fifteen minutes?”
I throw back the blankets and slide from the bed. While he drags his gaze slowly down my body, I assure him that I’ll hurry to get dressed and leave the room.
“Thanks, dude,” he says on his way to the door. “And good luck with your new sugar daddy. Adam usually likes guys a bit more attractive than you, but maybe he’s lowering his standards for a change.”