Bryant sighed, wishing offices weren’t the same everywhere.

To actually be fair, it took a whole five weeks before people started talking absolute horseshit about him. He’d expected them to begin a little earlier.

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Sam told him, handing him a coffee and putting a bunch of files in front of him, “but I heard someone say you banged Donna in the break room.”

Bryant opened his mouth and lifted a brow. “In the break room? That’s daring. I mean, there’s always someone in there to use the coffee machine.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Nah, people were talking in the break room this morning. You banged Donna after hours, on your desk.”

Ah, that made more sense. Not that he’d done it, but at least their fantasy had been realistic. Still, he was glad that imaginary Bryant was getting some, at least. That was way more action than the real one.

Bryant was no prude; in fact, he was the diametrical opposite of that, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone a month without getting his dick wet, B.T. - Before Tori. Yet it had been five weeks now since he’d taken a tall, sinfully beautiful brunette to The Tower.

If he’d known that she’d mess with his sex life, he might have thought better of it.

“Who’s Donna? Is she hot, at least?”

Sam shrugged.

“I guess? Not my type. She’s in accounting – short redhead…”

“Not the one who giggles?” he winced.

Imaginary Bryant had peculiar taste.

“Are you going to address it?”

Bryant shook his head. What was the point? No one would believe him. Regardless, fucking whomever he pleased wasn’t against policy at Croft Advertising.

He had bigger problems. Like actually getting laid in real life. He’d recently discovered that blue balls were real, and very fucking painful.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t attempted to have sex. He hadn’t felt like it at first, but three weeks ago, a fortnight after his arrival in NYC, he’d gone to the penthouse of The Tower, fully intending to find someone to spend the night with.

The building where he was currently living wasn’t what one would call an ordinary TriBeCa residential lot. The Tower was one of twelve similar buildings in the world - there was one in Beijing, one in London, one in Los Angeles, one in Sidney, and other convenient locations. Members of The Tower International Club were welcome at any time, for as long as they wished to remain there. He didn’t even need to pay rent; his five-million-dollar yearly membership fee covered that.

Bryant paid the highest level of membership to ensure he got the best apartments wherever he went, as he loved to travel, but it was certainly not the only benefit. It also included access to the penthouse, the roof, the various show rooms downstairs, the bar…

The night he attempted to get laid for the first time since B.T. was a Saturday, which meant that The Tower had been busy. There was a flogging show on the first floor, wax play on the second, a woman masturbating on the third, and another one open to participants from the audience on the fourth. He spent about five minutes on each floor before losing interest. The penthouse and the roof were open, but he wasn’t fond of orgies, so he passed. He also hung out at each of the dance floors. They had separate ones because thirty-year-olds didn’t want to party with octogenarians. As a guy in his early thirties, he had access to every floor – when he hit thirty-five in two years, he’d be blocked out of the floor reserved to those aged between eighteen and twenty-five, unless someone in that age bracket accompanied him. The system worked, keeping The Tower attractive to everyone.

He’d never been able to resist mostly naked – or entirely naked – women open to fucking right there, in front of everyone. Tonight, he watched them closely, even swayed a little with a pretty brunette. He willed himself to feel a pull, to get the smallest spark. After midnight, he had to give up. He just wasn’t in the mood.

The second weekend, still refusing to admit that his dick only wanted Tori Brown, he told himself he knew most of the club members by now. That might have been the issue. He needed novelty, that was all.

He had aimlessly walked around the various rooms of The Tower, with a hard-on, yet unable to do anything about it all night. He jerked off in the shower later, picturing purple lips.

“Dammit!”

What was it with Tori Brown?

This weekend, he wasn’t going to let anything stop him from getting laid. Being so taken by a woman he had met just a few weeks ago wasn’t healthy.

Bryant gave up on The Tower, and caught a cab to the Bronx.

He’d spent some time at the club he was heading to now once or twice in the past, and he freely admitted that it had made his skin crawl. It wasn’t bad, as far as BDSM venues were, but it wasn’t The Tower, either.

Members of The Tower, and every guest they brought with them, were very carefully vetted. There were so many layers of security in place, nothing bad had ever occurred. No women felt threatened, no Dom went too far, safe words were enforced, by bodyguards if necessary.

BDSM was dangerous, now more than ever. Given the mainstream attention it had gotten over the last few years, there were too many young innocents who wanted to try without knowing where to start, and too many predators ready to take advantage of that. The former were welcome at The Tower for a free membership, as long as they passed the very tight screening and were brought in by a paying member. The latter couldn’t even get past the doors.

No such rules existed at the club he was now entering. He just paid a fee, showed his ID, and was allowed in. Someone accompanied him and they checked him for recording devices, the works. Still. He shook his head, feeling that the level of security wasn’t nearly adequate.

But he needed to fuck. He needed to get Tori out of his mind, out of his skin, out of his memory. If there was even a chance someone could get his blood pumping here, he had to try.

The club was one simple, dimply lit room with plenty of booths. It wasn’t unlike the Penthouse at the Tower: everyone was fucking, sucking, spanking, flogging, paddling right there. Some people were just chatting at the bar, or dancing, and soaking in the electric atmosphere around them.

Bryant was hard – he’d been hard all evening, and, basically, most of the month – but still, nothing, no one, made him want to participate.

He thought about Tori, who’d worn a wool sweater dress with a large waist belt the previous day, and his dick twitched.

What. Was. Wrong. With. Him.

He was contemplating that very problematic issue when a woman did finally catch his eye. Unfortunately, not the way he wanted.

Shit.

The pretty, petite blonde with her bright blue eyes was popular, of course; there were three guys around her, and she smiled and chatted, but observing her closely, Bryant saw her skillfully avoid touching anyone. She wasn’t into them. She actually glanced towards the door a few times.

Bryant should just get out of here before she saw him. Leave her alone. The club wasn’t too bad. She’d probably be fine.

Ah, fuck.

He crossed the room, heading towards the admin assistant in her tight leather dress.

“Come with me, Lexi.”

She froze, her eyes bulging and her mouth hanging open, but let him lead her towards an empty booth. When they’d sat down, Bryant chuckled at her expression – still shocked, and definitely a little panicked, too – and held his hands up.

“To nip it in the bud right now, I’m not interested. I just had to come over and see if you were okay. You didn’t seem too taken with any of your suitors.”

She winced, but nodded her head. “Yeah, thanks. I didn’t really know how to say I wasn’t into them. I mean…”

“You’re new to this.”

He waved vaguely, including the whole floor in his gesture. It didn’t surprise him when she nodded again.

“I mean, I’m… curious, I guess? Gosh, this is awkward. I mean, you’re my boss and all, and…”

He shrugged. “Don’t fret. We just met at a club. It’s not the end of the world.”

He was oversimplifying it, of course. If she spoke about meeting him there, it could damage his reputation, which would, in turn, impact the relationship of Croft Advertising with their more traditional clients. He’d had to think about the same sort of issues back in London, hence why he normally stuck to The Tower.

Most of the members were affluent individuals who had a lot at stake. The Tower kept security footage of every room, every dark corner, that could, and would, be used against anyone who divulged anything happening within its doors - they all signed a waiver agreeing to those terms along with their NDA.

Done debating his course of action, he finally told her, “This place isn’t bad, but it’s also not as safe as it could be, Lexi. You can stick to it if you prefer, but I know a better club.”

He stopped himself for a minute, considering what she was probably thinking.

“I’ll repeat it: I’m not interested in you. You’re just a friend of a friend.” Even that was a stretch. He couldn’t exactly qualify Tori as a friend of his. If he asked her, he was pretty certain she’d call him her nemesis or something. “And you’re also an employee of C.A., so I want you safe. Text someone. Tell them I’m taking you to a club – so you know I don’t plan on having my way with you and dumping your body in the river. Then, we can go.”

She took a second, before carefully saying, “Okay.”