The next morning, I’m still reeling from my unfair, bullshit ban from the Expose Club and trying to brainstorm a way to weasel my way back into my favorite spot on earth.

I click on the lights to my corner office with the window overlooking the Hudson River in Lower Manhattan. I plop down at my desk and sigh as I press my tie to my chest and rub its surface absentmindedly.

“Uh, sir?”

I look up to see my secretary Melissa staring at me. She’s in her early fifties, the best in the fucking business. There’s not a schedule out there that Melissa can’t tame. There’s not an asshole she’s too scared to send away.

She’s my ultimate go-to person, and I’m the envy of the entertainment world because of her.

“Melissa?” I stare up at her, wondering how she fucking got in here so fast because I just sat down.

“Sorry, I followed you in here,” she says, adjusting her grey pants suit.

“Oh, that’s okay.” I wave my hand dismissively and glance around my desk, although I have no fucking clue what I’m looking for.

“You have a meeting with the director on the Miller project set for noon, and then you have a table reading with the producers on the upcoming action/adventure flick at one. Do you want me to push one of those back and one forward, so you have some additional wiggle room to get to both on time?”

Melissa eyes me expectantly through her big, green eyes. She has sandy blonde hair, which she’s wearing in a ponytail. She has nice curves but she’s out of my desired comfort range for age on a woman.

Not that I’m saying I’d never want to fuck a cougar because I’d fucking jump at the chance, I just don’t want to fuck anything up with Melissa because she’s indispensable.

“Uh,” I stammer, feeling fuzzy inside.

“Owen, are you okay?” Melissa has concern etching on her face.

“Me? Yeah…um, I’m fine.” I smile and clear my throat.

“Okay,” she says, but I can tell I’m not really selling her on that fact. “You just seem a little disoriented, that’s all,” she adds.

I square my shoulders. “I won’t be participating in any pitches or meetings today,” I say firmly. “You need to do it in my place,” I direct her, knowing full well she’s capable and trustworthy. This isn’t the first time I’m asking her to do something like this.

“Okay, whatever you need, sir.” She casts me a slight bow and begins to walk away back to her own desk outside of my office door.

“Hey, Melissa?” I call out before she leaves completely.

She turns back around. “Yes, sir?”

“Will you fetch the intern and tell her to bring me my morning coffee? Make sure she doesn’t fuck it up this time.”

“Yes, Owen, of course.” Melissa gives me a smile and spins on her heel to leave.

Melissa is used to my bossy undertones, and she takes it all in stride like water rolling off a duck’s back. She knows exactly how I like my fucking coffee, too, with two splashes of cream and no sugar.

I just hope the fucking intern will learn how to get it fucking right. Maybe at that point I’ll take the time to learn her name—although that’s doubtful, because the interns never last around here; they always end up crawling back into the same hole they came from and getting a real job somewhere else.

I dial my best friend Victor from my office phone and leave it on speaker phone until he answers. I pick up the receiver. “Hey, man.”

“Hey,” Victor says.

“What’s going on?” I ask, feeling like venting my problems to my number-one wingman.

“I just got to work,” Victor comments.

Victor is a director for my films who lives in the façade of a sleepy life out in the Greenwich suburbs of Connecticut with his wife and twin five-year-old daughters named Belle and Allie.

He’s not considered a billionaire, or even a millionaire, but he does pretty fucking well for himself while his wife manages the kids at home, baking and toting them around in her brand new Suburban. He loves to go to the Expose with me any fucking chance he gets.

He’s been my friend since freshman year of college, and I fucking love him to fucking death.

“What’s up with you?” Victor asks.

“A shit storm,” I chuckle.

“What else is new?” Victor teases.

“You won’t believe the fucking night I had last night,” I begin. “My chance of tapping Crystal and getting a front row seat to tasting that sweet pussy is becoming a dream once again.” I shake my head woefully.

“What happened?” Victor’s voice is curious.

“Crystal is going up in smoke, yet again untouchable,” I complain, still fucking pissed.

“What the fuck did Owen Wolfe do now?” Victor cackles into the phone. He knows my personality fucking well.

“Well, it started with me fucking Lola in the third floor bathroom at the Expose,” I begin. “I accidentally shot some of my cum onto the health inspector’s shoe when he was in the stall beside us.” I shake my head with the fucking irony of the situation, and in spite of the consequences I can’t help but grin.

“Damn, dude,” Victor responds.

“So, of course the fucking prick has to go and tattle about me to the board members. Jay tells me my Gold Card membership is suspended for now.”

“So when will you get it back?” Victor asks.

“I have yet to fucking find that shit out myself, brother,” I admit.

I’m distracted momentarily when the intern pops into the room, holding my coffee. I motion to the desk for her to place it down and wave her back out of the office.

“So, why didn’t you just pay off the health inspector to keep his mouth shut?” Victor laughs.

“Wow…that’s a really fucking great idea,” I admit. “In retrospect, I probably should have fucking done that,” I chuckle.

Victor’s suggestion gives me an idea that’s full of fresh hope. “Hey, man, do you think you could go to my meetings for me in my place?”

“What? How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Victor protests, but it’s not the first time he’s helped me either, much like with Melissa.

“I have an idea,” I say. “I really fucking need your help man. Don’t make me beg.”

I hear Victor sigh. “Okay, Owen, but you owe me.”

I laugh. “I owe you everything, forever,” I remind him.

“True,” he chuckles.

“Can you meet me at my apartment later tonight?”

“I’ll be there,” Victor agrees, then we hang up.

Victor rules his house with an iron fist, and as long as he keeps giving his greedy wife fat stacks and handfuls of cash to spend, she’s not going to complain if he comes home late every now and then.

I need to fix this fucking mess I’m in—right the fuck now.