I watch as a petite blonde, wearing nothing but nipple tassels and a leather thong display our $10,000 bottle of Glenfiddich. I needed something strong, rich, and indulgent tonight…just like me.

She pours us each a drink—Dominic, Austin, Taylor, and me —and hands them over, shimming her ass provocatively.

“Is there anything else I can get you boys?” She brushes her hand over my thigh, lingering as she passes me the drink. I reach up weaving the fringe material through my fingers.

If it was any other night, she’d be on her knees, sucking me dry. I’d take Ms. Leather and Fringe to a private room and watch as I make those tassels whip around like some high-powered windmill. She’d be able to power a fucking village after I’m done with her.

Don’t get me wrong, baby, this woman is fucking hot and I’m exercising a lot of restraint here. But, really, I’m just not in the mood tonight.

My eyes travel down to her thong, and I drop my hand.

Fuck me.

“Thanks, baby. But we’re good,” I say, bringing the crystal glass to my lips. I take a swig, letting the whisky burn and numb my throat.

My gaze follows her ass, enjoying how it bounces away from me and I sigh. I’m a tad disappointed, but after this week, the last thing I want is to be caught with another blonde chick. Blondes might have more fun, but damn, they cause more trouble. Even without them knowing.

Don’t believe me? Yeah, well, it’s true. They walk in, all pink tank top and perky tits, stair mastering their way into my head, fucking things up and then leave, just like that.

I’m sure you’ve already caught on by now, but if not, I’ll catch you up. I’m not referring to the slut I fucked up against the glass—she was brunette…I think. I’m talking about the yoga-pant wearing, busty blonde Goddess who walked into my gym that fateful day. She’s was my undoing, my kryptonite.

I blame everything on her.

God, why did she have to do the fucking Stairmaster? With those perfectly sculpted tits that bounce up and down, like they’re waving ‘hi’ to me. I mean, if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have fucked the slut so hard causing the glass to slip…and my swimmers to go diving into the pool of senior citizens.

Seriously, stay away from blondes.

Ok, before you get your panties in a twist, baby. I know it’s not actually her fucking fault. She was going about her business being a Goddess in yoga pants. But that has to be a sin somewhere, right? There’s a reason yoga pants are banned in middle schools. Boys can’t be held accountable for their actions when asses like that are wrapped in a nice, tight package.

Fuck, why can’t I stop thinking about it?

“Do you know how much fucking money I loaned from the bank for Colt Academy? Do you know how fucking much money?” I yell over to the guys, interrupting them mid-conversation. “What in the hell am I supposed to do now?” I let my head rollback, letting it dangle over the back of the couch.

“What about the other gyms?” Austin asks me. He’s a business owner like myself – running a mass market furniture brand. “Don’t they bring in revenue?”

I nod, but grimace at the same time. “The rents and setup costs for Colt Academy were so high, I’m probably going to have to liquidate them to cover the debts and that won’t be enough either with the economy the way it is,” I say.

Austin’s face goes pale. He leans back against our booth.

The booth we got—our usual—is the most expensive, ranging about $70,000 a night. It overlooks the club, giving us a good vantage point for scoping out the clientele below. The best part? It has access to every private room. It’s also the most exclusive strip club in Manhattan. Only the elite of the elite have access to it and, you’re lucky, you’re in the presence of one now.

I bet that’s not a surprise though, right? Especially if you’ve read about Dominic and Taylor. Have you read about Austin? Or is that the next book?

Never mind. Both Dominic and Taylor, who you should have read about, are fucking billionaires, hell, maybe even more than that now. Between the three of us, we have New York in the palms of our hands. I’m just have a more hands-on approach, literally.

We all react to the airhorns wailing, swiveling our heads towards the commotion. Honey comes on the stage and I see only a few of her moves before Dominic steals my attention.

“I get it, man. It’s a fucked up situation. But shit happens, especially when you can’t keep your dick to yourself. Fuck knows I’ve learned that lesson.” He smirks knowingly and sips his drink. “Have you considered filing for bankruptcy? You wouldn’t be the first one.”

“What the fuck, man? Bankruptcy? No, I don’t want to do that!” I recoil at the thought.

“Well, you might not want to, but you might have to,” He narrows his eyes and tilts his head. It’s like he’s scolding he’s fucking child.

“Yeah, yeah. Uh, I really don’t fucking get it. How could the health department shut me down? It was a fluke accident. Everything at the Academy was top-notch, fucking pristine! It’s not like I used cum as chlorine or some shit!” I say in my defense. Only one fucking incident and they shut me down, no priors, warning or anything; it’s shit like this that really pisses me off.

I feel the residual anger from the past few days come back with a vengeance. So, like a good boy, I finish my drink in one gulp and grab the bottle, filling the glass to the rim.

I’m not whining, baby. Don’t mistake me for some bitch who doesn’t get what he wants and gets upset because something doesn’t go his way. That’s not me. I’ve worked fucking hard to get where I am. Too hard to just lose it all over some spilled cum.

I get shutting me down if this happened often, or if I had some mold or shit growing in my saunas or on my equipment. But I didn’t and don’t. I pay people—and I pay them damn well—to make sure everything in my gyms…all of them, are up to code. The real frustrating part is usually when I shower someone with cum, they want more. I’ve never been left with my dick in my hands…until now.

“Seriously. This shit happens more than you think. I know a few billionaires who’ve declared bankruptcy. It’s common, man. Don’t sweat over this. It’ll all blow over and you’ll land on your feet.” Dominic ignores my list of annoyances and tries to assure me bankruptcy is ok—for the record, it’s not fucking ok. For me at least.

He lifts his drink in the air, motioning for me to cheers. I clink his drink, but glare at him over the rim. I hate that he’s fucking right. But I don’t want to be one of those billionaires he knows—or that anyone knows for that matter. To me, that’s defeat.

And, who wants to fuck a bankrupt billionaire? I know, I wouldn’t. Be honest, would you?

“Taylor, you seem awfully quiet. Pussy got your tongue?” I say, watching as he ogles the strippers like some perv.

He leans his elbows on his knees and tilts his head up towards me.

“I agree with Dominic. If you go bankrupt, we’ll still be here. Well, you might not be. Your access to elite pussy might be limited now. No bankrupt slobs in here.” He winks. “But don’t worry, I can pick up the slack.” He teases and sips the last of his drink.

“You’re a fucker, you know that?” I sneer at him.

“I do know that. I’ve heard it’s one of my most sought-after qualities.” He flashes me a grin, but then gets distracted by a brunette in a red corset and lace panties.

I try to not to laugh when his gaze lands on the women’s ass and his jaw drops open. It’s fucking huge. Like, if Kim Kardashian and Nicki Minaj had a baby type huge.

“Taylor, my boy, I’m not sure if you have it in you.” I jab at him, letting a greedy smile spread across my face.

The only reason why I’m not drooling in astonishment is because the blonde from earlier comes back, immediately reminding me of my Stairmaster Goddess. Oh, and Honey is now dancing to Pour Some Sugar on Me.

Really? How fucking ironic. Not only do I have to be reminded of the blonde, but this song comes on too. It’s fitting, really. It should be my fucking theme song. Or would it be the senior’s theme song?

Fuck, sorry, I’m distracted.

If I were a real romance novel hero, then it wouldn’t just be some song. It would be that chick from the gym that caused me to lose my flagship gym and put my company in jeopardy. I’d find her and we’d laugh about what happened and it would be a meet cute that would end in us fucking each other’s brains out.

But my life isn’t a romance novel. It’s a porno with no HEA nowadays.

“Thirsty yet boys?” The blonde asks, twirling a tassel in her hand.

“Fuck it. Let’s order shots.” I say, needing something more to take the edge off. Colt McCoy doesn’t give up.

Did I do something really, really fucking stupid? Sure.

Is it absolutely astounding that a billionaire can be so unreliable in his business that he just spewed man juice over a bunch of his customers? Apparently.

But did I get to where I am in life by giving the fuck up?

No. Fucking. Way.

I face Dominic, “I’m not going to do it, man.”

“Not file for bankruptcy?” He’s eyes widen in shock, but he nods his head in understanding. “Ok, then what are you going to do?”

“I got to face my consequences like a fucking man and get on with my life. I’ll figure a way out of this. I always do.” It’s true, I have to man-up. Yeah, I don’t think the crime is worth the time, or whatever the fuck that saying is, but what I can do? No amount of whining or complaining will get me out this cumclustered hole I’m in.

“Hey, wait.” Taylor is back with us, apparently the ass is out sight—I don’t know how though. “You heard the rare book store at the base of Clarendon Tower is closing soon, right? They sold their entire fucking inventory and they have some massive cavernous space!”

I perk up.

“It’s probably bigger than what you had before the Health Department shut you down. It would be a perfect spot for the new gym, bro,” Taylor concludes.

“No, I didn’t hear about this.” I scoot to the edge of my seat, my curiosity now piqued. “This sounds fucking great. Is it up for lease already?”

“It’s still pretty hush hush I think. But shit like this…word is gonna get out. No one’s bid on the space yet. I’m pretty sure it’s going to be on the agenda when they have a board meeting about it tomorrow. You can make your bid there preemptively before anyone else.” Taylor says.

“And we can vouch on your behalf. Though being a resident already puts you at an advantage. But after all the fucking Board Presidents we’ve had, you can never be too prepared or careful.” Dominic adds, the excitement in his voice catches me.

“A Clarendon Tower resident running a business in Clarendon Tower, what’s fucking better than that? And a high-end gym no less; damn, it’s perfect.” Taylor reiterates. Dominic nudges him and they both turn to me, beaming.

“Seriously, this is a great idea. I love it! I could have the most exclusive, high-end gym in all of New York. Again. Right in fucking Clarendon Tower!”

“I think we just figured out how you’re going to keep your membership here,” Taylor jokes.

The shots arrive and each of us picks a glass and cheers.

“To owning Clarendon Tower’s newest upscale gym. And putting my viral cum behind me.” Well, for now.