“Welcome to the sex club.”
“The sex club,” I parrot back feebly.
To be honest, sex was the last thing on my mind until Croix Philbrook came to open the door of The Billionaires Club for me this morning. I had never really seen the appeal—why women would spend so much money to come here—until now. The man is an image of masculine perfection. Dressed in a white button-down shirt and gray slacks, he looks like a million bucks.
More like a billion. This guy is worth a stupid amount of money. That's why he's part of The Billionaires Club.
My mouth goes dry as I stare at Croix like an idiot, trying to keep the heat I'm feeling inside from reaching my face.
Get a hold of yourself, Raven. You're going to be working with this guy. And he's not going to be the only hottie you'll see on a daily basis. By the time this place opens, there are going to be modelesque men all around you. You better start stockpiling batteries for your vibrator if you want to survive this.
I hesitantly extend my hand to him, way more excited to touch him than I should be. “My name is Raven Tarley. I'm your new assistant director.”
“My new assistant director? I wasn't aware that I needed directing.” He takes my hand but doesn't shake it. Instead, he squeezes it. My eyes shoot between our joined hands and his face. The electricity that I had wanted to feel from his touch is absorbed by my nervousness. I've been in this guy's presence for less than a minute, and I've already fucked up.
“That's not what I meant.” I take a deep breath before correcting myself. “I meant the new assistant director of The Billionaires Club.”
He gives me a gentle slap on the shoulder. “I know. I'm just fucking with you. Lighten up. This isn't the interview. You've already got the job.”
My body is so rigid that it feels like I could shatter like a pane of glass at any moment. Where did all of this tension come from? When I left my house this morning, there was only the slightest twinge of anxiety. I knew I had this. Knew I would be meeting with Croix today. Knew that I have what it takes to help make the new location of The Billionaires Club a success.
“How rude of me. I'm Croix Philbrook.” Croix finally introduces himself, not that I didn't already know who he was. Bruno Dunne told me that Croix would be my point of contact when he hired me for the job. Once I knew that I got online and researched everything I could about Croix. He's thirty and owns one of the most successful investment firms in the country.
“We'll be working together from now on,” he tells me. “You'll be helping me get this place up and running. Would you like a tour?”
“Sure.” Relief floods me as he withdraws his hand and I step into the building.
Walking around the resort will be an excellent distraction from all of the unpleasant things I'm feeling. First day jitters. I've gotten them at every job I've ever started. This one is no exception. Having a super attractive boss only makes them worse.
“To be honest, there's not much to show you right now,” Croix says as he walks me through the building. “This is still just a skeleton. I'm working up design ideas for the different rooms. That's something you'll help me with. We're still a ways away from opening.”
I follow a few steps behind, more interested in ogling him than marveling over blank walls and empty rooms. Croix wasn't lying when he said that the building is a skeleton. If I ever wondered what the inside of a gutted hotel looked like, this solves the mystery. Right now, the only thing inside this resort is possibility. It's a blank canvas waiting to be painted by our imaginations.
Croix shows me the spa, the fantasy rooms, the guest suites, and the empty pools and hot tubs. There's beach access, but it's currently blocked off.
We stand on the balcony of one of the guest suites and look out over the ocean. He points to a boat dock in the distance. “We have a yacht, but I'm not sure if we're going to make it a bonus for those who donate extra or not.”
“They're already donating a lot. Why make it extra?” My eyes travel up his arm to his profile. His hair is dark brown, almost black, and styled into a neat faux hawk. Stubble covers his cheeks, chin, and upper lip but it doesn't look messy. The wind tugs at his shirt, contouring it to his body. It's a body that probably spends hours at the gym every week. Whatever women end up in bed with him are going to be very lucky.
“We weren't going to make it a lot more. Maybe an extra grand. A grand to these women is like a dollar to most others.” He drops his hand to the railing, though his eyes never leave the ocean.
“I still don't understand why you'd want to charge extra at all.” I follow his gaze to a sailboat taking off from the dock.
“It's a luxury not available at the California location. It seems worth it.”
“And horseback riding is a luxury at the California location that's not available here. Different landscape, different luxuries,” I point out. “If you're worried about it overbooking, only allow the guests one ride per visit. I would put limitations on it, but not up the price.”
He smiles at me, two rows of perfectly white teeth showing between kissable lips. “That's why you're here, Raven. I need these types of ideas. Three heads are better than one.”
“Three heads?”
He cranes his neck slightly, redirecting his attention to people walking along the beach. “Bruno is putting in his insight as well. He gave me an outline of everything that's been implemented at The Billionaires Club in California, the ideas that have worked and failed in the past.”
If anyone owns The Billionaires Club, it's Bruno Dunne. He's been at the helm of the non-profit organization since the very beginning. It was his brainchild, one that many doubted would work. No one before him had the insight that women might want to live out their most scandalous fantasies and would pay good money to do it if the money went to a worthy cause. Donating the proceeds to charity and not paying the billionaires for their participation kept The Billionaires Club from being labeled as a prostitution ring. Obviously, that made it far more appealing to female clientele.
“To be honest, I expected this place to be mostly a mirror image of the California location,” I tell him.
“Have you been to the California location?” He turns to face me in interest.
“No," I admit sheepishly. I do know a man who volunteered there, though. I know all of the stories. All of the details.
“Well, it will mostly be a replica, but I want to implement my own ideas too. And yours. Bruno has given me a lot of wiggle room with this location. Like you said, different location, different luxuries. I want it to kind of be like the difference between Disneyland and Disney World.”
“Except with sex.” I chuckle.
“Except with sex.” His brown eyes glimmer as he repeats me, and I feel a flutter, though I can't tell if it's from the wind whipping against my clothing or if it's coming from within.
I swallow hard, averting my eyes. Looking at the water seems safer than looking at him. “I hope that I prove to be useful.”
“I'm sure you will.” He lets out something between a huff and a laugh. “I'm sure you will.”
***
“Don't just lick it, Raven. Stick the whole thing in your mouth. I want you to really taste it.”
“I wish Croix Philbrook would have said that to me today,” I chortle. “He has something that I'd definitely like to stick in my mouth.”
“Oh, stop it.” Cindy flips her hand at me and rolls her eyes.
I'm standing on the other side of the kitchen table with a spoon in my hand that holds her latest low-carb concoction. Monstrosity is more like it. It's so hard to make low-carb desserts taste good, but she's bound and determined to come up with satisfying alternatives to unhealthy delights.
My first initial tongue flick brought back the strong presence of processed sugar substitute. It makes me reluctant to take down a spoonful. Then again, this is the pre-baked version. It might taste better when it comes out of the oven.
Knowing that Cindy is staring at me expectantly, I force the spoon into my mouth and swallow its contents. I'd almost rather take a full load of baby batter down my throat than some of the things she's tried to feed me. Being the guinea pig for her new low-carb cookbook is both a blessing and a curse. For one thing, I never have to cook. On the other hand, at least half of her recipes are full-blown failures, and since she hates wasting food, we have to eat them anyway.
“That's not a good face.” She wrinkles her nose as she catches sight of my grimace.
“You know I don't like lemon.” I hand the spoon back to her and watch as she dips it into the mixing bowl to taste her recipe.
“It's not the lemon that's bad.” She shakes her head. “I can't wait until my Erythritol comes in. It supposedly tastes a lot closer to sugar than Stevia.”
It still sounds like chemicals to me, but I dare not say it. Cindy has been on a low-carb kick for just shy of six months. In that time, she's lost thirty pounds. Just from eating mostly her cooking, I've dropped ten pounds as well, so it's definitely working.
“I've never met a low-carb dessert I've liked,” I admit.
“I aim to change that.” She smiles at me, looking adorably smug.
My heart swells with warmth that spills over into sadness. It's times like this that Cindy reminds me of my mother. They'd be the same age if my mother were still alive. I can almost picture my mother standing in Cindy's place, whipping up her famous apple pound muffins in the kitchen.
Those days are gone, though. Cindy is the closest thing to a mother that I have now. When I came to Florida and was looking for a room to rent, I was reluctant to move in with her because of the age difference. Desperation and a nearly depleted bank account were the only things that made me say yes. Where else near Palm Beach was I going to find a place to stay for only $300 a month plus half of the utilities? Nowhere, that's where. The offer was so good that I couldn't refuse it.
At first, I worried that I'd have to walk on eggshells around her, wear conservative clothing, and watch my language. But it wasn't long before I discovered that Cindy cursed like a sailor and had an equally filthy mind. Within a week, we were best friends doing practically everything together. People even mistook her for my mother when we were out together in public.
That stung a little, but I suppose it's to be expected. We both have the same blonde hair, though hers is a darker honey color and cut short. Our eyes are blue, but mine are quite a bit paler and narrow. Her eyes are large and bright. It makes her appear friendly and warm, which she is. We share the same facial structure too, with round faces and high cheekbones. My plump cheeks are one of my least favorite features about myself. I've always thought that they made my face look chubby, despite the fact that I'm as skinny as a rail.
That's where the similarities end. I tower over her at 5'9. Her lips are thin lines while mine are full. Even though Cindy has lost quite a bit of weight, I certainly wouldn't call her svelte. She has a ways to go. Her body is 'a work in progress' as she calls it.
“Don't fuck your boss,” she says abruptly.
“What?”
She doesn't even look at me as she pours the lemony batter into muffin tins. “You know what happened last time you fucked your boss.”
I sigh, not really feeling like I deserve the chastisement. There's no harm in fantasizing about someone I can't have. “That was different.”
“That may have been different, but all men are the same. Put it out there, and they'll take it.”
“He wouldn't take it.” I shake my head. “Trust me, Croix is in a league of his own. One that's far out of my league. All of the men at The Billionaires Club are going to be out of my league.”
She pauses mid-pour to shoot me a serious glance. “They're not going to be thinking about taking you home, Raven. And that's precisely why you shouldn't be thinking about sleeping with any of them. They're there to get laid. That's the only reason they're there. I doubt they'll look at you any differently than they do at the clients.”
“That's not true. I'll be their boss, in a sense.”
She huffs in amusement. “And you think that will stop them?”
“Respect will stop them.”
“You will stop them.” She tilts her head for effect. “You're too vulnerable right now to put yourself in a position to get hurt. Remember that when temptation is near.”
“Temptation will always be near.” I slump forward across the table. “Temptation will be near the second I step foot in the building tomorrow.”