The alcohol isn't taking the edge off like I thought it would. I've downed almost an entire hurricane, and I feel just as uptight as I did the second I walked through the doors of Il Bacio to meet up with a clubbing interest group that I found online. Luckily, the lady hosting the group posted her phone number on the website, so they weren't too difficult to find.
Now that I'm a part of the herd, I feel even less like I belong. The group is so diverse that we look mismatched. If Cindy thought she was too old to come to the club with me, she was dead wrong. I'm standing next to a woman that could easily be ten years her senior but who is dressed like a teenager. The woman to my other side is closer to my age and is proudly displaying a body that's probably made of mostly plastic and silicone. Her breasts stick out of her low-cut halter top like two unnatural orbs.
“This place is hopping tonight,” Pearl, the older woman, says as she bobs to the music, her eyes scanning over the crowd.
“Yeah,” I reply nervously.
“I don't know about you girls, but I'm on the prowl tonight.” Sonya, the other woman, touches my shoulder as if she's known me forever. The haziness in her blue eyes suggests that she's several drinks ahead of me. It also suggests that the prowl is going to be starting soon.
“Prowling sounds fun.” I quickly down the rest of my hurricane, ready to go out on the dancefloor.
“Ladies.” A blond man slides into view next to Pearl, resting his arm on her shoulder. “Who is this lovely flower?” He looks directly at me as he speaks.
The alcohol keeps me from blushing. His cheesy words are a turn-off, but his handsome face helps to counterbalance them.
“I'm Raven. Nice to meet you.” I extend my hand to him with a smile. This might be the one tonight. As he shakes my hand, I feel a bolt of electricity between us. The mutual attraction is definitely there.
“You don't look like a raven to me. You look more like a pretty little canary.” His lips quirk into a charming grin.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. If I had a dollar for every time I've heard that, I could probably buy myself a new car. Why my mother named me Raven when I came out of the womb with a head full of blonde hair, I'll never understand. She said that she thought the name was pretty, that she had chosen it long before I was born. She was going to name me Raven whether I was male or female, whether I inherited her blonde hair or my father's black hair.
My name was something I got teased over a lot when I was growing up. The teasing got so bad that by the time I hit middle school, I was begging my mother to let me dye my hair black. She refused, saying that there was nothing wrong with my name or my hair.
I hit my rebellious years in junior high. Stealing became a popular thing amongst my friends. One of the first things I stole was a box of black hair dye. When my mom came home from work and saw my new hair color, she was furious. At least, the teasing stopped at school. I still don't regret doing it.
It wasn't until I graduated from high school that I quit giving a shit about what people thought about my hair and my name. I embraced the fact that I was different, letting my natural hair color grow back out. It still bothers me when people make that joke, but nowhere near as much as it used to.
“I'm hardly little,” I muse, effectively pointing out that I'm taller than most of the other women standing around us. In four inch heels, I match his height.
“I was just on my way to the men's room. Perhaps when I come back, we can get to know each other better.” His green eyes darken as they rake down my body and back up again. I hope he likes the black one-shoulder bodycon dress I'm wearing. More than that, I hope he wants to take it off of me.
“I'd like that.” I catch the heat he's sending and throw it right back at him.
“My name is Miguel, by the way,” he tells me as if it's an afterthought before heading off towards the bathroom.
“My name is Miguel,” Sonya mocks him once he's out of earshot, tossing her head back in an animated gesture.
Pearl booms with laughter.
I scowl. I've been in Sonya's presence for less than thirty minutes, and I've already gotten the impression that she's a bitch. Any joy that I had from meeting Miguel is dashed by her making fun of him. I can't wait until he returns so that we can break away from the group. Maybe then I'll actually start to enjoy myself.
“You don't want that one, love.” Pearl leans over to whisper to me as if it's a secret.
“Why not?” I turn my head towards her slightly.
“One word. Herpes.”
That word is enough to make my stomach do a barrel roll.
“He wouldn't have told you about it either.” Sonya's eyes widen. Maybe she's not the bitch I took her for. Realizing that makes me feel guilty for misjudging her.
“Thanks for the heads up,” I say weakly.
Now the thought of facing Miguel again fills me with dread instead of excitement. I keep my gaze fixed on the direction of the bathroom, my mind quickly concocting an exit strategy. I don't want to leave the club yet, but I'm not having a good time, so there's really no point in staying.
“So what do you do for a living?” Pearl asks, disrupting my thoughts.
“I'm the assistant director of The Billionaires Club,” I reply absentmindedly.
“Oh, sound fancy. What's The Billionaires Club?” Sonya chimes in with interest.
I do the best I can to explain it to them. “It's a non-profit organization that helps collect donations for various charities. The place is run like a resort, except that it caters to only female clients. Each client is assigned a billionaire, and they get to live out their sexual fantasies at the club for an entire month.”
“Well, that's interesting.” Pearl quirks her head back as if she doesn't quite understand.
“So, you're saying that these women get to sleep with rich men, basically. I'm assuming they're handsome too, right? Otherwise, what's the point?” Sonya draws a circle in the air with her finger.
“Yes. All of the men could be models.” My heart catches in my throat as I see Miguel emerge from the bathroom. Luckily, he diverts to talk to a girl at the bar.
“Where can I sign up? I could use a rich boyfriend. I'm ready to upsize.” She jiggles her breasts crudely.
“It doesn't quite work that way...” my voice trails off as I see a familiar face on the dancefloor.
Croix is pressed up against a gorgeous brunette woman. He's standing behind her, his hands traveling down the length of her body. She's gyrating her hips, pushing them back against his groin. The look in his eyes is wolfish. He's gazing over her shoulder like he could devour her whole.
Knowing that he's going to be fucking her tonight makes my mood tank. I've had way too much bad for one night. All I want to do is leave.
“I'd like to see one of these billionaires. I can't imagine paying money to sleep with a guy. You can get dick for free pretty easily around here," Pearl says.
“I can show you one right now.” I glance over at her briefly, not wanting to lose Croix in the crowd.
“Where?” She steps up next to me, knowing that it will be hard to spot him through the throng of bodies.
“There. Ten o'clock. Brown leather jacket. Five o'clock shadow. Dancing with the brunette in the blue dress.”
Sonya spots him first. “Oh, he is a hottie.”
“Yup,” I reply between tight lips. “His name is Croix Philbrook. You can fuck him for ten thousand dollars.”
***
“Did you have fun at Il Bacio on Saturday?” Croix hands me a cup of coffee.
He brought a Keurig to work this morning, joking about how he's going to go broke if he keeps having to walk down the street for coffee every time he runs out. To be fair, the guy drinks at least four cups of coffee a day when he's at the office. Every time he finishes a cup, he sneaks off to this little coffee shop a few blocks away for a refill. How his teeth aren't brown, I have no idea. I'm seriously beginning to associate the smell of coffee with him. His cologne barely overpowers it.
When he offered to fix me a cup, I agreed, even though I've never really liked coffee. I told him to fix mine as he normally would his, wanting to see what's so good about it that keeps him addicted. My excitement to try his coffee drains away with his question.
Shortly after pointing him out to the girls at the club on Saturday, I decided to make my escape. Seeing him with another woman left a bitter taste in my mouth. To make matters worse, Miguel finally disengaged from the girl at the bar and returned to us. I barely let him get two words in before I politely excused myself and then disappeared to the safety of my car. As soon as I got home, I popped open a bottle of wine and retreated to my room to drown out the rest of my misery.
“I wouldn't exactly call it a fun time.” I clasp the cup with both hands, unable to hide the disdain in my voice.
To be honest, I hadn't thought he'd seen me. Every time I had looked at him, he was so intently focused on the girl that he was dancing with.
“You had a lot of friends with you.” He pulls the chair out across from me and settles into it. I groan internally. This is not a conversation I want to be having first thing in the morning.
“They weren't my friends.” I set the coffee down and grab my mouse, redirecting my attention to my monitor to try to give him the hint that it's time for him to leave.
“Aren't you going to try it?” He gestures to the cup. “I want to see what you think.”
My jaw tenses as I'm drawn away from work. I lift the cup to my lips and take a sip. There seems to be more sugar and creamer than coffee. It doesn't taste bad at all. In fact, it's surprisingly good.
“Interesting.” I nod before setting the cup down.
“Interesting? What do you mean by that?” He shifts his weight.
“I thought you'd be more of a black coffee kind of guy.”
He wrinkles his nose. “Nah. I like things that taste good. You might be surprised to know that I'm also not a fan of beer. I much prefer fruity drinks.”
I have no idea why he's telling me this or what he expects me to say in response, so I sit there in silence, patiently waiting for him to leave.
“If those women weren't your friends, then who were they?” He asks, lounging back as if he plans to stay a while.
I feel embarrassed to tell him the truth, but there's no point in lying. We're going to be working together for a long time. It's only fair that I share some details about my life with him.
“They were a clubbing interest group that I found online. I haven't lived here for very long, so I don't have many friends.”
“I'm sure you'll have no problem making friends around here.”
“What makes you say that?” I pivot my chair to face him, surrendering to the fact that he's not going anywhere until he's good and ready.
“You just seem friendly is all.” He shrugs. “You have a nice personality.”
“You don't sound very convincing.” I smirk.
“Well, I like you.”
In what way? I wonder, though the answer shouldn't matter. He's my boss. We can never be anything more.
“I liked that dress you were wearing on Saturday.” He bobs his head. His eyes look distant as if he's trying to recall the outfit.
“Thanks,” I reply dryly.
“It would have looked better if you had worn your hair back.”
“Are you going to give me fashion advice now?” I laugh.
He pushes forward in his chair a bit before pausing to look at me. “May I?”
“May you what?”
He doesn't answer. He simply stands and walks around my desk. As he approaches me, nervousness claws up the inside of my stomach. I have no idea what he's about to do. It quickly becomes clear, though, when he runs his fingers through my hair a few times before drawing it back away from my face. I shiver from his touch. It's a mixture of delicate and strong. My heart races while he fiddles with my hair until he has it pulled back, his fingers working as a mock ponytail holder.
“Like this. The dress would have looked better if you had worn your hair like this,” he tells me.
“I'll make a note for next time.” My mouth feels like a desert as I stare at my reflection in the computer monitor. Croix is standing behind me, his groin not far from the back of my head.