I tilted my head back toward the sky to catch a glimpse of the top of the building, where rich, powerful men awaited, and self-consciously patted my hair before shrugging. My hair was as good as it was going to get. Honestly, I was mostly doing this on a whim. Maybe even a little bit to soothe my injured ego. Undoubtedly the room would be full of stuffy men like David who’d sniff their conservative noses at my, how had he phrased it? –young hipster vibe—and wander off in search of more sophisticated candidates.
Fine by me. I knew I could find a partner on my own just fine, if that was what I wanted. It would just take some extra time and commitment.
I glanced back up at the building and, with a shrug, headed for the front doors. A uniformed man greeted me and ushered me inside, and when I said, “Can you direct me to the Billionaire Club?” he escorted me to a desk, where a beautiful young man checked my ID and tapped information into his computer.
“All clear, Mr. Owens, have a nice evening,” he said.
The uniformed man led me to a gleaming gold elevator topped with ornate leafing, ushered me inside, and used a key to activate the P button.
“Have a good evening, sir,” he echoed, as the doors slid closed between us.
I nibbled my thumb while the elevator glided upwards, caught sight of my reflection in one of the mirrors, stuck out my tongue, and then shoved my hands into my pockets.
When the elevator swooshed open on the top floor, I stepped out into another world. The penthouse was all sparkling crystal chandeliers and smooth, dark leather. Tasteful yet very obviously expensive—as were the men who already gathered there, mingling in small groups and twosomes throughout the room. Original oil portraits in rich reds and golds adorned the walls over each booth. A long, sleek bar stretched across the back wall, backlit by intricately detailed glass art and manned by impeccably dressed bartenders who poured drinks into real crystal.
The music was subdued in volume and filled with the melodic notes of a piano. A real piano, played by an elegant man in a black tuxedo.
Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.
As expected, everything was perfectly tasteful and civilized. In fact, the only bizarre thing? About half of the men there sported these weird little black masks that hid the tops of their faces from view.
Great. If people suddenly started stripping and going at it, then I’d realize I’d stumbled onto the set of that freaky old movie with Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise and haul ass out of here.
Several of the masked faces turned toward me when I took a hesitant step into the room, making my stomach knot up, but before I could shake off the nerves, Alex Hughes appeared by my side like magic.
“Seb, so glad you made it!” His familiar face combined with a wink eased my jittery nerves. At least until he gestured at the man beside him. “Seb Owens, meet Monsieur—the director of this delicious establishment.”
A regal, impeccably suited older man with silver tips to his hair and sharp eyes clucked his tongue at Alex. “Delicious, is it? Perhaps not the word I’d use, Alex, but I’ll let it slide this time.” His deep voice flowed like silk. “Seb, it’s wonderful to meet you in person. How do you do?”
I shook the hand he offered and swallowed. This guy might be decked out in snazzy clothes and glasses, but there was an edge there. Director of the Billionaire Club? Not someone I wanted to piss off anytime soon. “I’m well, thank you. So nice to meet you to and be here tonight.” I pumped a little extra enthusiasm into my voice, which made Monsieur nod approvingly.
“Wonderful, that’s what I like to hear. I won’t keep you then—please, go circulate and make some new friends. Alex, come along,” he said. Alex allowed Monsieur to tug him along, but made a face at me behind his back. “I saw that, Alex,” Monsieur said.
How, I had no fucking idea. The man must have literal eyes in the back of his head. I turned in the direction of the bar. I needed a drink, like, yesterday.
As if I’d summoned him with my thoughts, a trim, mustached man in a tuxedo appeared at my side, holding a tray of crystal flutes.
“Care for a glass of champagne, Mr. Owens? This is from a member’s private vineyard in the south of France. A 2010.”
I didn’t know a 2010 South of France champagne from a bottle of two-buck chuck, but hey, liquid courage was liquid courage. I took the glass he offered gratefully.
“Thank you.” I accepted the glass he offered and saluted him with it before downing a healthy gulp.
“Delicious, isn’t it?”
An unfamiliar male voice came from my left side, so I swung in that direction while the waiter disappeared into the crowd. A tall, reedy man with silver hair and perfect posture stood beside me. His suit looked starched and stiff, which matched his bearing. The top half of his face was hidden behind one of those masks.
“Yes. Definitely. Although, I’m more of a beer drinker, to be honest,” I said.
The man sniffed and I hid a grin. I figured I wasn’t here to pretend to be someone I wasn’t. What a waste of everyone’s time. No, I planned to be my beer-drinking, messy-haired self and if somehow, I managed to snag some older, rich guy’s interest then hell, maybe I’d give this whole consort thing a whirl.
I took another sip of the private reserve, South of France champagne and suppressed a laugh. I wasn’t holding my breath.
Another masked man bounded into our twosome. “Did I hear someone mention beer?”
Unlike the first man, who had silver hair and a very proper manner and tone of voice, this new arrival practically crackled with suppressed energy. He had short hair, a full brown beard, and a pair of brown eyes that twinkled from within the depths of his mask’s eye holes. His suit was tailored in such a way that you could just tell he was an athlete. In fact, he looked vaguely familiar, although, hard to know for sure with the top half of his face covered.
“You did,” the first man said with another haughty sniff. “Apparently, our new friend here shares your befuddling appreciation for fermented hops and barley. I’ll leave you to it.” He gave a delicate shiver, like he couldn’t believe the things kids were into these days, before wandering off.
“Uh-oh. I’ve been here less than a minute and I’ve already managed to offend someone with my lack of refined taste. That can’t bode well for my chances.” My cheerful smile belied the sorrowful tone of my words and the other man flashed a grin in return before leaning in.
“Don’t worry, I promise we’re not all like him. Some of us do actually enjoy pulling our heads out of our asses upon occasion. Now, since you’re finished with that glass, how about we grab you a new drink. What’s your poison tonight? Beer or a mixed drink, maybe?”
A quick glance around the party confirmed that so far, everyone was holding either a champagne flute, wine or highball glass. Fuck it. “I think I’ll go for the challenge and see if this place actually possesses any beer glasses. Or I could be really scandalous and ask to drink straight from the bottle.”
The bearded man’s grin widened. “Oh, I like you. I could see us getting into some mischief around here.”
The man led me to the bar, where he proceeded to order two beers. To my surprise, they had a few on tap, including one of my favorite porters. That’s what I get for being so quick to judge.