“They’re only jealous I look better in a corset and heels than they do in their suits. I have fantastic shoulders, don’t I?” He tossed his hair playfully.
“To die for.”
“Let me ask you something, Sam. Do you love working here?”
“I like working here. I can’t say I love it. I’m good at it.”
“What would you rather be doing?”
She sighed and shrugged her shoulders.
“Using my brain more often. Getting into trouble more often.”
“You like trouble?”
“I love trouble.”
“Then let me make you offer.”
“What’s the offer?” Sam asked.
“Come get in trouble with me.”
14
“TROUBLE?” SAM REPEATED.
“I’m offering you a job. Work for me.”
“Work for you? Doing what?” Sam asked Kingsley as he threw a leg on to the bar and straightened his stocking.
“I need a personal assistant,” Kingsley said, tilting his head to let Holly and Raven kiss him on the cheek. They tried to steal his boa, and he slapped their hands away.
“Personal assistant? How personal?” she asked, sounding cautiously curious.
“You can live in my house for all I care, as long as we get the work done. And I do have a very nice house.”
“What’s the work?”
He didn’t answer her. Instead, he looked around the club. He caught Duke’s eye and waved him over.
“I’m taking Sam with me. Can you handle things without her?” he asked Duke.
“Sure. Carla’s here now. No problem,” Duke said.
“Good. Sam? This way, s’il vous plait.”
Sam followed Kingsley through the club and to the street. What a pair they made—he in his corset and stockings and she in a three-piece suit, black Oxfords with white spats. Some drunk teenagers across the street whistled. Kingsley waved his boa at them.
His silver Rolls Royce waited behind the club. His driver hopped out of the Rolls and opened the door for them. Gia gave Kingsley a little smile of approval and a slap on his ass as he got in the car. Women—did they ever stop thinking about sex?
“So, where are we going?” Sam asked as the car pulled into the street.
“To a hotel.”
“Why?”
“Before I answer that,” Kingsley said, “let me ask you a question.”
“Ask.”
Kingsley stretched out his leg and put his high-heeled foot on the seat next to her.
“Have you ever had sex in the back of a Rolls Royce?”
Sam furrowed her brow at him and leaned forward.
“Look at me.” She pointed at herself. “What part of ‘I’m a lesbian’ do you not understand?”
“You said you were fucking all the girls at the Möbius, oui?”
“Fucking might be too strong a word. But I’ve gotten them all off at one time or another.”
“They aren’t all lesbians.”
“Yeah, but I’m really good at what I do.”
“So am I. Care to find out?”
“No. No I wouldn’t. And you can let me off right here.”
“Let you off? Or get you off?”
“Not funny. Let me out of the fucking car,” she said, reaching for the door handle.
Kingsley tapped on the window that separated him from the driver. The window rolled down an inch. Kingsley ordered the driver to pull over. As soon as it stopped, Sam reached for the door. Kingsley put his high-heeled foot on the door to block her.
“Let me out,” Sam ordered.
“You passed,” Kingsley said.
She crossed her arms over her chest and raised her chin.
“Passed what?” she asked.
“The test.”
Sam eyed him warily. “What test?”
“I have a problem,” Kingsley said, and he sat back. Sam remained on her guard. “I need help. I’m doing something with my life. Finally. Something important. It might even be the most important thing I’ve ever done. And I can’t do it alone. But I fuck my assistants. Then when they realize I’m not in love with them, they get pissed and quit.”
“This is why I fuck straight girls. No commitment.”
“Forgive me for upsetting you. Please. I only wanted to see if you had any inclination, any interest in me. You don’t.”
“Not a bit,” she said. “But don’t take it personally. I mean, I see the appeal. You look great in drag, and you have amazing legs. And you’ve got the sexy hair and the Greek thing going—”
“The French thing.”
“French. Right. Sorry,” she said, and he noted her biting back a smile. “I mean, pardonnez-moi.”
“De rien,” he said.
“All that being said...you’re darn cute. I’m just not attracted to you. I hope that makes sense, and your ego isn’t too bruised.”
“My ego enjoys the occasional bruise.” Among other parts of him. “And you don’t have to apologize for not wanting to have sex with me. I consider it a mark in your favor. Especially if you’re my assistant.”
“What exactly would I be doing for you as a personal assistant?”
“Let me show you something.”
Sam raised her eyebrow.
“It’s a building,” he said. “I promise.”