I know what you’re thinking. Something like, Wellness centers, Owen, really? Spasare the epitome of health and vibrant living—the opposite of what you do now. Hear me out. Who’s to say professionals at the end of a long week at work don’t want to unwind with a massage or a full-body mud mask? Why couldn’t the entire experience at the spa have a nightlife feel? I mean, am I the Nightlife Kingpin or not?
I can pull this off, but in order to do it and do it well, I need Talia. I plan on asking her to do a side job for me. She can continue working for Lotus Leaf, and moonlight for me. I recognize this as potentially dangerous. For her, because I know Ed. He’s a greedy bastard, and he won’t want to share her. For me, because this project will mean seeing more of her, which means I’m going to have a difficult time not sweeping her into my arms and finally tasting those lips.
Damn. How many times is that now?
The cab deposits me at the hotel’s entrance. I pay him and climb out into the cold as snowflakes begin to swirl and blow. I think of sunny Florida as I shuffle into the lobby, and then mindlessly check my phone as I step onto the elevator alone. I’m heading home tomorrow morning, technically this morning. I have an early flight, but missing sleep is one of my hobbies. Besides, I can nap on the jet. My email finally loads as I’m swiping my keycard to enter my room—shitty Wi-Fi. I pause, caught halfway between the hall and the threshold as I read the message.
Dear Kingpin,
The grand opening was a “smashing success”—Ed’s words. An actor, a Grammy award winner, and three football players for the Miami Dolphins all made appearances. I’m impressed. Not by them, but your ability to lure them here. Is “lure” the wrong word? Anyway. You should have seen it. Ed’s announcing design manager and bonuses tomorrow at a brunch at the office. I’ll be polishing my crown tonight in preparation. If you were here, I’d finally crack the seal on the bottle of bourbon you gifted me…
Sincerely,
Wildflower
I’m smiling as I shut the door, and not only because she made sure to remind me the Miami Dolphins guys were “football players.” I reread her email, trip over the part where she asked if “lure” was the right word, and smile wider, which isn’t typical for me. Benji is the smiley Owen. He’s right chipper, which can be pretty damned irritating. Nate is the easy one, a big teddy bear with a thrice broken nose. Me, I’m the stoic one. The business-minded one. The one who doesn’t smile like a dope when a woman he works with emails him.
“Get a grip,” I tell my reflection.
I toss my phone onto the dresser and empty my pockets of my money clip and earplugs that I probably should have worn tonight. I wiggle my finger in my ear, greeted by a shrill ringing I’ll have for another twelve hours or so. Thirty-six years old is a far cry from being an old man, but nights like tonight remind me that thirty-six is equally far from an age where I considered nightclubs my “scene.” Building them is one thing. Frequenting them is a whole other.
I step into the bathroom and peel off my clothes. As I crank on the shower I realize Talia’s email has somewhat reinvigorated me. Not even somewhat. As I’m absently soaping my chest, my mind vanishes from the room I’m in and travels to Miami, to the Lotus Leaf grand opening. To what she wore tonight. Not a bright pink minidress, I’ll bet. More than likely a sassy pantsuit, tall heels, a handful of silver rings. I can picture her inviting wide mouth, those long, loose brunette waves flowing over her shoulders like water.
Fuck.
She does it for me. That’s all there is to it.
How perfectly inconvenient.