Wicked Fortune (Wicked Nights #5)

Chapter 4

FOUR

I see Matthew Holt the moment I step over the threshold and into the overwhelming opulence that is Masque. He’s on the second-floor landing, all the way on the other side of the huge entry hall. He’s leaning casually against a marble pillar, just a few feet away from where one half of the majestic double staircase meets the landing.

And while it’s probably my imagination, I think he’s looking at me, too.

The thought sends a wash of heat rushing through me, and I’m only interrupted from my little moment of prurient pleasure by the low whistle emanating from the man on my arm.

Apparently, he’s noticed Holt, too.

“Girlfriend, you weren’t lying. That man is so hot he’s going to melt that marble column if he stands any closer. And the suit? Ari, my love, I’ll dump you as fast as a hot potato for either the man or the suit.”

“Can’t say I blame you.” I shoot a sideways glance at Clive, who despite being as queer as they come, is totally rocking the role of my date for the evening. He’s also attracting considerable attention from others who are mingling in the hall before going up those stairs to what I assume is the heart of Masque.

Men and women keep giving him the once-over, and even though I—sadly—won’t be touching that, I stand up a little taller and hook my arm firmly through Clive’s. At least this chiseled, buffed, and blond god in a Brioni suit and a mask is all mine for the evening. Or that’s the script we’re performing, anyway.

Not that I’d balk at going off-book. Considering my current—and frustrating—dry spell, if I thought there was any chance of getting Clive to shift his attention toward the double-X side of the equation, I’d suggest we check out the delights of Masque together.

At the moment, the man on my arm is looking at Holt with the same expression I’m probably wearing. Not to mention every other female and gay man in the building.

“What?” Clive asks, his eyes narrowing.

I realize I’m grinning. “You’re close to drooling. Sorry, sweetie. But I’m pretty sure you’re not his type.”

He lets out a long, put-upon sigh. “It’s a cold, cruel world. Luckily there are plenty of consolation prizes almost everywhere I look.”

I follow his gaze to see two guys in a far corner standing so close there’s no room for religion, as my grandmother used to say.

Of course, my grandmother would be freaking the fuck out if she saw this place.

“What?” Clive asks as I stifle a giggle.

“Just thinking what a good friend you are for being my date on such short notice. That, and how awesome this place is. It’s like a buffet of beauty and raging libidos. How did I not know this place existed?”

“I think that has something to do with it being a secret club.”

“Yeah, well, Bree’s actually been here. She broke the Girl Code by not telling me.”

“And then she broke the club’s code by doing the opposite.”

“Technically, we followed the club rules. Besides,” I add with a shrug, “I need to lock in that PA job. Holt’s a known player. I figure if he sees me here—maybe more than sees—then he’ll be more likely to want me close by in the office.”

“You can be his beck and call girl.”

I roll my eyes. “Old joke. But accurate.”

Our eyes lock, and we both have to stifle a fit of giggles. Sometimes I really do wish the boy was straight.

We each grab a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and move further into the grand foyer. I know the place is patrolled by a stellar security team, but since they dress like guests, I haven’t spotted one. Even so, I half expect one to sidle up to us, whisper that I’m a fraud, and kick me out. Clive, I’m sure, they’d let stay.

That, however, is just paranoia talking. I might not be able to get into an elite private sex club under normal circumstances, but tonight I’m here with VIP tickets in the form of the black masks with red trim that Bree got for Clive and me from Nikki Stark.

Until the moment she handed them over, I didn’t believe the club she’d described in answer to my What is Masque query could possibly be real. But it is, and here we are, and damned if I don’t want to forget all about the mission that brought me here and just find the hottest guy in the room and convince him that his purpose in life is to make me feel better than I’ve ever felt in all of my twenty-eight years.

“Slow down on the bubbly, girlfriend,” Clive says, and I realize I’ve already drained my flute. “I may not know exactly why we’re here, and I’m damn sure not going to complain,” he adds, eyeing a man with a firm ass and the broadest shoulders I’ve ever seen. “But if your mission is to ensure you get that PA job, I think sober might be the better choice.”

I shoot him a sour glare. “You are far too pragmatic.”

“Honey, that’s what they all say. Come on.”

“It’s the parties, too. Not just the job.” I don’t know for certain that any of the industry meet-and-greets ever took place in one of Masque’s many rooms, but Hardline sponsors the parties, and Holt owns both Hardline and Masque—Hardline openly and Masque through a twisted web of identity-hiding papers. At least, that’s what Nikki told Bree. And since she’s married to a Master of the Universe who’s at least one step above Holt in the Hierarchy of Wealth & Power, I assume she knows what she’s talking about.

Even if no meet-and-greet action happens here, at the very least some of the guests might overlap. And with a few well-placed questions, maybe Clive—in the role of aspiring actor—will learn something.

My arm is hooked through his as we move across the entry hall toward the stairs. I want to look aloof and confident so I can attract Holt’s attention. But the truth is, I can’t take my eyes off him. Nobody in this room even compares to the man. Not Clive. Not the broad-shouldered hottie. Not anyone.

Matthew Holt is in an entirely different league, and from the way he stands, tall and confident in a perfectly tailored Tom Ford suit, it’s very clear that he knows it. The charcoal color suits him perfectly. Power and confidence and elegance all rolled together. It’s subtle, not flashy, but even so, he’s drawing the gaze of everyone in the room by doing nothing more than simply standing there.

I feel my nipples go hard, and I remember what happened after I left the Starks’ party after my close encounter with Holt. I’d raced all the way home, then immediately called Decker, my go-to FWB. That boy must have patted himself on the back for a month after that night. But it wasn’t him I was fucking. And it wasn’t him who’d made me so hot.

It was Matthew Holt. The man I’m interviewing with on Monday. And who—the stars willing—I’ll begin working for on Tuesday. The man whose business I’m going to be poking around in, trying to find all his dark and dirty secrets.

A guy who makes my entire body go gooey.

A man with one hell of a lot of power who just might have something to do with the death of my friend.

A man who, if the tabloids are right, has a temper as sharp and dangerous as the hard lines of his jaw.

And—most relevant for tonight—a man who owns the most elite sex club on the West Coast. That, however, isn’t common knowledge. From what Bree learned from Nikki, only patrons with the highest level of “key” know that he’s the man behind this infamous club tucked away inside a Beverly Hills mansion. Tonight, Clive and I are holding those top-level keys.

Too bad I still have no idea exactly what kind of door—physical or metaphorical—they open.

In other words, I don’t have a clue what I’m walking into.

“—upstairs?”

I blink stupidly at Clive. “What?”

“Turn down the volume on your lady parts. I can hear them begging from here. Make the man work for it, girlfriend.”

I tilt my head. “I’d flip you off, but the gesture doesn’t match the dress. I’m a lady tonight.”

“Uh-huh.”

We share a grin.

“Come on, Lady Parker. Let’s go up. And as for that dress? Honey, it’s almost enough to turn me straight.”

“Don’t tease a thirsty woman in the desert.”

“I said almost.”

I laugh as his finger makes a twirling motion. I comply and do a sultry spin, noticing as I do that Holt is looking right at me.

“That look on Holt’s face almost counts as first contact,” Clive whispers. “He’s practically panting for you.”

“You better not be teasing. You know I need this job.” And not just because of Jenny. He knows I’m behind on my rent. And he also knows that if I don’t come up with five months of back payments pronto, the Car Gods are going to repossess my Honda. As for my credit cards … well, you’re not really living until your bumping up against that limit, right?

Fuck my life.

“What’s your plan?” Clive asks as we cross the room toward the stairs. Since we’re in no hurry, I suggest we veer toward the bar. Perhaps alcohol will remedy that overarching flaw in my, well, plan. Or un-plan, as it were. For that matter, if Holt really is panting for me, then maybe by turning away from him and having Clive on my arm, I’ll stand more of a chance of actually catching my prey. An experienced seductress, I’m not.

Unlike me, Clive seduces without even trying. I watch, both entranced and amused when a woman in a slinky, strapless dress about the size of a bandaid sidles up and strokes his arm. “I’m heading to the Rec Room,” she says. “Second floor. I’d love to see you there.” Her eyes dip, roaming slowly up and down his body. “All of you.”

“And doesn’t that sound delicious?” He takes her hand and kisses it. Then he winks. And despite the fact that this is a sex club where that kind of behavior is about as tame as a third-grader’s birthday party, she actually blushes.

I tilt my head and stare him down as soon as she’s out of earshot. “Did you have a sudden change in orientation?”

“Just getting her ready for the guy who’s going to comfort her when I don’t show up.” He frowns. “Actually, maybe I can comfort him when he realizes who she’s really hot for.”

“You’re such a bitch.”

He laughs. “That’s why we adore each other.”

“True that.”

We get our drinks, then head up the stairs. Holt is no longer standing by the column, and a little knot of disappointment twists in my gut. I catch myself looking for him the moment we hit the landing—and I tell myself I’m only looking because he’s my mission.

I am, of course, lying to myself. I know because I do it all the time.

The lighting up here is even dimmer, and the area is much larger than it appears from below. In fact, the second floor extends so far back the space fades into a hazy gray broken only periodically by flickers of light when doors are opened and closed.

We’ve paused by the railing in the center of the landing, and from that vantage point I can see four rooms with closed doors, one of which is clearly designated as the Rec Room. But not everything is happening behind closed doors. There are chairs and sofas and chaises in the open spaces, and each and every one has been claimed by various couples—or solos or trios or more—in various states of undress and doing things that any porn producer would love to get on tape.

I’m not a prude by a long shot, but my first reaction is shock. My second is arousal. Like serious, hardcore, fuck-me-now arousal.

I realize I’m casting my gaze all around the area, but not so I can get off watching others. No. The truth hits me like a slap. I’m searching for Matthew Holt . And the fact that I’m not finding him has my lady parts threatening to shrivel up and die.

I lean toward Clive and whisper, “Where did he go?”

He shakes his head, then pulls me in front of him and holds me close, his hands cupping my breasts and his already-at-attention cock pressing against my lower back. I know why he moved me—because otherwise we stand out like a celibate sore thumb—but damned if all the ooey-gooey places inside me aren’t begging for some action. I cast my gaze over the erotic show going on in front of us and turn my head enough to whisper, “Are you sure you don’t want to change your orientation?”

“Tempting,” he says. “But it’s not me you want.”

Then his hands slide down my sides to find my hips. He steps back, breaking contact as he turns me ever so gently until I’m facing the dark passage that leads into the bowels of the second floor. And there, stepping from the gray and into the light, is Matthew Holt.

Clive steps back, gives my ass a pat, and whispers, “You’re welcome.” Then he slips away to disappear into the Rec Room, leaving me staring at Holt, my nipples hard, my skin tingling, and my mind wondering how the hell I’m going to accomplish my mission when every single one of my brain cells has ceded rational thought to a deep, primal need to strip naked and surrender to the gorgeous hunk of a man who’s now walking straight toward me.