Chapter 9 At the Rosebud Club
At the Rosebud Club
LOTHAIR
Terrance had been so annoyed by the plan it was a miracle his eyes didn’t roll out of their sockets when I described the details. But I was still his client, so in the end, he relented. I would bet he thought it was cool as hell, even if he’d never admit it.
When the limo stopped at the edge of the red carpet, it was him climbing out of the back seat instead of me. The confused crowd of fans and photographers began hollering. I saw it all on the live stream on my phone. As instructed, Terrance ignored their questions and looked up.
I jumped.
The small parachute unfolded quickly, giving me only a second of glorious free fall.
I glided down between the high-rise buildings, the humid wind beating my face.
The next moment, I landed on the red carpet, right in front of Terrance, while a couple of my staff gathered the sagging fabric of the parachute from the limo’s roof.
The crowd cheered as I stepped out of the harness, adjusted my bowtie, and waved.
“The city will fine your ass again,” Terrance muttered behind me. “They even have a special rate for unauthorized base jumps.”
“Let them,” I said, my smile unwavering. “Worth it.”
Today’s stunt was a teaser for my new movie, Wild Cat, the first in a series of action flicks, and I had high hopes it would smash it at the box office.
With Terrance looming behind me, I signed a few autographs, and then we were ushered into the brightly lit atrium. The annual gala had top-notch attendance, consisting of A-list celebs only. Last year, they’d snubbed me.
And look at me now.
I wish I could feel happy about it, but the fun part of the evening—the base jump—was over.
As soon as we entered, a throng of photographers and reporters attacked us.
I could sense Terrance behind me, creating a perimeter by the sheer force of his blue gaze so I could fucking breathe.
The way he handled crowds was admirable.
He rarely had to touch anyone, using only well-timed gestures, a few calm words, and clear instructions.
“Hey, Lothair! Couldn’t you walk in here like a normal person?” one guy asked, shoving a microphone in my face.
What kind of question was that?
So I said, “No.”
A couple of reporters laughed.
“It’s your first time at the Temple Gala. What’s your impression of it?”
“Ask me again in an hour.”
“Who’s the man with you?”
I pointed my thumb at Terrance behind me. “Him? My bodyguard.”
“He’s been seen with you everywhere these past few weeks. Are you in any danger?”
“I’m in acute danger of dying of thirst. Excuse me, gentlemen.”
Terrance all but teleported next to me, gesturing for people to let us pass. Finally, we made it through the double doors to the main hall, away from the vultures.
The next phase began—the schmoozing. I greeted, complimented, flirted, faked interest, had to cut off conversations that would have interested me, smiled, smirked, laughed, and drank, wishing the alcohol had any effect on me whatsoever.
People who wouldn’t have looked at me twice just months ago were trying to get a piece of me, and I was pondering the ugly side of fame. Carlos, my manager, was over the moon.
Even Paris Olivier approached me. The best-paid omega actor in the industry, hauntingly beautiful, decidedly single, and one of the most influential people in the room, came to me.
He congratulated me on my upcoming premiere most charmingly and added in a low voice, “Welcome to hell, Lothair. Keep moving so you don’t burn your feet. ”
“Lucky for me, I can fly,” I said.
“Oh, I saw. What’s the fine these days?”
“No idea. I have an escrow account dedicated to those things.”
Paris curved his lovely lips. “Prepared for everything, are you?”
“In hell, we must be.”
Maybe I imagined the flash of kinship in his eyes, but I suddenly felt like we got each other.
“Good luck.” He patted my arm and turned away, his entourage of security detail closing him in.
“You’re in, Lothair,” Carlos murmured when Paris was out of earshot. “You’ve made it.”
I just wanted to go home. “It’s hot in here.”
But my manager simpered like a used-car salesman.
“Mr. Fortune himself just gave you a kiss on the cheek, so smile, boy. I saw at least four cameras flash your way when Paris spoke to you. I’ll see if I can get his agent on the phone and set up a nice dinner somewhere public for the two of you.
Keep your Thursday and Friday evenings free next week. ”
Did he just suggest I fake date Paris Olivier for publicity? “I bet Mr. Olivier has better things to do.”
“Don’t underestimate your charm, Lothair.”
I breathed a sigh of relief when Carlos fluttered to the other side of the room, his greedy gaze on the group dominated by Allan Caspian.
“I used to think I was an extrovert,” I mumbled for Terrance’s ears only. He stood behind me, and the music was loud, but as a shifter, he would hear.
“Aren’t you?”
“Extroverts gain energy from peopling. I’m exhausted.”
“Maybe it depends on the kind of peopling you’re doing.”
“True.”
“We can just leave.”
Just then, Allan Caspian caught my gaze from across the room and smiled. He began moving through the crowd, with Carlos jumping around him like a terrier.
“I’m afraid we’re stuck here for a while longer. Caspian’s headed my way.”
Terrance grunted but didn’t say anything. I knew he disagreed, but he had no idea how this business worked.
When we finally climbed into the car, my jaw ached from the excessive grinding of my teeth.
“To the Rosebud Club,” I told my driver.
Terrance turned around from the passenger seat. “What?”
“Afterparty,” I said.
“I thought you were done with peopling.”
I jabbed my thumb at the hotel behind us. “With that kind of peopling, yes. I need to unwind.”
In fact, I needed to get laid. Rosebud hosted these regular exclusive parties together with Rafaelo, one of the prominent escort companies in the city. It was a sure shot. I’d had some of my most satisfying encounters in the darkroom and the upstairs bedrooms at Rosebud.
Terrance glowered at me darkly but said nothing. He settled in the passenger seat, facing the traffic, as judgment continued to come off him in waves.
A huge plus of Rafaelo nights at Rosebud was the clientele.
The escorts had the right to veto anyone on the guest list, and the club had a zero-tolerance policy against harassment—meaning if you were caught being obnoxious once, you were blacklisted.
These rules ensured everybody could relax and have a good time while the asswipes stayed out.
Since I was popular with the boys and always treated them like royalty, I had a standing invitation; there was no need to RSVP. Being nice paid off.
The driver let us out right by the door, and Terrance rushed me past the two buff security guards who wished me a pleasant evening.
“What’s the hurry?” I asked.
“Getting you off the street. Do I assume correctly that the purpose of this visit is to find a sexual partner?”
He sounded so proper. “Or partners.”
“This is the place you met Toby Olsen, remember?”
“Who?”
Terrance paused in the hallway in front of a heavy red velvet curtain. The beat from the dance floor behind it resonated through the walls.
“The guy who wanted to share a video blog about seducing you.”
“Ah. Toby, the screamer. In my defense, I thought he was an escort. There’s plenty of them here, and they’re always discreet.”
His blue eyes flashed in the dark, and he bared his teeth. He really was on edge tonight.
“You’re not inviting anyone home. You’re not letting them videotape or take a picture of you. You’ll ask for their full name and occupation, and you’ll message that to me. If you want privacy with someone, I need to know where you’re going, and I’ll wait by the exit.”
No fucking way in hell was I treating a hookup that way. An alternative plan was already forming in my head. “Sure. Whatever you say, Terrance.”
He squinted at me suspiciously then entered the club first.
The familiar scents made me sigh. There were so many young omegas, so many wet holes and sweaty dancing bodies.
Most of them were half naked, writhing on the dance floor, either in the arms of some alpha, or together, teasing each other, groping and kissing.
What else was dancing at clubs other than endless public foreplay?
Terrance hovered, stone-faced, as I made my way to the bar. I already recognized a few faces, and they recognized me. I could pick and choose tonight.
The difficult part would be finding someone for Terrance if he continued acting like a damned priest.
By the bar, I ordered a couple of Manhattans.
“Lovely seeing you here.”
The bright voice came from the left, beside Terrance. I turned around to see who it was, only to discover the omega was gazing at Terrance with stars in his eyes.
Terrance blanched. “Zach?”
Well, hello!
The omega was gorgeous, dressed in the shortest shorts I’d ever seen and a cropped sheer top, showcasing a juicy body. He grinned brightly at my bodyguard then grew suspicious when he wasn’t getting the reaction he’d wanted. Was he one of the Rafaelo boys? If so, how did he know Terrance?
Maybe getting Terrance laid wouldn’t be so difficult after all.
TERRANCE
Zach’s smile fell, and he squinted at me.
“I’m working,” I mouthed.
“Oh.” Zach glanced at Lothair, and to my horror, his eyes brightened with recognition. “I see.”
But of course, who in Ardaine, especially an omega of a certain age, wouldn’t recognize Lothair?
“I had no idea you were here with someone. Sorry for interrupting. Have a great night.”
He was about to leave. Phew. The next time I saw him, I’d have to thank him for his discretion.
“You’re not interrupting at all, beautiful. Come have a drink with us.” Lothair moved back and gestured to a barstool between him and me.
Fuck.
Zach gave me a meaningful look, hesitating only for a second before he climbed onto the stool.
“I’m Lothair.”
“Zach. Very nice meeting you.”