Chapter 15 Jane
FIFTEEN
JANE
The meeting is being held on a Tuesday night—not many requests for strip shows on a Tuesday—at Chance’s place.
His gorgeous, completely remodeled, two-story home in Lake Forest. I don’t know what I expected his living quarters to be, but a house in the suburbs was not it.
We’re all in the basement, which is set up like a man cave with a bar, pool table, electronic darts, and theater seating in front of a wall holding three flat-screen TVs.
The one in the middle is huge, with the ones flanking it about half its size.
Roman had spoken first with a few slides under the heading “Legal and Financial,” and Austin’s area of expertise had been “New Business and New Recruits.” Who knew a company where men took their clothes off for money would have so many mundane things to attend to?
As I’m musing about this, Austin lets out a battle cry from his place in front of the group and crushes a beer can on his forehead, making the entire room go wild.
Okay, so maybe it’s not exactly like a board meeting. I cover my mouth as I laugh at the antics from where I’m sitting off to the side by the dartboard.
Something soft and furry rubs against my hand, and I look down to see a gray tiger cat, completely unaffected by the chaos and looking for love from the only calm person in the joint.
Chance introduced me to Romeo when I’d arrived earlier.
No, I’m not making this shit up. The tough-guy bachelor has a cat and named him after the famous hero of a romantic tragedy.
Contradictory much? Chance, thy name is dichotomy.
Mr. Dichotomy holds his hands up and talks loud enough to be heard over the din of the room. “All right, assholes, settle down so we can get to the last topic of the evening.” Roman pushes a button on his Mac and a new slide appears on the TV. “Business retention and customer satisfaction.”
As the words “customer satisfaction” flash on the screen, the P4H employees whistle, cheer, high-five their buddies, and some even start gyrating their hips, demonstrating how they personally satisfy the customers.
Eventually Chance gets them under control and moves through the rest of the slides fairly quickly before Roman takes over to announce upcoming events and work out who’ll be doing what.
Watching Chance take command of the room reminds me of all the times he’s taken command of me, and I have to cross my legs to relieve some of the ache between my thighs.
As though he’s mentally tuned into my sex drive’s frequency, Chance swings his gaze to meet mine, his eyes a molten navy blue, and the way he’s looking at me makes me swear I forgot to get dressed today.
My breath hitches, and his cocky smirk confirms that I’m blushing.
I think he keeps track of how many times a day he can make my cheeks flush.
He’s even taken to texting me vile (fricking hot), detailed descriptions of what he wants to do to me, then he demands that I send him selfies so he can see the effect his words have on me. The man is a complete nuisance.
And I’ve never been happier—a fact I try not to look too hard at, because if I do, I’ll start thinking relationship-y thoughts, and that can’t happen.
There is no universe in which a guy like Chance wants the responsibility of an actual relationship.
So, this is me, not wanting a relationship with a guy like Chance.
A guy who makes me laugh, who asks me how my day was (post-hot-sex, because priorities) and makes sure I eat because half the time I forget or don’t have time to fix myself something. A guy who brings me a bag of soothing lozenges when I mentioned my throat is hurting.
Granted, he waves off his consideration by claiming he can’t have one of his favorite places to stick his dick out of commission, but that brings me back to the part about making me laugh. Call me immature, but I like his crass humor.
Yeah, okay. I would like to date a guy like him. But that’s not where this thing is headed, so I’m determined to enjoy what we have while we have it. Full stop.
“Then, if there aren’t any more questions,” Roman says, “feel free to finish your beer and pizza and then get the hell out of Chance’s house.”
“Hold up. One last thing.” Chance steps forward and everyone groans as they take their spots again.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist; this’ll only take a second.
I’m sure you’ve all noticed the lovely Ms. Wendall, who sat in on our meeting tonight.
She’s working on her thesis about what it’s like to be viewed as sex symbols and be objectified—”
“It’s fucking awesome,” says a handsome ginger, to a chorus of laughter and agreement.
Chance crosses his arms and arches a brow in the ginger’s direction. “Glad you think so, O’Donnell. You can be Jane’s first interview of the night, then.”
The humor falls from the jokester’s face. “I can’t be interviewed about this shit, man. My old man would stop paying for college if he ever found out what I do.”
The room fills with murmurs of similar concerns, accompanied by the shaking of heads.
I stand and clutch my notebook to my chest. “I know that the appeal of working at Playboys 4 Hire is how careful they are about keeping your true identities under wraps. I’m not looking to out you in any way.
The paper will be accessible online, but you can choose to be listed as an anonymous case study. ”
O’Donnell tilts his head as though thinking about it, then says, “But if you’re using us as case studies, aren’t you going to want to know about our backgrounds, and what we do when we’re not doing this job, things like that?”
I nod. “Yes, that will be part of it.”
A swarthy Latino sitting in one of the leather theater chairs chuffs. “Those kinds of details can be just as damning as giving you our names.”
More assent and head shaking from the group.
It seems this won’t work in my favor after all.
Looking over at Chance, I give him a shrug and half smile to tell him it’s okay and thanks for trying.
I watch as his eyes narrow and determination sets in his hard jaw.
I know that look. It’s the one he gets when I playfully push back against a command.
The one that says he’s taking offense and accepting a challenge.
Crossing his arms, he scans the crowd and raises his voice. “I’ll give a five-hundred-dollar bonus to anyone who participates.”
The room is silent for three whole seconds as they stare at Chance in surprise. Then they explode like someone just told them their favorite football team won the Super Bowl, and suddenly I have a line of strippers wanting to answer my questions.
My smile is so big that my cheeks hurt, and something in my chest gets tight.
I peer around the gathering men and find Chance.
He grins and gives me a wink then turns to talk with Roman and Austin.
Oh, shit. I think that tightness in my chest might be my heart swelling.
Not good. I need to lock that down right now, before my romantic girly side starts taking over.
Back to business, Janey. Focus on your work.
Sitting down, I lift Romeo from where he’s lounging on the chair next to me and gesture for O’Donnell—the first one in line—to have a seat. I hold my hand out. “Thank you so much for doing this.”
He accepts my hand, but turns it over and kisses the back of it. “I’m Liam, and spending time with you will be my pleasure.”
Another smooth operator, this one, but then I suppose it’s a common trait among people whose job it is to seduce.
If I’d met sexy Liam a month ago and he’d done the same thing, I would have swooned like a proper female.
But since he’s not a Thor lookalike who makes me wet every time he pins me with his deep blue eyes… nada.
“Great,” I say, taking my hand back. “Then, let’s get started.”