Tied to Trouble(45)

He hated this anxiousness that was skittering over his skin like ants.

With a firm nod to himself that he was going to forget everything but pocketing cash, he ran his fingers through his hair, thinking maybe he should get a haircut. He had to admit, his package looked damn good in these briefs. He twisted at the waist. His ass looked great, too. He flexed his pecs a couple of times, which made him feel douchey, but no one was watching.

And then he clapped his hands and turned around to see Ace spying him with a grin playing on his lips. He handed him a key card. “Here’s a temporary one so you can get back here tonight when you need to. So, you ready now, Rod?”

“How come you get to keep your name?”

Ace laughed. “This isn’t my name, man. An old nickname that I use at the bar and here. My name’s Doug.”

“Doug?” Chad asked, staring at him as they walked out of the room in the direction of the main floor.

“Yeah, Doug.”

“You don’t look like a Doug.”

“Great, because I want you to call me Ace anyway.”

Ace directed him to swipe his key card through the reader by a new door, and then they entered the main floor.

It looked like, well, a strip club. There was a stage and a pole. The lights were dimmed, and chairs and tables lined the stage and around the bar.

“So, the Pit is known for having male and female entertainment. Tonight is ladies’ night, so this is when we dudes come in. Soon we’ll see switchover in the clientele. The women and the men who…like men.” Ace shrugged. “I do think we have a large bachelorette party lined up, plus some corporate entertainment—”

“Corporate?” Chad asked. “Like, professional people?”

“This isn’t a seedy strip club. We entertain high-profile clients.” Ace’s voice edged on haughty.

Chad held up his hands. “Okay, don’t get your briefs in a bunch, Superman. Damn.”

“So your job will be to report to Candy over there—”

“There’s always a stripper named Candy. Always. Does she have a heart of gold?”

Ace ignored him. “Candy is the head bartender. She arranges who delivers drinks where. Listen to her, because she will chew your ass out if you fuck up.”

“Okay, maybe not a heart of gold,” Chad muttered.

“So,” Ace said. “Any questions?”

Chad shifted his lips from side to side. He’d talked earlier with Braxton, who read him the rules and gave him paperwork to sign. “Uh, people can’t touch me, right?”

Ace shook his head. “You’re just a waiter. You serve drinks, and they look at you.”

“And they know this?”

Ace grinned. “They know this.”

Chad took a deep breath and tried to ease the tension out of his muscles. Normally, he was a jump-without-looking kinda guy. But right now, he was analyzing fucking everything. This was all Owen’s fault. Damn him. Chad cracked his neck and pushed the guy to the back of his mind. He stared at his greased-up abdomen and flattened the waistband of his briefs, then grinned at Ace. “Let’s do it.”

…

Owen swirled the pasta around its little sauce bath and thought maybe he should have declined that third glass of wine.

He didn’t drink much, so he was the lightweight of all lightweights. He wasn’t drunk, but he was well on his way to a decent buzz.

And honestly, he fit in with his dinner-mates.

This wasn’t a formal, professional dinner like he’d been expecting. Grant was clearly working to woo the Esher clients, showing them a good time and lavishing them with expensive wine and food.

The table was full of rosy cheeks and big white smiles and loud laughter. The CEO was a woman named Karina Metzler and her advertising execs were Cary Sanders and Monica Anderson.

Karina was friendly, although Owen could tell she had balls of steel under that skirt. Monica was gregarious. And Cary was flamboyantly gay and had sniffed out Owen’s sexuality within ten minutes. He kept eyeing him, and Owen thought this whole meeting just needed to end so he could go home and be alone with his books.

And go to sleep. Because the sooner he got to sleep, the sooner it’d be Sunday, when he could see Chad again.

“So, Owen,” Karina said, turning her bright blue eyes toward him. Owen was in the middle of a sip of wine he didn’t need, so he swallowed awkwardly, coughed, and felt like an idiot as they all waited until he regained his composure. Karina’s smile didn’t falter. “Tell me, where do you see Gamers in five years?”

Owen opened his mouth, but no words came out. He shut it and looked down, smoothing the napkin on his lap to buy himself some time to get his brain in order and formulate a response. When he lifted his gaze again, he locked eyes with Grant. The other man was watching him curiously, clearly eager to hear his answer.