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Hi, it’s Payton. I’m texting because I haven’t heard from you

Wondering if you got my voicemail last week…or email this week?

We really need to meet

“Hey, did you see Avery’s email to the department?” I asked Charlie as we went to the cafeteria to grab lunch. She got her usual salad and waited in line to pay.

“Hmm. What about it?”

“You don’t think he’s going to notice his signature this morning said ‘Avery Banks, Esquire Magazine’ instead of just ‘Esquire’?”

Hot Martin shot Charlie a beaming grin over the heads of everyone else in line, which she cheerfully returned. “If he does, I’ll blame it on all the computer problems lately. He could’ve been hacked. Speaking of computers, how’s your gamer?”

“Max is ducking me,” I replied, collecting my sandwich and leading the way back toward the elevator. “It’s not like I don’t have other accounts to work on. I spent yesterday afternoon refinancing with an organic cosmetics company whose buyers reneged on a deal. This morning was helping a pet grooming chain juggle their payments while they found a new manager. But the directors care about Max because he’s the future of technology or whatever.”

“So, why is he ducking you?” Charlie hit the button for our floor as we stepped in the elevator. “Did you sleep with him?”

I shot her a look. “Definitely not. And I’m not going to,” I felt the need to add as a flush crept up my neck.

“We’ll see. But in the meantime, what are you going to do about him?” she asked as we carried our finds back down the hall.

I juggled my sandwich and chips so I could take a long sip of my watermelon slushy. Today, I’d gone straight for the large. No dicking around.

“I’m going to go find him,” I decided. “And then I’m going to kill him.”

“Hot. There are few things that get a guy going more than the threat of impending death. They can’t help it, it’s chemical. I read that somewhere. Oh, and there’s something for you on your desk. Totally untraceable. Use them as you see fit.”

She winked and my stomach knotted.

I found the box when I set my things down on my desk. Popping open the lid revealed a thousand business cards. I lifted one carefully out of the packaging.

Payton Blake, Dick Whisperer

On the corporate stationary.

As I shoved them in a drawer, the proof copy on top fell to the floor. I picked it up and tucked it into my purse. With my luck, the cleaning crew would find it and turn me in.

By the end of the day I still hadn’t heard from Max. It was Friday, but there was no way I wanted to let the whole weekend go by worrying about whether he was taking my money and running.

When I showed up at Max’s building after work, I found Ronnie enthralled by whatever was on his screen. His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when he recognized me. “Will Ferrell girl.”

“I also answer to Payton, but that’s cool. What’re you watching?”

“Talladega Nights.”

I groaned. “Now I want crepes.”

“If this had come out before we’d had our girls, I would’ve named them Walker and Texas Ranger.”

“Is Max home?” I asked.

He frowned. “It’s Friday night.”  

Which meant everyone with a social life was out living it, not hunting down AWOL clients.

I turned pleading eyes on the concierge. He caved. “Aright. He left a while ago with a friend. Heard them say they were going to a bar.”

“Do you know which one?”

“Forget the name. But I know where it is.” He gave me the cross streets and I punched them into my phone.

I thanked him and drove straight there. Parking was a bitch but I found a spot a few blocks away. After picking my way through the streets and back to the intersection in my emerald green heels, I looked up to find the blue halogen sign that declared
Stack
the way a traffic sign might say
Stop
.

Other than the big, bold letters, there was nothing to give away its contents.

“Cover’s thirty bucks,” the bouncer said after checking my ID.

“What? It’s eight pm.”

He didn’t so much as blink, so I reached into my wallet.  When I got inside, my resolve faltered.

The “bar” was Vegas on crack. Or, what I imagined Vegas to be like, since I’d never actually gone. Gorgeous girls in tiny, sparkly outfits that would be illegal in a lot of countries. Massive chandeliers dripping with crystals. Lush leather couches and chairs.

There was a line between tasteful and over the top. Stack had not only crossed the line, but burned it and danced on its ashes.

The space was packed to the hilt with well-dressed men and the occasional woman sipping translucent cocktails. Everyone from my age up two generations could be found within the pulsing walls. What they had in common besides their attire was that their attention was focused on the center of the room.

When I managed to get through the throng of bodies and catch a glimpse of the stage, I groaned.

The girl on it was covering less than half of her assets.

And none of her ass.

I was at a top shelf strip club on a Friday night.

A stream of curses escaped me, drowned out by the music.

I couldn’t see Max anywhere, so I tried the bar. The guy working there eyed me warily. “I’m supposed to meet a friend here but I can’t find him. I’m just here for the—er—view. He’s not in trouble.”
The fuck he’s not.

“If he’s not out front, then probably in one of those.” The bartender gestured toward the back of the strip club.

I followed his directions through the crowd and past the stage to a wall of glass. A sign overhead said
Private
but the setup was anything but. The floor-to-ceiling glass revealed a number of small rooms painted pink. The “wall” had some kind of swirling light or liquid in it that made it look like it was alive.

Are those kinky sex rooms?
I shoved down the queasiness.

From the way the glass was obscured, I couldn’t make out any defining features. All five of the rooms appeared to be in use. I made my way slowly past the walls of the first two. When I peered through the third one, I saw a movement, a girl on top of a guy.

When the girl leaned back, I saw the light catch on the guy’s face.

Eyebrow piercing.

“Are you going in?” A voice made me turn. Its owner was tall and redheaded. Despite the baby face, I figured he had a few years on me.

“I’m a friend of Mr.—uh—Max’s,” I bluffed.

He grinned. “Nice try.
I’m
a friend of Mr. Max’s.” Looking attractive and completely at home in a tailored suit, the guy would’ve fit in with the Alliance corporate crowd.

“I need to talk with him. I’m at his bank.”

“You normally provide Friday night service?”

“Only in special circumstances. I’m Payton,” I added, figuring the personal touch couldn’t hurt.

“Riley.”

I glanced toward the door. “Do you…think he’ll be out anytime soon?”

“Who knows.” The tone of his voice reminded me I had no clue what was going on behind that door. “Besides, I thought you were going in?” A glint of amusement lit his blue eyes.

“Er. Maybe I can just call him.” I rummaged in my bag for my phone. Instead of my phone I found the card I’d tucked inside.

Payton Blake. Dick Whisperer.

After a moment’s hesitation, my gaze cut to Riley’s. “You’re right. I am going in.”

A slow smile stretched across his face. “I like you, Payton. Tell you what. You can take my spot. I was just going to get some fresh air.” He pivoted on his heel and started through the throng of bodies.

I reached for the door to the third room, but a big guy put his hand on mine firmly and I jumped. “Private rooms are for services only.”

I hesitated but remembered the card. “Fine, I’ll take one.”

“One what?”

“Whatever my friend’s getting. And put it on his account,” I added, flashing what I hoped was a confident smile.

He looked like he was going to refuse, but instead he crooked a finger behind my back. A gorgeous dark-haired woman materialized next to me, indicating with her head that I should follow her.

The room felt like a sauna and was lit with warm, white-pink light from halogens hanging overhead. A black leather bench ran the length of the back wall, and a modern white coffee table sat on top of a furry pink area rug. I tried not to think what might be in that rug as the brunette and I crossed to the bench, where Max Donovan was getting the mother of all lap dances from a gorgeous girl who was bendier than a Twizzler.

The chords from the music outside faded to half-volume as the door closed after me, shutting the four of us in.

“Hey, Max.” I settled on the bench two feet down, dropping my bag between us. I glanced at the brunette, wondering if she could sense my nerves, before I squeezed my legs together so the she could settle over me.

“Payton?” The shock in his voice, and his face, made the awkwardness worthwhile. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Max was sweating just a little, either from the heat of the room or the lap dance. The pink of the room made his eyes and hair darker, but the hard planes of his face and jaw, the angles of his body, were just as I remembered them.

“Looking for you. And here you are. Lucky me.”

His expression said he wanted to bolt for the door.

Or maybe shove me through it.

So this is what it feels like to have the upper hand. All it took was trapping Max Donovan under one hundred and ten pounds of cellulite cream and spray tan.

The girl dancing on me rolled her hips against mine, arching to stick out her full breasts and letting toned abs and thighs do all the work. The low synth in the background throbbed, providing a sensual backdrop for her movement.

I didn’t know much about strip club etiquette, but it was probably rude to ignore a girl for too long when she was literally shoving herself in your face.

“It looks like you’re here for the entertainment.” Max’s rough comment had my gaze snapping back to him. With the sleeves of his black button-down rolled up, I could’ve stretched out a hand and touched the muscles in his forearms.

Or his lips, just parted with the promise of the next scathing remark.

Or the metal biting his eyebrow.

“Don’t be jealous,” I breathed. “I’m just here for an update.”

“Which we can talk about someplace else.”

Despite the fact that a stunning girl was working him over—and me, for that matter—his gaze was fixed on my face. Looking a little too hard into mine. I remembered his words.

Everything’s a game. If you don’t know it, you’re losing.

“Let’s talk about it here. Are your plans on schedule?”

The blond dancing on Max brushed her full, barely covered breasts over his chest. He shifted in his seat. “More or less.”

I wasn’t myself tonight. Hell, I was forced to admit that since I’d exploded at Max in that restaurant, my attempts to ‘put it back in’ had been futile. Between the club and the way Max was staring at me? The blood was flowing through my veins like I was ready, past ready…for an argument, or something else.

I snaked my hand into my bag to pull out my notepad. “There were three milestones for this week. Which of those are the ‘more’ and which of those are the ‘less’?” Max’s face was stony. “I also pulled some articles on licensing considerations. Did you get my email?”

“I’m not sure,” he ground out.

“No problem. I brought hard copies.” I reached for the file folder I’d laid on the bench between us with my bag. When my fingers grazed his thigh, I jerked my hand back.

The blond shifted, rubbing harder over Max’s hips. She trailed a finger down his chest, impatient, or winding up for the big finish. Her thong exposed most of the flesh of her hips, and it rode dangerously low. I could practically see the muscles jump through the fabric of his pants as she moved on him. The hairs on my neck stood on end up despite the warmth of the room, and I felt sweat bead between my breasts.

Keep it together
.

I forced my attention back to the file folder between us. I’d barely flipped it open when determined fingers clamped around my wrist.

“What the fuck are you doing, Payton?” Max muttered. His skin seared mine.

I was trapped, and not just by his hand. His gaze was like a live wire, and I couldn’t have moved if my life depended on it.

“I’m protecting our investment.” My voice shook as I willed away the heat shooting up my arm.

And down my spine.

“So if I told your boss you were here, he’d give you a pat on the head for a job well done?”

I’d been lulled into a sense of security because this Max was barely older than me. But the reality was I’d followed a client, on his own time, to a strip club. Then hired a half-naked girl to dance on me while I tried to pry information out of him.