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And that’s exactly what I need.
To be honest, the past couple years have been rough. I’m hanging on by a thread with this company, and if it wasn’t for the friends I’ve made, I think I would have jumped ship months ago. The work is soul-sucking, constantly fulfilling someone else’s goals and dreams, only to watch the events flop and the money get sucked away without reinvesting it back into the company.
I love working in entertainment. I love parties and people and the excitement of the planning process, but lately, the motivation to even show up for work, let alone get out of bed, has been daunting. I need something to wake up for. I need a purpose.
So I hope like hell that idea forming behind Emerson’s eyes is a good one—because I fucking need it.
I’m still in bed the next morning when I get the call. It’s Emerson who breaks the news to me—the company we work for is filing for bankruptcy, and the last four years have just been flushed down the toilet.
But before a shadow can cast over my future, he says, “Would you be interested in starting our own business?”
“Umm…” I rub the sleep out of my eyes and glance at the clock. It’s almost eleven. “Yeah. Definitely. Why?”
“What if it was a dating service?”
Adatingservice? My brows furrow as I wait for him to elaborate.
“You got me thinking last night. All that talk about compatibility and kinks. I think it’s a great idea.”
With bated breath, I wait for him to say something enticing, and not just a weak idea or half a plan. I’m counting on Emerson to say the word and make this happen because if he doesn’t, I don’t know what I’ll do next. Thankfully, my best friend doesn’t do shit half-assed. When he’s passionate, he makes it happen.
“I say we do it. I want it to start as an app, like a dating service, but not a cheap hookup site. I want this to be prestigious. Membership tiers with VIP status and services people actually want. Then, down the road, I’m thinking about a real club.”
“A nightclub?”Please say no.I don’t think I have the energy to deal with another soulless nightclub.
“A sex club, Garrett. Exclusive. Someplace people can be free to pursue their wildest desires. No judgment. No shame.”
Fuck yes. I sit straight up in my bed and glance around my messy apartment. “What do you need me to do?”
“You’re good with people, Garrett. I need you to be the face of the company, and I want all of your ideas. I know you have them.”
“Okay, I’m in.”
“Good.”
Hopping out of bed, I keep my phone on speaker as I brew my coffee and get myself ready for the day. Emerson rattles off more ideas, and I volley back with my own. Anxiety still nags at my consciousness, the fear that I don’t have what it takes to pull this off, but I’m too fired up to let it stop me.
Emerson Grant has faith in me, and I’m not going to let him down. Which means I can’t let those inner voices in. Can’t let them control me. This is going to be great. Our club is going to be great. It has to be.
“Hey, Emerson,” I say before we hang up.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks,” I say, hoping I don’t sound too cheesy or lame.
“No need to thank me, Garrett. This was your idea.”
And that may be true, but it’s his drive and leadership I needed. Like I said, these past few years have been low, and I’m tired of being low. I don’t think he’ll ever understand just how much this company means to me.
Because Salacious Players’ Club saved my life.
PARTONE
THE LAKE HOUSE
RULE #1: DON’T CHECK TEXT MESSAGES FROM YOUR MOM AT THE SEX CLUB.
Garrett
