stage as someone shouted in his ear. It was a shorter man, wearing a cheap suit and no tie, with a lowball glass in his hand. “You DuBois?”
Ben got his brain back in the game instead of being focused on the blood rushing south. “Yeah. That’s me.”
“Figured. Fucking bison are always built like fucking linebackers. I’m Regan.” He gestured with the glass at a table set back from the stage, amber liquid sloshing. “We’re back here.”
Ben let himself be led to the table, where another three men waited. They all stood as he approached. Two were clearly muscle—about as tall as Ben and with his broad “linebacker” build. The third wore a suit that made Regan’s look like a rumpled sweatpants outfit. The dark material, maybe blue, maybe black—it was tough to tell in the dim lighting—fit the man like a glove. He had dark hair, slicked back, and a tidy mustache and goatee. His dark eyes glimmered, and from his utter stillness as he observed Ben, Ben would guess he was a reptile shifter of some type—probably a snake.
Fitting.
Ben stuck out his hand. The guards tensed, but quickly relented when they saw that it was empty. “Barrett DuBois.”
The man clasped it. “Frediano Paul. Good to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
“Have a seat, Mr. DuBois. Or can I call you Barrett?”
Ben settled into one of the chairs around the table as the other men did the same. “Sure.”
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Whiskey on the rocks.”
Paul jerked his chin at Regan, who got up to saunter over to the bar. Then he nodded at the stage. “He’s good, isn’t he?”
Ben grunted noncommittally, even though he wanted to shout Yes! at the top of his lungs. “He knows how to work a pole.” He bit back a groan as he realized what he said.
Paul laughed. “I’m sure he does, I’m sure he does.”
“Kind of odd to have a meeting in a joint like this, isn’t it?”
Paul toyed with his glass, the perfect illustration of ease. “Some people might think so, but I’m an equal opportunity player. Having chats in such an environment does two things—it keeps heterosexual men’s eyes where they should be, and it shows me the kind of person they are.”
“Okay, sure. I can see that.” Ben settled back too as Regan returned with his drink, and accepted it with a nod. “If they got a problem with a place like this, you don’t want to work with them.”
“Exactly.”
Ben took the opportunity to look back at the stage and openly ogle Oliver for a few seconds. Oliver couldn’t possibly see him past the bright stage lights, but it almost felt as though he was watching Ben. Waiting for him to look in his direction.
Had to be his imagination.
Managing not to drool, Ben turned around and raised his glass in a toast. “I’ve got no problem.”
“Good man, good man.” Paul tapped his glass against Ben’s and they both drank.
They spent the next hour chatting about nothing of importance—and yet, Ben knew that every answer he gave, every question he posed, was of the utmost importance in Paul’s eyes. He wouldn’t kid himself—he was being scrutinized, evaluated and measured. It was an hour-long job interview for a person he was pretending to be.
Hey. Not stressful at all.
Ben was nearly done his drink and dreading ordering another—he wasn’t a big drinker—when Paul downed the last of his and looked at him with a serious gleam in his eye. “You seem like a straight arrow, Barrett.”
Behind Ben, a cheer rose up, but he knew now was not the time to be distracted. “I try. Games are for kids.”
“I hear that. You know what I’m looking for, yes?”
“Someone trustworthy.”
“And discreet. I need—”
Paul broke off as Oliver sashayed into view, wearing a little more than he had on stage, but not enough to fully hide his magnificent body. For an instant, Ben forgot everything he was supposed to be doing as Oliver flipped his hair over his shoulder and pouted seductively at the guards sitting on the other side of the table. They each gave a single shake of their heads, their attention not diverted at all, and Regan made a dismissive motion with his hand to get Oliver to move on.
He did. Right to Ben.
“Hey, baby.” Oliver slinked—that was the only word—onto Ben’s lap and leaned close. “Interested in joining me in the champagne room?” He swooped closer to Ben’s ear. “You okay?” he whispered.
Ben grunted in what he hoped was an affirmative tone. “We’re kind of