My finger hovers over the pad of my laptop. Don’t click those, Tiffy. You do not need to see him in action to get the info you need.
Truth. But I can’t help myself.
I click and the video opens up. The music is loud, so I scramble to turn it down and look over my shoulder, hoping I didn’t wake up Claudio. He would never let me live this down if he caught me.
The MC of the show, Chandler something, calls out the names of each Mountain Man, and they appear on stage one by one, lining up along the back curtain as the women in the crowd start screaming. Then the music thumps, the dancers do some fist-bumps, and they start walking slowly forward on the stage, each one unfastening buttons down their dress shirt.
Wow. That’s sorta sexy. Not Fletcher, per se, but the whole act. There’s smoke and lights. The film quality is good too, like this might be a paid promotion. And the guys seem focused and serious.
When they get to the edge of the stage, the shirts come off and are thrown aside. Then they all reach down, grab their pants, and pull them off in unison.
The crowd of crazy lust-filled women goes wild.
My eyes go big.
Jesus. Every one of them is in metallic silver briefs. And their… yeah, it’s all packaged up into one nice neat little—maybe not so little—ball.
Oh my God, I said ball. I giggle and take a long sip of my Scotch.
Then each of the guys is featured one by one. Fletcher is last. The star of the show, it seems. How does a guy do all this in only nine months? It’s like he’s got his own PR campaign going.
But that speedy intro is not enough for me. There’s something about him. Something that says he’s hiding something. And that gap in his Wiki profile was the first clue.
Yes, Fletcher Novak is not what he seems. That might not even be his real name.
So I go looking for more videos. And there are plenty. Some professional ones just like the last one. But lots of them are from women who went to the show. Fletcher has more than all the other guys put together. And in all of them he has the same charming smile, the same wandering hands, and the same raunchy hips in a strange girl’s face as he had for me.
It was an act. No, I correct myself. That is his act.
I go back to all the other guys and watch their routines in various clips. They have their own style. And in most of the acts you can tell they are singling out women to make them feel good. Some who look reserved and nerdy. Some who are heavier than the rest of their companions. Some who are older. Some who are even very old. That makes me smile. It’s sweet to give a grandma a thrill, I think.
But Fletcher picks the sluts. They are all sexy, just like him. They have confidence and big tits. They scream his name and paw his body when he approaches.
I know why he picks them. Because he wants to fuck them afterward.
So why did he pick you, Tiffy?
I fill my glass again and gulp it down.
Why did he choose me? I’m not any of those things he looks for. I was frowning, buttoned up in my work suit, and out to get him—but not in a sexual way.
Hmmmm.
It wasn’t innocent, I know that much. He wanted to fuck me. And if I wasn’t Tiffy Preston, and if I wasn’t sent here to check the place out, and if I wasn’t—such an uptight prude—so serious, I might be in bed with him right now.
Warmth floods between my legs and I blush, even though no one is here to see me, let alone read my thoughts.
He is sexy, that’s for sure. But he’s a liar too. I just know it.
I pour some more Scotch and go back to my search results, paging through videos until I get one that has different lighting and style from the ones with the show and there’s a girl on the still image.
Now we’re talking.
I click it and she whirls around, slapping Novak in the face with a crack. “Asshole,” she screams at him.
“Haha,” the girl behind the camera laughs. .
It cuts away to another scene, which plays out the same way. An angry girl, a slap across the face for Fletcher, a laugh from the cameraman, and a fuck you from Fletcher.
He seems to have a pattern.
And let me guess who these girls are. The one-night stands after they realize he’s a bullshitter.
Oh, fuck, yes. I have this asshole now. All I have to do is walk in to that meeting today and show this to Cole. Then he’ll be on my side and Novak will be history.
I gulp the rest of my drink and go back to the videos. There might be more evidence, after all. And I need to watch every single one.
Chapter Five
“You whore!”
“What?” Oh my God. My head. It’s spinning.
“You stinky whore! You stayed up all night getting drunk and watching videos of that dreamboat? I should slap you.”
“Why are you yelling? My head.”
“Tiffy,” Claudio says, pulling me up off the bar. I stumble trying to step down off my stool and fall into his chest and knock us both down. “You’re gonna pay for this, toots. I swear. You’ve got a meeting in one hour and you’re still drunk! What the hell happened last night after I went to bed?”
“I don’t know.”
“Get up off me, you ungrateful—”
“Stop insulting me!”
Claudio manages to push me aside so he can scramble out from under me, then stands there, tapping his slippered toe in front of my face. “You’re going to blow this, Tiffy. And you’re the one who dragged me up here in these godforsaken mountains to help you fix this hotel. I could be on vacation right now. I could be sucking down margaritas with Raul in the Bahamas.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Help me up.” I reach for him, but no help comes. Claudio is a grudge-holder. And he’s right. I did drag him away from that trip with Raul. But Raul is an asshole. He can do better. I feel justified. “Fine, don’t help me up. I can get up myself.”
I brace my hands on the floor and manage to make it to my knees. But then my head starts spinning and I have to take a break. I’m not sure how long I kneel there looking like I’m waiting for someone to take me doggie-style, but in the end, Claudio gives me a hand before I make it to my feet.
“Thank you,” I squeak. My stomach is a mess and it starts to rumble loudly.
“Your meeting is in forty-five minutes, Tiffy. Now what?”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Fletcher Novak’s final hour is upon him and I’m not even coherent. “Call Cole and tell him he should take care of it.”
“No can do, girlfriend. He’s been texting you all morning. In fact, he called just before you woke up and said he might be a few minutes late to the meeting. You need to handle this. And if I was a betting man, I’d predict that Novak has something up his sleeve. He’s not going down without a fight.”
“He uses audience members for sex after each show, Claudio. We both know that’s happening.”
“But it didn’t happen last night, Tiffy. He asked you to dinner and you invited him in. So you’re the one who looks like you’re out to seduce him.”
“Ridiculous.”
“I agree.” Claudio laughs. “He’s ridiculously handsome. And these videos!” He takes my seat at the bar and starts clicking on the videos of the Mountain Men I was watching last night. “They are all delicious.”
My phone rings and I stumble over to the coffee table to grab it before flopping back on the couch. “Tiffy Preston,” I say, not even looking at the screen.
“Thank God, Tiff. I’ve been trying to call you all morning.”
“Sorry, Cole, I was sleeping pretty hard.”
“I guess,” he says. “You feeling OK?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” I say. “I’m perfect.”
“Good, because I’ve got my hands full with a problem in Reno hotel. I have to drive down there and take care of a personnel issue this morning so I’m not just going to be late for the meeting, I’m gonna miss the whole thing. But I’ll be back soon. Can we have a late lunch today?”