The nightclub, lounge and new friends.

You snap your lap belt on and lean back into your comfortable seat. Between the belts and the permanent armrest dead in the center of the back compartment, you felt comfortable the ride would be all wordplay, which was exactly what you wanted. The more you pry out of him now, the better prepared you'd be for later. You look sideways over toward Beckett's side and he licks his bottom lip.

"Welcome to my favorite car, Simone. Are you ready to wine and dine?"

"To be honest, Sir. I'm not sure the drinking part is in my best interest."

"No need to be formal here. I love the hair, by the way, it makes you look a bit geekier. There's nothing hotter than a tomboy taking cock. Maybe I should get you some jeans and a Space Trek shirt or something? Watching you deal with the boys at some fantasy convention would be pretty hot. I wonder if FireBox is open to making a video?"

He shakes his head, pushing the vision from his mind.

"Anyway, the driver can't hear a thing behind the plexiglass divider. Charles is fine when we are alone. I figure since I dumped a load in that sweet hippie pussy, you deserve that much, hun."

"Gee, thanks! So kind of you." You roll your eyes. "Is the whole hippie, left coast, Hollywood crap really necessary?" You ask thinking that suddenly being forward might catch him off guard. Fat chance.

Charles laughed, "Nope, not at all but I love watching your lip curl when I do it. Besides, I bet none of it is a lie. You live in Oregon so left coast fits. I've watched your castin' video numerous times so that's Hollywood enough in my mind. And hippie? I bet you have more leaves and nuts in your diet than a whole clan of rabbits. I don't think I'm too off base here, gorgeous."

You **** a neutral look to your face, afraid you'd already given too much away, "So it's all about getting in my head?"

"Hun, your head is your second most attractive feature, the first being those pretty little lips of yours. Anyway, let's stop fencing and discuss tonight. I have some important things to tell you."

You cock your head to the side but stay silent. You're on his dime for the next day and a half, after all, all you need to do is get to the end.

"We're heading to Lannister's. It's a decent-sized goth style nightclub downtown. It isn't my type of scene but we're only passing through. Upstairs, Devon and his wife Jules run a semi-private drinking lounge. I visit them every couple of weeks. They do enough business with a small specialty distillery I own in El Paso that I can write it all off."

He reaches over the armrest and puts his hand on your knee rubbing back and forth a bit. You choose to pretend it isn't happening. With how much he's stretching to do it, you figure he's just trying to distract you.

"Anyway, Devon's even older than I am and will stick his prick in any cute young thing. He's an ex-pat from Ireland. Two decades here has murdered his accent though, you'd never know talking to him. Jules is just my side of forty and swings both ways if you know what I mean."

He leers and you open your mouth to speak but he cuts you off before you get past the first syllable in the word 'wait'.

"I know what you are going to say. There's nothing in your contract about muff diving and I totally agree," he withdraws his hand from your knee as you give him a cautious look.

"But I did warn you there'd be an audience at times and half the population is female. I feel I'm within my rights so long as I don't make you do anything."

He plays with his phone for a second, then hands it to you. You see your model profile on the screen with one section highlighted. Under orientation your answer was:

"Pretty straight to be honest. The idea of going down on another girl doesn't disgust me but it doesn't do anything for me either. Who knows though? I doubt another woman would have trouble finding 'the little gal in the boat'."

He doubles down on his leer.

"I do my homework, sugartits. I'm not going to make you do a damn thing with Jules but watching you flail around her will be entertaining at the very least. To quote a smart cookie I know "Who knows though?". Perhaps you'll find Jules half as interesting as I do."

Charles appears quite happy with himself and enjoys the momentarily surprised look on your face before you **** a smile again. God this asshole is infuriating!

"Fine," you say. Nothing smart or witty pops to mind and you hate yourself for it. You know in ten minutes the perfect rejoinder will come to you and it'll be way too late. Then you feel the car stop.

"We're here!" Beckett exclaims in an excited tone. He hops out of the car and rushes to your side to open your door before the driver can even exit the vehicle. You climb out and he slams the door shut. With a flick of the older man's hand, the driver takes off leaving you both here.

Here of course is the nightclub. You see the "Lannister's" sign in neon above the unassuming deeply tinted double glass doors. The outside is covered in dark brick and just looks like a three-story warehouse. Maybe the retro-industrial feel is what Beckett thinks of as goth, you muse. He grabs your hand, pulls you toward and through the doors. You quickly match his pace, figuring that making him physically drag you might cause a fuss. The entry lobby is about 15' by 15' and dimly lit. You see another set of closed doors. There is a hard-driving EDM beat coming through them that you can hear and feel but that isn't your destination, he leads you to and through a small black door on the right side and you climb the narrow stairwell upward. The stairs and handrail are painted white metal and the walls are a dull gray. When you step onto the third-floor landing, things get more colorful comparatively speaking.

The 6' by 6' space at the top features a black carpeted floor and white walls with a few lithographs of famous libraries on them. He doesn't waste time there though, he leads you straight through the white wooden door opposite the stairs into a dining room. It has polished white stone floors, painted wooden creme colored walls, and two beautiful chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. There are two long tables on each side of the room stretching its 20-foot length. Again you don't get to look around because he leads you through a small door in the back into a more casual room.

This room is about 12' by 12' and is lit by rows of round lights sunk into the brown walls. The floor is made of a shiny black stone but most of the room is dominated by the Persian rugs under each of the four-person wooden tables. You see a woman at the far table who watches you enter with a wide smile creeping across her face. She stands.

"Charles! Welcome! Who is your delightful guest? She looks like a delicious strawberry demanding to be devoured! Please sit at my table."

Beckett leads you across the room straight to her table.

"Hello, Jules, radiant as ever I see. Is Devon about or do we get to dominate your time tonight?"

"He'll be along soon. Speaking of dominate, who are you, sweetheart?" The woman stares at you waiting for an answer. She's a tall woman about 5'9" you would guess with long wavy blonde hair. She's wearing a strapless purple gown which is cut to draw eyes to her ample cleavage. The bottom reaches almost to her knees, the deep purple contrasts with her pale legs completing the look. You have no doubt everyone that enters the room is meant to be drawn straight to her. Jules must like the attention a lot.

You try to muster the warmest smile you can, "Hello, Ma'am. I'm Simone. Don't mind me, I'm just Mr. Beckett's temp secretary." You offer your hand. She grasps it lightly for a second and locks eyes with you.

"Don't sell yourself short, dear. You are by far the most interesting person in the building."

Beckett pulls the seat across from the blonde out for you and you carefully sit, unable to look away from Jules' appraising stare. You try to shake the bit of discomfort her eyes give you when the side door opens and an older man steps into the room.