A surge of regret went through me.
It would be more difficult, but not impossible to get Arlo to sign with me now.
At the front of the room, speaking to men that I was sure, without their masks, I would have recognized from the country club or from a business meeting, was the Monsieur of the club.
I stopped next to him, grinning in greeting. His expression lit up in recognition but in true Club style, he didn’t greet me familiarly. “Ah, good evening, sir. How do you find the event thus far?”
I nodded at the other men as they took their leave, going back to mingling and leaving Monsieur and I alone. “Very well, thank you.”
“What can I do for you?”
“A young consort,” I ignored the grin that covered his face. “His name is Arlo. Please contact him.”
“And what would you like Young Arlo to be told?” The Monsieur was still grinning but he had pulled out his phone and was tapping away, making sure to not forget a detail that I was telling him.
“I would like to discuss his availability to go on a date,” I explained, “with the end goal of securing him in a contract, of course.”
“And what terms should be set?”
“Generous terms,” I said quickly. “The best that can be done, including a monthly allowance, of course. I’ll leave the specifics for now and rely on your expertise and discretion in coming up with the bare bones of the contract.”
“Of course, sir,” Monsieur nodded, tapping away. As he finished and went to slide his phone into his pocket, I interrupted.
“Also—please include an apology for my—behavior earlier. Any such miscommunications shall be avoided in the future.”
Monsieur nodded, quickly rereading the notes he’d jotted down to me. I confirmed that was what I wanted sent to Arlo and said a quick goodbye.
On my way out, I bumped into Caine.
An old friend of mine, Caine was a lifestyle influencer and motivational speaker. We had met at a consultation he had done for a company I had worked at years ago. He was also one of the only men I knew well that partook in The Club.
“Walter!” he said cheerfully, grinning at me. His mask was in hand, but by the excited look on his face and bright eyes, I wasn’t sure if he had already been inside and made a match, or was ready to go look.
“Caine,” I said, equally as pleased. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you.”
“It’s been a long time since you’ve been at The Club,” he corrected. “Almost thought you’d given up, gone vanilla.”
I rolled my eyes. “A man too busy for The Club is certainly too busy for a regular relationship.”
“Too true,” he nodded in agreement. “How is the event?”
I glanced back at the building I had just walked out of. “It was—really nice, actually.”
His eyebrows shot up to the middle of his forehead. Though nearly ten years older than me, Caine had a youthful glee that kept him young. “Really nice, huh?”
“Oh, fuck off,” I said good-heartedly. He laughed. “How’s work been?”
“Oh, you know. Business is good,” he said, shrugging. “Always something to do, between the blog, the consulting, the books—there’s a lot there.”
“Of course,” I said, nodding. He was a truly incredible motivational speaker—I didn’t need much help in the way of confidence and relationship building, professionally speaking, and even I found his speeches helpful. “Actually, Caine. If you’re interested, I could see if the entertainment has already been hired for my company's quarterly meeting in a few weeks.”
“That could be good,” he said.
“A motivational speaker would be much better than the disaster of a magic show that was booked a few meetings back,” I shuddered in memory.
Caine laughed.
I promised to call him soon with the details and said a quick goodbye as he made his way into the event.
It would be nice to have Caine come to the office. Morale alone would benefit. Plus, I always preferred giving friends and acquaintances my business when I could. Giving them a leg up was a good thing.
All in all, I would count this night as a very high success. A business dealing and, hopefully, the start of a very intriguing contract between Arlo and myself.
I certainly wasn’t bored anymore.
5
Arlo
The embarrassment from the other night still hadn’t faded.
I had gotten so caught up in the night—the feelings of misplacement being quelled so easily by Walter’s easy smile and filthy words, the feeling of maybe finding someone that could be a match for me—dampened so fast, like ice water over my head, at his careless comments.
I knew that there was a line with looking for a man to date that would end with a paycheck. I didn’t know if it was something that I could take, though—didn’t know how it would feel to know I was being paid to be there. I wanted to be okay with it—but Walter’s words made me feel cheap, made me feel like an item to be bought and owned.
I wasn’t sure where to go from there.
After the party, I went home, ate a half pint of ice cream, and slept until work the next morning.
It was not exactly my best moment in the sun, but it was the only thing I could think of to do at the time that appropriately expressed my feelings.
It had been two days since the event, and even though I was trying as hard as I could, I couldn’t get Walter out of my head.
The giant goddamn bouquet of flowers sitting on the corner of the counter wasn’t doing much to help, either.
They weren’t technically from Walter—because of the anonymity or because I ran off in a furious flurry, I wasn’t sure which, Walter hadn’t gotten ahold of me directly. Instead, he had gone through the Monsieur—who, as owner of The Club, knew everything about everyone who stepped foot into the event—and the Monsieur had sent a heartfelt apology on Walter’s behalf, loose terms for a contract, and an invitation to meet for a date where we could discuss a potential contract. And, of course, the bouquet of roses and orchids, an intricate set of flowers that had all of my women patrons gasping when they came into the shop.
“Those are some expensive orchids,” Jeremy commented, tapping his fingers on the countertop. He wasn’t looking at me, instead staring at the bouquet with a semblance of casualness.
I ignored him. There was a short line of customers, my Monday regulars, and they needed their daily dose of caffeine before they rushed off to work. I didn’t have time to contemplate orchid pricing or whatever it was Jeremy was going to say but hadn’t said yet.
I finished mixing the chai and left it on the counter to steep to prepare the London Fog. Jeremy kept tapping his fingers.
“I’m just saying,” he said, voice carrying much too far, “that it must have been an expensive bouquet is all. He must’ve really liked you.”
I started steaming the milk. The loud whistling sound of the steamer drowned Jeremy out and for almost thirty seconds, I experienced true bliss.
I finished the orders, making small talk with the regulars as they paid.
Unfortunately, as they waved and left TeaMuse, no one else came in.