J. Critch - In The Boss's Bed

Maya’s mouth dropped open, shocked that her friend would even go there. “What?”

Abby smirked. “That’s what I thought.” She relented. “Okay, when was the last time you were even kissed?” Maya remained silent. “Your last date?”

Maya sighed. Abby was right. It had been so long since she’d been on a date, or gone to a nightclub, or even let herself focus on anything but school. But she was so close to the end. She’d spent every waking moment of the past five years working diligently toward her goal, completing her master’s degree in Business Administration. For the entirety of her short adult life, it was her dream to pursue a career in hotel management, running an upscale resort hotel. Probably on a beach. Most definitely somewhere hot. She dreamed of a life in Miami, or the Bahamas, or any other exotic location in the Caribbean. She could only smile at how close she finally was to that life.

Abby continued, pressing her argument, at which she was so talented. “We’re part of the hospitality industry. And in order to be successful we need to monitor trends to stay on top of our game. And at least one small part of that, my friend, includes visiting nightclubs and having fun! Trying new drinks, networking, schmoozing a little and learning to talk to people to get information about things they like and things they don’t. Getting a sense of what’s hot and what’s not—and this place is hot, by the way. Don’t you want to be at the top of your game, Maya?” Abby finished with a smile, obviously proud of herself for putting their girls’ night out in terms of their studies, knowing Maya would respond favorably. Really, it was her only hope of getting her to stick around.

Maya smiled back at Abby. She loved her friend dearly, despite the fact she sometimes wanted to maim her. “You wench,” she said with a laugh. Once again, Abby was right. Maya sighed and brought her glass to her lips and drank back a fortifying gulp. When the glass was empty, she slammed it down on the table. “Fine. You win. Let’s have fun.” Then she stopped and looked at Abby quizzically. “How do we have fun?”

“We start with me getting us more drinks.” Abby stood, picking up Maya’s empty glass and her own empty bottle. “That round did not last long enough.” Abby straightened her crop top and smoothed her hands down over her skinny leather pants and she made her way back to the bar.

Maya pulled out her phone to check her email, seeing nothing new, she opened her Facebook app. She flicked through the pictures that some of her friends had posted, people her age going out to clubs and having parties. They somehow managed to juggle their studies and their social lives. She scrolled lower and lower and saw more friends having drinks at pubs and eating in restaurants, hiking, playing paintball and riding on party buses. She tapped on the icon to view her own profile. There were no pictures, and at no time had she ever ridden on a party bus. Was Abby right? Had Maya let a good part of her twenties escape her without getting out there and doing wild things? Maya, you’re twenty-five. You’ve never gone skinny-dipping in the park or drunk a bottle of wine by the ocean. She looked in disgust at her mostly pathetic Facebook profile and grimaced. No more, Maya. You’re going to have some fun tonight even if it kills you.

“And it just might,” she whispered to herself, as Abby walked back to the table, holding two fresh drinks for them.

“That was quick,” Maya remarked, accepting her glass.

“Yeah, but I schmoozed the good-looking bartender earlier, so when he saw me walking up, he skipped everyone else at the bar to serve me.” Abby smiled.

“That’s awful. But nicely done.” Maya proffered her glass in salute and Abby clinked it with her beer bottle. “So what are we going to do?” she asked.

Abby pursed her lips, deep in thought. Maya watched her as she scanned the club, searching for inspiration. “How about a little truth or dare?”

“What?” Maya scoffed. “We aren’t twelve anymore. I’m not going to tell you who I like.” She giggled. It seemed that the vodka in her cranberry was working its way through her brain.

“Okay, how about dare, then?”

“Mmm, Abby, I don’t know...” Maya hesitated.

“You said you wanted to have fun,” Abby pleaded. “Come on, I’ll do anything you dare me to do.”

“Well, that’s easy for you,” she said, smiling broadly as she put a comforting hand on her friend’s arm, “because you have no shame.”

Abby laughed. “Even so.” She continued scoping out the club. “Oh, I’ve got it.”

“What?”

She pointed to the bar. Well, she was actually pointing to a gorgeous male specimen who was standing next to it, chatting with the bartender. “See that guy?”

Am I blind? How could I possibly miss a man like that? “Yeah, of course I do.”

Abby pasted on her most devilish smile and directed it at Maya. “Good. Because you are going to walk up to him, wrap your arms around his neck and you’re going to kiss him like you’ve never kissed a man before.”

“I am absolutely not doing that,” Maya insisted.

“It’s a little harmless dare. What have you got to lose?”

“My pride, my dignity...” Maya trailed off. She looked at the man. It looked as though he had left work and came to the nightclub. He wore tailored pants that showed off his very nice, round behind. He had unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and had rolled up his sleeves. She watched him laugh as the bartender said something to him. What could it hurt to walk up to him and kiss him? It’s not like I’ll ever see him again, a city this size...

She thought of her sad, little, unexciting Facebook profile and Maya slammed her glass down, sloshing some of the pink liquid over the edge and onto her fingers and the table. What the hell? Abby was right. It had been a long time since she’d done anything other than what was expected of her. “Okay.” She looked determinedly at the man. “I’m going to do it.”

“Yay!” Abby raised her arms giddily in celebration as Maya walked away from the table.

* * *

JAMIE SELLERS TOOK a satisfied look around his packed club. As the owner, if there waS one person to thank for the popularity of Swerve Nightclub, it was him. In fact, he owned all twelve Swerve nightclubs located throughout the country, from Vancouver to St. John’s. His clubs were frequented by celebrities and professional athletes, and even some royalty graced his establishments. And quite often, his picture was posted on gossip blogs right alongside them, with headlines like “Jamie Sellers Lands a Princess”, “Sellers and the Heiress” and “Nightclub Mogul Parties Hard with Hockey Team.” Jamie shook his head, chuckling at the latest story linking him with the daughter of a prominent local politician.

He was young, single, rich and good-looking. That’s what people saw when they looked at him. When people saw a picture of him standing next to a beautiful woman, he was automatically sleeping with her. If he’d actually slept with every woman that the so-called press had reported he did...well, he certainly wouldn’t have time to be the nightclub mogul they proclaimed him to be. While it would be nice if he found himself frequently in the beds of actresses and celebutantes, it simply, sadly, was not the case.

If a picture of him holding a beer bottle or a glass of whisky surfaced? Automatically, he was portrayed as an alcoholic, a chronic drug user, a degenerate who partied too hard every night. At first, he found it easy to laugh at how inaccurate the stories were—any press is good press, right?—but it was starting to wear thin. The fifteen-hour days that he typically put into his work were starting to exhaust him, and the extreme workdays had gotten far more frequent and longer since his assistant quit. Typically, he found only just enough free time in a day to eat, shower, hopefully hit the gym and maybe get a few hours of sleep.