Maybe that is why I choose to add a little spice for the milquetoast gathering. My mom was Cuban, and my dad always says I get my personality from her. Since he describes her as a wanton slut who never stopped talking back, I can’t help but agree. Thankfully, I also got my looks from her.
The other reason my father decided I’m not worth his time is my failed attempts to fit into his heteronormative expectations. What does he expect after what he did to me as a child? He made me watch as he used and abused women who looked too drugged out to consent, telling me it was how a real man behaved.
By the time I was twelve, I decided I would never touch a woman, though it was probably my adolescent brain telling me that I’m gay. I was a psychology major for a year, because what else does someone with trauma study?
“Sous,” the head chef barks and I realize he means me as I turn to find his reddened face. “Quit day dreaming and focus on service!”
“Yes, Chef,” I reply, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. I roll my eyes when I turn to face the servers and some of them giggle. I give a cute guy a wink before finishing off the unnecessary garnishes. The wait staff put the plates onto their trays and leave towards the ballroom. “I’m taking five.”
Before the chef can tell meno, I’m around the corner to the hallway. One direction leads to the service exit, but I don’t smoke and I know it will smell like trash. Instead, I head to the bathroom that is definitely meant only for guests with its marble counters. The attendant is distracted helping a man with a stain, so I slip into a stall.
While sitting down for the first time after four hours straight on my feet, I pull out my phone to check what events X Club has to offer tonight. I need some sexual release after dealing with my hard ass boss for the evening. I have a feeling he won’t be asking me back. The X Club is a queer-centric kink dungeon I’ve been wanting to stop by, and even if Chef doesn’t like me, I’ll still get paid at the end of shift.
After five weeks in the city, all I have to show for myself is a room I rent, my first ever doing it on my own. I’ve been hustling to afford food, but the work is steady. I’m just tired. I want someone to take me in hand and make my brain go quiet.
Washing my hands while the attendant glares, I exit the bathroom too quickly and run right into a suit. My hands find their way to the fabric above the man’s hips and feel the lumps in his pockets, so I move to put my hands on his chest. Based on the stitching and rich material, the suit is anAlexander Amosu, so I know this man is a wealthy guest.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” I apologize, remembering I’m staff and not upper crust anymore. Hopefully my chef whites aren’t filthy as his hands grip my elbows to steady me.
Looking up at the man who is about six inches above my average height, I find a silky black tie over a crisp white shirt framing a strong jaw with trimmed black facial hair. The salt and pepper sprinkled on his face have my brain screamingDaddyas I meet his eyes behind glasses. The thicker browline frames on top are very nineteen-fifties and suit him well.
“Not a problem,” his deep voice vibrates into me with our close contact and I feel my dick taking notice. He steps back but keeps his hands on me as he looks me up and down. “Are you good?”
Maybe I can find even more fun. “I’ll be even better if you want to have some fun after my shift?”
“I’m not sure I’m young enough for your brand of fun.” The man’s lips quirk up at one corner and a memory pings. I recognize him. But is it from my days attending events with my dad, or somewhere else. “Are you even old enough to drink?”
“Ha, thank you for the compliment,” I tease, playing with his pocket square to keep touching the sexy older man. “I’m twenty-eight. And I was looking at a kink dungeon in the city.”
The man clears his throat and steps back. I mourn the loss and the fact his tone has dropped all flirtation. “I can’t be seen in a place like that.”
“Masks are allowed,” I add. Taking him in with distance between us, I finally realize who I’m talking to. “Holy shit, you’re Owen MacKenzie.”
“I am,” MacKenzie confirms, straightening his tie, though it wasn’t out of place. The man always looks impeccable on his TV show and paparazzi shots. He glances in both directions, but the halls are clear. “Sorry I can’t help you have fun.”
He genuinely sounds disappointed, and I wonder if he’s not as straight as his social media makes him out to be. “If you change your mind, I’m off at midnight.”
MacKenzie only nods, reminding me of how good he is in interviews with victims and criminals, letting them talk and overshare. Honestly, he’s even hotter in person, and the silent look he gives me sends a shiver of want down my spine.
“Ethan, Chef needs you,” the cute waiter from earlier interrupts my thoughts. He might be fun, but he’s a twink. Not what I’m looking for, especially after running into MacKenzie.
When I turn back to say goodbye, the celebrity is nowhere to be seen. Sigh. Guess the dungeon will be my after-work venue.
Chapter two
Mac
Gettingintoswankyeventshas never been easier. My first contract for a pilot episode ofMurder Talkand one season turned into a three year deal and even more money. I did in fact buy myself a place with a guest house, but I also paid Di enough for her to buy a little place not far from mine in LA. We still take out criminals who get away with their crimes with bribes, but now I charter private planes and more excuses to rub elbows with the evil people I planned to kill.
Sometimes, I let myself get release in another way, and I am considering the flirtatious chef’s offer. Being in the public eye has put me back in the closet, but I didn’t mind sleeping with women. I don’t want to marry one or have children, though, so they never last long.
What I truly like in the bedroom is rarely allowed out of the confines of my fantasies. My show is too popular, and I’m too recognizable, to go to a club. The offer of a one-night masked play time with the sexy younger man is tempting, though. Ethan’s tan skin looks like it would take effort to mark up. Those deep brown eyes wouldcry so prettily, and his curly hair would be fun to hold onto while he serviced my cock.
Willing my dick to calm down, I knew it would be even worse after I took out the corrupt CEO I was there to kill. I didn’t have time to play.
While I’m a household name as Owen MacKenzie, the man who looks into the worst crimes on your television, I’m also infamous as the “Fat Cat Killer.” The moniker wasn’t my choice, but Di pointed out that if I didn’t roll with it when discussing my own crimes on the show, it would look suspicious.
After circling the room again for half an hour, I find my target sneaking off to the hall again. I just missed him running into Ethan, but now is my chance. The man has an addiction to nose candy, so my favorite method of murder will suit him nicely.