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A son buys his mom a sexy, red nightgown for Valentine's Day.

Topped off with gold heels and accessories, I felt like a movie star, if a bit too daring to be out in public. Keiran loved the look, though, and that was all the push I needed to get in the car and go.

I'd only heard of the place we were going to, the mythical hangout of the oil and gas barons who run Texas. Membership fees are astronomical, and you have to be highly endorsed by a current member to even be considered. Country clubs had nothing on this place. It was beautiful, though; up some forty odd flights, it boasted an unbeatable view of Houston.

I was, by far, the youngest person there. Most of the women looked like they'd dusted off their debutante ball dresses for the evening. Southern Belles can be so goddamn gaudy. None of them seemed particularly interested in holding a conversation with me, which I'm used to, as I'm usually the youngest and the only black woman in attendance at these events, so after dinner, I played my role well, sitting at the bar and chatting up the men who had separated themselves from their dates. Keiran watched from the other end, smirking as the stools around me quickly filled and others soon pulled up chairs from the dinner tables. I was literally surrounded by men clamoring for conversation and attention from me.

Look, if you can play men for fools by flashing a bit of thigh, by all means, do. There is something to be said for the power you can exert by merely being a vision of femininity.

Keiran always tells me I should work for him, and in those instances, I suddenly do, talking business with these men who view themselves as more important than god simply because they have more money than they have a purpose for. I even have a business card that says I'm his head assistant; I kiss the back of that bad boy, and it's a guaranteed call Monday morning. The commission I've gotten off of doing business for him in this manner is mind-blowing. When he says I'm his secret weapon, he's not joking in the slightest. I am fiercely deadly in that set-up.

After a few drinks, Keiran cut his way into the circle, plucking me out of it and taking me to dance.

"You looked like Marilyn Monroe over there, giving those men too much hope."

"You'll get at least three of them. I already spoke to one of them about a plan," I said.

"I'm going to sign a contract for you. I'm done waiting for you to come on board. You're so goddamn hard-headed."

"It's just not smart right now. Colin will put two and two together and -"

"What? Divorce you? Oh no," Keiran said, feigning distress.

"Shut up," I laughed, slapping his shoulder.

"Do you want to disappear? I want one more drink before we go, but I'd like to get lost first." This, of course, is the formal way to ask if I'd like to go on a mission with him to find a place to have a quickie.


He led me out of the ballroom and we pretended to enjoy the artwork on our way around the club, trying the doors of the rooms we passed along the way. The unlocked door we stumbled across led into a small, but very opulent room. It was on par with a large dining room you'd find in a home belonging to a large family; the table in the center of the room had eighteen chairs around it and there were two beautiful chandeliers hanging over it, though we left the lights off. I could see my condo from the expansive view in this room, which we laughed about for a moment before colliding into a kiss.

"Knowing that you don't have any panties on has been wearing on me all night," he sighed, his fingers sliding up and down my slit.

"I can tell," I grinned.

Keiran was rock hard before I even touched him.

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