The bass from the dance floor rolled through the walls like distant thunder, muted enough in the lounge corner that conversation didn't have to compete with it. Low amber lights reflected across the glass table between them.
Phei sat back in the booth, a bottle of water in his hand, condensation sliding slowly down the plastic.
He hadn't touched the drink menu.
The ad shoot was handled — or would be, once the Ashford Madam called Emily. But Phei wanted to ask the boys himself before Emily assigned them. They'd earned that courtesy. Landon and Brian weren't his employees.
They were his people.
And his people got asked, not told.
That wasn't the only reason he was here though.
Landon wanted to find himself a woman. Badly. The boy had game but no luck, or luck but no follow-through, or some combination of the two that left him perpetually almost-there and never quite arriving.
