“Weekend,” Griffin corrected. “Who’s blue eyes over here?”

Zach started as he realized Nora’s friend was now sizing him up.

“Master Griffin Fiske, meet my editor, Zachary Easton,” she introduced them.

“A pleasure to meet you.” Zach reached forward to shake Griffin’s hand. But Griffin kissed the center of his palm instead. Zach yanked his hand back.

“He’s gorgeous, Nora. Hot accent, too. Fucked him yet?”

Nora shrugged. “Just a blow job.”

Zach had the sudden urge to throttle Nora.

“Blow job on a British guy?” Griffin asked with some concern. “You’re a braver bitch than I. No offense,” Griffin said, turning to Zach. “I have a foreskin phobia.”

“Zach’s Jewish.”

Griffin nodded his approval. “Mazel tov.”

“Griffin, are you going to get our drink order anytime soon or will I have to report you to a certain someone for dereliction of duty?”

“Drink order, mistress. Give it to me.”

“Zach, do you want anything?”

Did he want anything? He wanted to get back in the Aston Martin right now and head straight for home. He’d thought he’d lived a wild life before he and Grace married—dozens of lovers, sex in cars, in parks, once with the maid of honor in the bathroom during a wedding reception, twice with the daughter of the dean of his college…loads of drinking, carousing, wild nights followed by tired but happy next mornings. But nothing he’d ever done compared to what was going on right in front of his eyes. A girl no more than twenty-five was being dragged by her hair past their table by a man about his age. He pushed her onto the elevator floor and put his foot on the back of her neck. Nora and Griffin barely even glanced in their direction.

“Anything that will put me into a coma,” Zach decided.

“No comas tonight. The Circle’s got a two-drink maximum,” Nora said.

“Two-drink maximum?”

“Griffin, explain,” Nora ordered.

“You see, blue eyes,” Griffin said, still kneeling on the floor. “This place doesn’t actually exist. No one knows it’s here. Not the cops, not the IRS, nobody but members, and the guy who runs this joint has so much blackmail shit on every member that we don’t breathe a word about this place to outsiders. So to avoid any unnecessary scrutiny, we play it very safe down here. No drugs, very little alcohol and safe words, safe words, safe words.”

“So, two-drink maximum,” Nora finished. “Better make it a good two.”

“Gin and tonic,” Zach said, picking the first hard drink that came to mind.

“Just mineral water,” Nora said.

“Oh…” Griffin said, his dark brown eyes turning gold with mirth. “Sounds like somebody wants to play tonight.”

“Up. Go,” Nora ordered and Griffin jumped straight from the floor to his feet in kip-up—a move Zach had only seen in the occasional kung-fu movie.