“Sure, why not?” he says.

His response irks me. I noted that both their martinis are straight-up with a lemon twist. The traits I’m seeking would not be so passive. I start to order the drinks, when the escort speaks up.

“Dry. Lemon twist.” She says this directly to the bartender.

My gaze stays on her while I refer to the bartender. I thought escorts were supposed to be accommodating. “You heard the lady.” I reach into my back pocket for my wallet and produce a credit card. I think twice about leaving a money trail, and set the card aside while I count out cash.

I take a swallow of my dirty martini. “You look familiar,” I say to the escort. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“I doubt it.” She lets a curtain of blond hair fall between us.

I have the sudden and instinctual urge to sweep her hair back. I need to see her eyes. I clamp my hand around the base of the martini glass instead. “So, how much do you charge for a whole night?” I press.

“You’re fucking blunt,” the suit says. His smile says he’s no longer insulted, though. He’s stated the facts. He likes to own his toys, and he doesn’t share. Now I’m just amusement.

I can work with that. “I’m serious,” I say. “You have to have a friend—” I toss a glance over my shoulder toward the VIP section. “I’d like to know how broke I’ll be in the morning, and if it’s worth it.” I place my hand over my heart. “If she’s as beautiful as you, I’m sure it’d be entirely worth it, of course.”

As the drinks are set before them, the escort pushes away from the bar. “I’ll meet you back in the lounge, Ericson.”

I watch her saunter away with her drink.

“They don’t like being called out publicly like that,” the suit—Ericson—says. He finishes off his first martini before picking up the second. “Thanks for the drink, but I should follow after her.”

I hike an eyebrow. “Even when you pay for it, you pay for it. Women, right?”

He laughs. “Wise words.” His light-colored eyes assess me. “Why don’t you join us. We have more than enough hosts of the female persuasion to keep you company.”

I swig my martini with resolution. “I think I’d enjoy that. Thank you.”

He puts his hand out to me. “Ericson Daverns. Corporate bullshiter.”

I accept the handshake. “Hunter Lawson. Just plain bullshiter.” Luckily, I always have an alias at the ready.

This earns me another chuckle, and he guides me away from the bar. I’ve succeeded in boosting Ericson’s ego. Maybe he likes the idea of keeping me around to flaunt his wealth, or to entertain him, as if the six escorts can’t get the job done.