Either way, I’ve bullshitted my way to the next level, where it’s imperative that I gather as much data as I can as quickly as possible. This is my selection pool. I need to determine if what I’m looking for is here and then move on. Ideally, without leaving behind any lasting impression of myself.

As we reach the velvet rope, the bouncer gives me a hard once-over. Ultimately, he unhooks the rope, decidedly admitting me entry. I am worthy…for now.

Ericson does a brief introduction to his colleagues. The escorts get no introduction. Braxton Falcone—chief financial advisor at Ericson’s firm—offers me the seat next to his along the L-shaped lounge seats.

“So what’s your story, Lawson?” Braxton asks me, as his gaze tracks a brunette in a sequin miniskirt dancing provocatively in front of us.

I smooth my palms over my jean-clad thighs and blow out a breath. “No story, really. Just here to enjoy myself.”

“Good man.” He grabs the brunette by the ass and parks her on his lap. She giggles and proceeds to grind atop him in an impromptu lap dance. “That’s exactly my plan.”

As the music thumps and lights pulse, I take a quick inventory of the men around the table. All but one wear wedding bands. All look as if they’ve just come from the office; they probably rarely don anything other than power suits.

There’s banter about tonight’s fight—an underground MMA fight, from what I gather—and shop talk about politics. But otherwise nothing to hone in on. The club music abruptly switches tempo to a slower, more seductive beat, and I let my gaze roam to the blonde from the bar. She’s seated near Ericson, but she’s not gyrating like the rest of her flock.

She’s reclined back against the seat, her long legs crossed, her slinky black dress slit up the side to show off a slip of skin. The room moves around her, yet she remains still, a vibrating current humming with her own frequency.

To the average man, the average observer, she’s a sexy escort, a seductress. However, if you look closely, you realize she’s set apart from the rest. She doesn’t fit in with her surroundings.

And, even though she’s trying to be inconspicuous, I notice how her attention is acutely focused on Ericson’s drink. Every time he turns to remark to one of his pals, her gaze darts to his martini.

Her predatory gaze captures me. Caught. I don’t look away, though. I hold her eyes, a stare-off that neither one of us wants to lose.

“Want a dance, baby?”

One of the ladies in a skin-tight dress moves above me. I look up at her and smile. I can’t deny her offer—that would appear strange, suspicious, as this is precisely the reason Ericson invited me to the VIP lounge.

“Absolutely,” I say, and try to make myself comfortable as she begins to roll her hips.