“You don’t let me get away with anything, do you?”

“No.”

“Wanna tell me why?” They reached the bottom of the stairs. He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. For a single beautiful second she saw the real Dante underneath the rock star uniform and the eyeliner and the well-cultivated tan. She saw the man, the musician who cared about his work, his art, and who put on the stupid clothes and the attitude because the world expected it of him. And in that split second she decided she might like him.

“Because the rest of the world lets you get away with murder. Don’t deny it. If you committed an actual murder, would you spend the rest of your life in prison? Or would your handlers cover it up, buy you the best attorneys and get you off scot-free?”

“I’m not a murderer. I’m a nice guy.”

“I don’t care how nice you are. No matter how nice you are, you can’t be as nice to the world as the world’s been nice to you. How much money are you worth?”

“That’s kind of a personal question.”

“You asked me if I have sex with my clients and me asking you your net worth is a personal question?”

“Point taken. I’m at about 97 million at the last audit.”

“Good. Now are you 97 million dollars worth of nice to the world?”

He shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know if anyone could be that nice. That’s a lotta nice.”

“You really need 97 million to get through the night? How much does your fucking hair gel cost?”

He laughed out loud then and ran his fingers through his hair.

“It’s pricey shit.”

“Wonder what brand of hair gel that homeless guy in the parking garage uses?”

“You’re giving me shit because I haven’t given all my money to the homeless?”

The Mistress took a step toward him and stared him right into his hazel eyes. He started to glance away, but she took him by the chin and forced him to meet her gaze.

“I’m giving you shit because no one else in this wide world would dare to. Right?”

Slowly he nodded his agreement.

“I can’t help it,” he said, raising his hands in surrender. “You get to the level of fame and money I’m at, and you’re surrounded by nothing but yes-men.”

“That’s why women like me exist.” She flicked the end of his nose hard enough he flinched. “We’re the antidote to yes-men. Come on. I’ll show you my dungeon. You’ll like it.”

She pulled on his shirt, dragging him behind her down the hall.

“Hey, this shirt was expensive,” he protested at her rough treatment.

“So is my time. You don’t hear me bitching, do you?”

At the end of the hallway she stopped in front of her dungeon door and pulled out a key.

“‘We’re all mad here?’” Dante read the words on the door.

“Cheshire Cat,” she explained. “Alice in Wonderland. You should read it. It’s trippy as fuck. Better than LSD.”