Page 5 of Filthy Rich Daddies
Those I can provide at scale.
Except…last time I indulged in a sugar-baby arrangement, Dean and Colin were with me. We’re a better experience when we operate as a triumvirate. The dynamic clarifies expectations, spreads emotional labor, keeps any one of us from catching feelings.
So why not make this a long weekend with my brothers? It’s been months since our last four-way atSlash—the private kink club event that ended with a delightful redhead tied in a shibari harness, Dean lecturing her on leverage physics, and Colin spoon-feeding her éclairs at midnight.
Has it really just been months since then? I check the calendar.
Nope. Almost a year. Damn. No wonder I’ve been sulking.
Bringing a virgin to a lavish hotel to indulge in our fantasies sounds like something to be thankful for. The decision coagulates, crisp and inevitable as the first frost on a windshield. I tapSave to Favoritesand open the group chat.
Tic:Boys, a holiday amuse-bouche. Thoughts? [link attached]
Gray bubbles appear within seconds—Dean first.
Dean:Scientist? I’m listening.
Colin’s dots pop up next.
Colin:She’s adorable.
Dean:Let’s make this happen.
Colin:Logistics?
We discuss the finer details before I send the offer to SnowLass. A warmth I haven’t felt in months slides under my sternum—anticipation, purpose, camaraderie. Somehow, I breathe easier now.
Proposal delivered. Applicant has 24 hours to accept.
Twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours in which she’ll google us, weigh risk versus reward, perhaps read an exposé about men who chew girls up and forget their names. Only time will tell.
The grandfather clock ticks on, but the boredom is gone. In its place is a chess player’s hum, the flux of variables arranging themselves into strategy. I text my driver, Allen, to clear Friday afternoon. I email the St. Gevaudin GM—a Copeland Restaurants partner—requesting the renovated top-floor penthouse, two additional suites for Dean and Colin in case anyone needs breathing room, and a jetted balcony tub. The room is ours inside of three minutes.
The orchestration stills the itch under my skin. I was built to align resources, not to read classics and sip whisky in a silent room. A part of me wonders whether I stepped down too soon—whether the board was right that my “work-life balance crusade” would wear thin once adrenaline faded.
But then I remember the migraine that sent me to the ER last spring, blood pressure high enough to pop vessels in my eyes, and I know leaving was necessary. As much as the business is in my blood, I was more than ready to leave it behind. I just haven’t figured out the replacement stimulus.
Perhaps SnowLass will provide a spark of the unknown. She studies biology, which means conversation topics extend beyond handbags and hashtags. She wants snow because she’s never seen it. I remember my first time in Zermatt, age eleven, the taste of alpine air so shockingly cold it felt alive. I completely understand why she’d sell her time for that.
My phone buzzes again—this time a private notification from the app.Your offer is under active review.
The timestamp reads two minutes ago. She’s already seen it. Efficient girl. I picture her reading in a dorm room, brow furrowing when the sum appears. Fifty thousand dollars likely dwarfs her annual income. Not a bad paycheck for a few days’ time and virginity that people care less and less about.
People who aren’t me.
While I don’t fetishize the experience, there is something hot about being a girl’s first. You know you’ll never be forgotten. And since there will be three of us, there’s no possible way she’ll forget the Copeland brothers.
Another buzz.SnowLass has accepted your offer.
That was fast. Adrenaline stings the back of my throat. There’s a message attached.
SnowLass:Thank you for the generous proposal. FYI, I’ve never had a four-course meal. >wink< Please manage expectations accordingly.
A grin—wide and genuine—pulls at my mouth.Noted, SnowLass. Consider expectations managed.
And my name is Thalassa Howard, by the way.
My grin goes wider.A pleasure to meet you, Thalassa. See you then.
