Page 175 of Damaged Mogul
With a glass of Perrier in hand, we roam around the room.
Members are serious about dressing the part.
A man in a tailored suit always looks so fucking hot.
I have no doubt my man––
Whoa.
He’s not my man. He’s my date for tonight.
After a tour of the main party room, my friends and I come to stand near the bar. A tall man with brown hair, clad in a bespoke suit flanked by two human walls of muscle approachesour trio.
“Ladies, thank you for coming out to play tonight,” the man says.
“Zeus,” Keira says with a nod.
“Hey, Zeus,” Mikki says.
Ah. Larkin Gallagher. The owner.
“Styx.” The man nods at Keira before raking his eyes up and down her body. “Emeraude.” Mikki receives the same treatment. “You ladies do tonight’s theme justice.”
Mikki’s slender curves are clad in a sexy bling rhinestone bra that you’d expect to see on the runway. The nude padding prevents her from exposing her boobs to the world. An intricate crystal body chain circles her waist. She paired the bra with bling silver boy shorts and sky-high silver heels. She has silver wings strapped to her back.
Keira selected a sheer, shimmery white chemise that barely covers her ass. She has white wings strapped to her back.
Female members and guests either get to wear angel wings or an angel halo, depending if they’re spoken for or not.
Beckett’s fiancée, Arianne, is a blue angel with matching blue wings. The selfies she sent us rock.
Keira, Mikki, and Arianne owned their wings. Dominika dropped hers at Keira’s place for me to wear.
Makeup and hair were a production.
After watching way too many tutorial videos, we went all out. The end results are pretty spectacular. Any Vegas show makeup artist would be proud.
I feel like a supermodel.
“Thank you, Zeus,” Keira says.
“You’re full of compliments, like always,” Mikki says.
“I speak the truth.” The owner of the club lasers his eyes on me. “Birds of a feather flock together.” He gives me a onceover. “You’re stunning.”
I blush.
“Ladies”—Larkin’s cognac-colored eyes bounce from Mikki to Keira—“bravo on guiding our first-timer. Wisteria, you could cause a man to suffer from a heart attack.”
He knows my club name?“Thank you,” I say from under my lashes.
“The wings send a clear message to members and guests who are unaccompanied to keep looking.” He points to his pocket square.
Men without a red pocket square have a date for the evening.
Larkin is on the prowl.
“If you weren’t spoken for, you’d be very popular tonight.”
