Scrupulous (An Affliction of Falling Novel Book 1)

Scrupulous

An Affliction of Falling Novel

By: Kristina Canady

Text copyright © 2014 by Kristina Canady

All rights reserved.

First E-book Edition: August 1
st
, 2015

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a fictional novel. All content, including: names, characters, incidences, and places, are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is not intended by the author and is coincidental.

Warning: This book contains strong adult content such as graphic sex and language and is not intended for persons under the age of 18 or anyone who may be offended by such content.

Cataloging-in-Publication Date is on-file at the Library of Congress

Book design/formatting by Kristina Canady

Cover design and layout by Sassy Queens of Design

Cover Model Chase Bergner

Eric Battershell Photography

Photograph of Golden Gate Bridge purchased Stock photo

Editing Acknowledgments: Cynthia Shepp

Dedication

To all the women who aren’t afraid to live life to the fullest and chase their dreams.

Chapter 1

Sorcha

As the ambient light glowed with unspoken promises of lust and wonder around the bar, I begin to track the patrons, attempting to anticipate their needs as they engage in their own hunt of prey. Saturday nights here at Tryst proved to be quite fruitful for most. As an upscale bar nestled in the financial district of San Francisco, there is no shortage of salacious deals being made. Looking to rid themselves of the workweek’s stress, singles and those posing as such filter in, dressed to the nines and on the prowl to relieve their built-up tension.

Sure, love connections are occasionally made but let’s be honest. Vibrant, successful, and single individuals who are quickly climbing their perspective corporate ladders have little interest in commitment. Who can blame them? I certainly don’t. These days, more and more are putting off the ‘American Dream’ and setting their sights further. Desire to eclipse  their specialty and become what they view as “great” pulsates throughout our society, rewards it, makes one crave it at all costs. Even if it is at the cost of true happiness or life satisfaction. One can just buy those things when they have more money than God, right?

I smugly chuckle to myself as a pair of starry-eyed, naïve ladies, who barely look twenty-one, eagerly approach the bar. They are probably elated that they were able to actually make it inside to the dark, sexy, and exclusive sanctuary that Tryst offers.

Tonight, they most likely had to wait in line for at least an hour, if not more. Little did they know, they were plucked from the line by the bouncer and allowed to enter as ‘fresh meat.’ Those who looked like they haven’t given up their V card yet were a delicacy around these parts. The big shots who had exclusive memberships liked to ‘wow-factor’ the young and impressionable, quickly slipping them out of their panties with the lure of a possible taste of the luxury-laden lifestyle.

One exec that frequents our facility boasts to the staff that he prefers them to be young, dumb, and big chested. I know what one might think if they heard that. Chauvinistic? Pig-headed scum? Absolutely. But, in the end, what happens between two consenting adults who are in their right minds, despite their liquid courage, is none of my business. Many of the girls are not as dumb as they appear and are quite aware of the tradeoff.  It is not uncommon to hear them boasting about their millionaire-poaching plans in the powder room.

Hank, one of the many trusted bouncers who patrol the club, sidles up to the bar next to the bubbly, leggy blondes who are still pouring over the menu. They are both trying to decide which poison to pick while they smack their overpriced, thirty-dollar lip gloss in a symphony of noisy bangle bracelets and dangling earrings.

“Hey, L, boss man wants you to run the VIP bar tonight. Anastasia will take over here.” His well-weathered reflection mirrors my amusement.

“Alright, allow me to finish serving these fine ladies first, and then I will be right up.” I wink at the girls and am met with gleeful, innocent glances. Hank shakes his head ever so slightly as he fades into the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd that has congregated in our midst now that it is eleven o’clock. As the blonde Barbies in overpriced designer dresses finally decide and order, my heavily sought after skills are quickly put to work. I spin bottles and flip glasses behind my back while guiding them with perfection before me, and then pour in a delectable fruity concoction. They ooh and ahh before thanking me profusely as they quickly take their beverages and ease back into the humming flow of bodies. Straightening my leather vest that showcases my girls perfectly and matches my black leather pants, I meet Hank by the end of the bar and slip out to allow him to escort me upstairs to the private lounge.

“Hey, L, how about that nightcap?” A frequent patron of ours boldly approaches and tries to block our ascent to the lounge.

“Look, Dan, as I’ve told you before, we aren’t allowed to date the customers. You wouldn’t want me to lose my job, would you?” I pout with my big, red lips and look up through long lashes at him.

“Ah, baby, you know I’d take care of you.” Dan smiles and hungrily roves over me as if he’d consume me on the spot if permission was ever granted.

“No doubt.” I lean in, faking interest with the angle of my breasts, dipping them perfectly for his pleasure. “But then what would the twenty other girls whom you promised the very same thing to this evening do? Stand aside, playboy.” I smirk and wave him away. Hank draws his imposing heft closer to me and glares at Dan, who quickly steps down. This is why we need a bodyguard when navigating around here. As we are the eye candy around here to help stimulate the patrons’ senses and arousals, the staff was handpicked based on looks and skill. It is a compliment and a curse all at once to be picked by the boss man.

After climbing the stairs, I stop at the hall mirror and quickly check my reflection. Running a hand up the sides of my vintage glory rolls to smooth any flyways; I complete my task with a fluff of the white flower in my hair and hustle toward the door. If I was being asked to step away from the main bar, it was because there were some important members here.

There were five of us who rotated running the three bars along with a few bar-backs. The five of us were mixology showmen when it came to our dispensing. Only two of us were women. Anastasia and V would be running the main bar now. That leaves Elliot to the small side bar and Z and me to the VIP lounge. Z has competed in Vegas multiple years in a row in bartending competitions, and he has won every single time. Tryst was all about providing a tantalizing, high-end experience that enticed its guests to keep paying for the expensive drinks and a level of anonymity only offered where high rollers are concerned.

The scent of hand-rolled cigars blasts us as we enter and a few heads turn our way, narrowing in on my approach to the bar.

“Thanks, Hank. See you at closing. What’s up, Z?”

“Busy night─ a conference just let out at the Ritz.”

“Anything good in here?” I discreetly ask Z, who gets my drift. We know the game like the back of our hands. And, we are also likeminded in many ways. It is not the fat tip we are scouting. Well, not of the paper variety. Not to sound big headed, but good tips are a given. Z and I both sought our own good time. The two of us are free spirits. We don’t care for any type of commitment, have particular tastes, and voracious sexual appetites. And we both prefer men.

Needless to say, I love working with Z. He is the only one, aside from the man who hired me, who knows my real name and anything about me on a personal level. With the rest, I fake it, paste on a plastic smile, and exchange pleasantries when necessary.

It’s not because I have anything to hide, more like my privacy is preferred and it is my opinion that work should be left at work. I like my job, a lot. Some may have stereotype-inflated opinions on blue-collar jobs, always wanting to offer unsolicited career advice, inquisitive natures probing and wanting to steer you towards proper employment that in their minds have potential. Not every little girl grows up and wants to be a lawyer, doctor, or corporate executive. And those who do are allowed to change their mind once they get a taste for said professions. I am right where I should be.

“L, check the suit at twelve o’clock. He has a hard-on for you already,” Z mumbles under his breath as he makes no eye contact with anyone but his customer. He balances a bottle of vodka on the pad of his tan finger while pulling a lighter out of his fitted, designer jeans, ready to light some flame. It is not as common for customers to hound after the bartenders; it is usually the abundant and beautiful waitresses who parade around here in sleek, sexy yet classy uniforms who could give the playboy bunnies a run for their money any day.

The owner understands that beauty goes far beyond fake tits and blond hair. He demands a variety of all shapes, sizes, and ethnicities, and he is a lover of women, period. We are not allowed to show too much skin and have to have class, but we are allowed to sport our own styles to a degree. If the tits are showcased, then you better be wearing pants and vice versa. Daz, the boss, also gives us a clothing stipend to allow for alluring, chic clothing, which is unheard of. He knows how to treat and keep his staff.

I glance at the suit and let my eyes sweep over his long, lean, well-kept figure. Nope, not my type, too direct… and skinny. Without another thought, I help the next customer and begin to chat them up about their experience here in the city as I take in more of what is transpiring within the walls. Handing over a scotch, neat, and a boring old Cosmo to a gentleman who is courting a well-dressed woman in a Chanel suite with her dress shirt strategically unbuttoned, I catch the scent of delicious cologne and casually turn to the right. Standing at the end of the bar is a well over six foot hunk with dazzling green eyes, sun-kissed skin, and purposely tousled hair. He is smoking a cigar and conversing with a friend. His eyes briefly meet mine as he feels the heat of my stare before turning his attention back to his company. Minus a few points for the smoking, but, plus one hundred for his muscular build filling out that suit to perfection. Here is the thing most don’t understand about clothes, if you got it, you got it, and could try to hide in a garbage bag, but people will still see the goods. Take that figure and properly adorn it with the right threads? Fucking masterpiece. Keeping it cool, I purposely give him space and tend to the others in need of libations. After a while, I gently but directly approach the two gentlemen.

“Hello, is there anything else that I might be able to get you?” I smile and demurely dip my chin.

“Yeah, can I get a whiskey sour?” the hunk drawls with a deep, sexy, Texas lilt.

“Certainly.” I give him a wink, causing his eyes to light up with sudden interest. “Anything for you, sir?” I ask his friend.

“No, darlin’, I’m about to hit the boys room and retire to the hotel. Tobias, I guess I will see you tomorrow?”

“Will do.” The two shake hands in departure as I whip up the desired beverage and set it in front of Tobias. He holds himself with confidence but is not saturated with ego, which is a huge turn on. Add another fifty points. After all, I couldn’t care less about what type of exclusive credit card he held. I simply want one night of fun─ no more, no less.

Taking a swig from the glass, he sets it down with a sexy, lopsided grin, exposing slight dimples. “Well, that is a mighty fine drink you make, L,” he replies after quickly darting his eyes to my badge.

“Why, thank you, Tobias,” I respond, lightly biting my lip as my eyes roam over his figure. “Will there be anything else? Another cigar, perhaps?” The clouded air and hum of excited voices lift around us as if to accentuate the mood.

“Possibly. I will let you know.”

“Sounds good.” I can feel his hungry gaze on my hips as I turn and intentionally walk to the other end of the bar to help one of my favorite, sixty-something-year-old customers who frequent Tryst and could not let go of the idea of youth. He pulls it off, to a point, but Levi still sticks out like a sore thumb sometimes.

“What will you be drinking tonight, Levi?” I ask while glancing over my shoulder and leaning forward over the bar a touch. Yup, those eyes are still glued to my ass from across the way.

“Hello gorgeous, you know I’d like to be drinking you in, but I guess I will have to settle for my usual since you continually turn me down.”

“Oh, poor Levi, perhaps you should chase one of the waitresses tonight?” I sass and sympathetically pat his tweed-ensconced arm.

“You know I prefer brunette bar maidens,” he says, shamelessly flirting.

“Well, doll, can’t help you there. But, if I am ever in the market, you’ll be the first I call,” I joke.

“An old man can hope.”

Heading back to my side of the bar, I see Tobias has already finished his drink but seems to be waiting for something. Excellent.

“Well, Tobias, did you even taste that drink?”

“Sure did.” His eyes ever so slightly drift down and back up, but he seems to catch himself in an attempt to not be rude. The mutual attraction no longer needed to be questioned. Excellent.

“Are you staying at one of the hotels around here?”

“Yes, ma’am. Just up the street at the W.” Of course he is.

“That’s a lovely hotel. Would you like me to call you a cab so that one is awaiting your arrival downstairs? You seem like you are about to leave.” I appreciatively allow my eyes to trail down his body and linger at his waist before meeting his gaze in return.

“I reckon it’s time for me to turn in soon.” He shifts closer as if he wants to say more, but he doesn’t need to. Tobias’ body is saying it all.

“That’s quite a shame. I do hope you plan on visiting me… I mean us, again.” A purposeful slip on my behalf.

“L, is it?” He boldly changes his tone, a hungry man indeed. I nod as he continues. “Would I be too bold in asking if there is reason I shouldn’t turn in so soon?”

Bingo.

“No, you would not.” Leaning in close but maintaining just enough distance so that I won’t get in trouble by the eyes everywhere, I lower my voice. “If you are suggesting what I think you are, then leave your room number on the napkin.”

Quickly leaning back, I add, “Well then, I shall call you a cab. So glad you could join us this evening.” Turning away from him, I pull up the bar’s iPad and send a message to the valet out front, asking for a cab. When done, I begin to clean up the area and casually straighten the bottles below the customer level. “There is one waiting for you as we speak.” I courteously nod and move to take his glass and napkin from the bar to be placed under the counter in the dirty bin. Slipping the napkin into my pocket in one fluid motion while bending down, I smile because of the #429 scrawled on it.