It’s a noble cause and should be championed by everyone, and he’s so passionate whenever he talks about it, like he’s imploring people to care about it as much as he does. There has to be a story there. I wish I could get to the bottom of it.
But if I can’t, at least I can tell Lucian that Menace fucking Grant winked at me.
Chapter Three
Menace
“Jesus, Menace,”Sya clucks her tongue. “What did you do to your face?” She runs a soft finger over where the makeup artist expertly covered the bruise I got from head-butting Denton.
I gently grab her hand and kiss the back, making her shoot me a deadpan look before snatching away. “It’s not even noticeable.” I pick up a random spoon and check my reflection.
She scoffs and takes it from my hand, muttering something likethat’s not a fucking mirrorunder her breath. She pulls my arm so we can walk deeper into the room, wanting to show me off. The rich and famous mingle around, trying to out-wealth each other. The new money tries to flex on the old money, and the old money tries to impress the god-tier wealthy.
It’s fucking exhausting.
I love being rich—it solves a lot of problems. But all this pretentious bullshit annoys the fuck out of me. In my younger days, I loved showing off my money and throwing bands at the strip club, buying bottles, tipping strippers extra generously. But now, it grates on my nerves.
“What did you do?” Sya asks. “Run into a wall?”
I take her excuse with both hands. “Shower door. I was on the phone and?—”
“Whatever you were doing,” she talks over me like the question was rhetorical, “don’t do it again. You still have a few years in you, and we need that pretty face. We also need you to look good for the auction.”
I forgot about the fucking auction. It’s for a good cause, but I wish I could be anywhere but fucking auctioned off on a date with someone that will probably get on my fucking nerves as they talk about their money, who they don’t like—while also smiling in that person’s face—and trying to get into my pants.
The good thing about this auction is it’s chosen by random ticket draw. Those that donate to my charity get a ticket and hope they win a date with me. So I don’t have to stand in front of people like a piece of meat.
Lucky winner.
I roll my eyes as Sya drags me behind her, forcing me to mingle. I keep a smile pasted on my face as I talk about my charity and its mission statement. Though I don’t need anyone to donate money to it—as I have several private donors that make very hefty donations every quarter as well as my own funds—Sya says it’s best to diversify my options.
Sya is a smart woman and a fucking godsend, so I listen to what she says. In the years she’s been my agent and manager, she’s never led me astray. I’m sure that’s because she’s a retired model and knows the business like the back of her hand. She’s made it so no one takes advantage of me and if they try, their career is ruined. It’s nice that she still has such good friends that take her word over some other scumbags.
Sya discovered me in a mall of all places. I was walking off my nervous energy, afraid that someone would see me andknow. I was in my head, hoping I didn’t get caught when she approached me.
I stared her down, because she was at least thirty years older than me and I didn’t date women.
With all the confidence in the world, she stuck her hand out and said, “I’m Sya. You look like you could be a model.”
I scoffed and looked down at my gangly frame. I hadn’t started to fill out yet, so I was all knees and elbows.
I shook my head and brushed past her. “I don’t date women,” I tossed over my shoulder.
Her high-pitched laugh stopped me in tracks and I turned to her, glaring. “Please, little boy,” she sneered, hands on her hips. “I haven’t dated men since the first Bush administration.” I didn’t know what that meant, but I liked her attitude.
She bought me lunch, we talked and she said she’d set me up with a photographer friend of hers. She told me I had to get some headshots to start a portfolio and that I had some kind of it factor she could see right off. I didn’t believe her, but after what I’d just done, I had nothing left to lose and my life as I knew it was over. I took her offer without hesitation. The rest, as they say, is history.
Now that I have money and means, I can do my real work all over the country. Even if she couldn’t tell what I’d just done when she met me, Sya opened the door for me to continue plying my craft.
As Sya and I walk around the event, I spot a man that I’ve had my eye on for a few months now.
Robert Beningfield the fifth. Old money. Snobbish.
A serial abuser.
He’s put three girlfriends in the hospital, paying them off so they don’t press charges. He has money to burn, so he can pay whatever obscene amount will keep them quiet.
But I think Mr.Beningfield the fifth needs to be put down permanently.
