Nicco - Season 2

5. If Looks Could Kill

ARIA

It's 6:24 pm by the time I make it to the Palace Hotel in Birmingham, and the hotel absolutely lives up to its namesake. Massive and regal, the building stands five stories tall. Built in Edwardian-style architecture, rows of arched stone openings wrap around the ground level while a central tower looms over the rooftop pavilions.

With quick strides, I roll my carry-on through the front entrance. The words grand and vintage come to mind as I survey the lobby. Gold leaf accents and ornate crown molding adorn the walls. Stained glass skylights stretch across the arched ceilings. Ropes of crystal dangle from chandeliers. The entire vibe reeks of Manning's taste. Pompous, excessive, and pretentious. I suspect that tonight's dinner party will very much be a dick-swinging contest between Manning and his buddies. It's already leaving a vile taste in my mouth.

There are only two dozen guests in attendance, but Manning has bought out the entire third floor of the hotel. This is what happens when the rich and powerful congregate. When I first started working at Jackson & James as a junior financial analyst, I was too much of a nobody to ever be invited, but even an office grunt like me has heard whispers of what goes on behind closed doors at these exclusive events. I've been told that Manning and his buddies hammer out business deals on the sly, but, mostly, I think everyone's here to let loose and go wild. Hard drugs, free-flowing alcohol, and high-end escorts are rumored to be a staple.

The masks that these fuckers wear in public are just that—masks. Once they step inside this hotel, they no longer have to be upstanding citizens or wholesome family men who earned every penny of their millions through hard work and ingenuity. Here and only here can their true colors come out to shine.

This is why, I presume, Manning invited Nicco and me. He wants to test us, push us to our limits, hoping we'll flounder and flail in front of important clients and partners. Tonight—we'll be pressured to take part in everything that can be snorted, imbibed, and fucked. Our sins must be stained as black as theirs in order to be initiated into the circle of Jackson & James' real money makers. Boundaries will be tested. Lines may be crossed. If Nicco fails to earn their approval, he'll lose a lot of credibility and influence at Jackson & James, which is exactly what Manning hopes to see. I won't lie. I'm very worried about tonight. I feel unprepared. I hate that Nicco told me to show up without a plan.

God, I hope he's ready to stand his ground.

Clenching my jaw, I attempt to keep my nerves under control. After checking in at the front desk, I head straight to my hotel room and start prepping for the dinner party. Gone are my trainers, hoodie, and mask. I no longer need to be anonymous. This evening, I must become a weapon. Everything about my appearance should look intimidating yet fuckable. Expensive and untouchable.

Thirty minutes later, my hotel bathroom looks like a war zone, but I'm dressed to kill in a long-sleeved mini-dress by Dior. The front has a rather conservative neckline, but the backless design dips all the way down my spine, creeping dangerously close to the slope of my ass. The velvet hugs my skin like a glove. The swells of my breasts, the dip of my waist, and the flare of my hips are on full display. Nothing is left to the imagination. I've curled my hair, letting it trail down my shoulders in dark, sensual waves. My makeup is a kind of armor as well. A dark smoky eye complements a deep rosy lip. I must play the part of a witchy, bitchy fantasy who might make all their filthiest dreams come true if they simply play your cards right.

I'm almost ready to go. But Nicco's request holds me back.

Will you, at least, think it over before rejecting the idea altogether?

I glance down at my bare hand, hesitating, debating, and weighing all the risks and rewards. My head starts to hurt.

Oh, fuck it.