Page 9

Chapter Eight

Nico

M onday mornings at Boys On Film were like a carnival if the carnival was run entirely by hungover bisexuals and people with boundary issues.

I strolled through the front doors, sunglasses still on, coffee in hand, wearing my best fake smile. My brain was barely online, but I was upright and that counted for something.

“Good morning!” Petyr sang from behind the front desk.

“Tell me something good,” I said, sidestepping a half-open box of lube samples on the floor.

Petyr held up his clipboard dramatically, like he was presenting the next stone tablet from Moses.

“We’re out of coconut-scented lube. Catastrophic. I’m preparing a report for Jack and Liam.”

I snorted, grabbed the clipboard from him, and scanned the page. It was covered in what looked like… chicken scratch? Or maybe a visual representation of a mental breakdown.

“What the hell is this?”

Petyr blinked innocently. “The report.”

Dimitri appeared from behind a curtain, looming like a Slavic cryptid. His voice, low and slow as ever: “It’s in Russian.”

I stared at him. Then back at the clipboard. Then back at him.

“Why?”

Dimitri just shrugged like that, answered everything.

I handed it back. “I’m not paid enough to decode your Cold War nonsense.”

Petyr shrugged, and Dimitri just went back to whatever was going on behind that curtain. I kept moving toward Nessa’s office. Monday mornings meant schedule meetings, and Nessa treated them like a sacred ritual.

As I got closer, two guys stepped out of her office and into the hallway.

Both were tall and built like they could bench press me without breaking a sweat.

They were Asian, Japanese, if I had to guess, and dressed like they were about to close a million-dollar business deal.

Crisp suits. Shiny shoes. Smiles big enough to power the entire building.

New talent? I wondered.

They gave me a polite nod as they passed, and I gave them my best “I’m too tired for small talk but nice to meet you,” smile in return.

Nessa appeared in the doorway next, wearing leopard print leggings, a neon pink tank top, and about three pounds of gold jewelry. Her lipstick was red enough to be seen from space.

“Nico! Get your ass in here!”

I obeyed.

Her office smelled like vanilla body spray. I shut the door behind me, dropped into the chair across from her desk, stretching out my legs like I had all the time in the world.

“So… who were those guys?” I asked, jerking my thumb toward the hall.

Nessa smirked, flopped back into her chair, and propped her heels up on the desk like she was about to drop some royal gossip.

“Japanese businessmen,” she said. “They want us to produce a gay bukkake film.”

I blinked. “A what now?”

“Bukkake.” She said it like she was still working out the syllables. “I told ‘em sure. Why the hell not? Money’s money. But between you and me… I got no clue what the hell it even is.”

I coughed to hide my laugh. “You agreed to produce something you don’t understand?”

“Welcome to the entertainment industry, baby.” She winked. “If the check clears, we’ll figure it out later.”

Fair enough. I ran a hand through my hair and shrugged. “So. What’s on my dance card this week?”

Nessa’s playful expression dimmed just a little. She sat up straighter, hands folding together like she was about to offer me either a raise or a warning.

“Well,” she said, “good news and bad news.”

“Hit me with the good first.”

Her smile returned, sly and self-satisfied, like the cat who just ate the canary, and the canary’s entire family, too. “Boys On Film Media & Management wants to rep you. Not just for adult work. For your comedy career.”

My heart stopped.

“Wait… what?”

“You heard me.” She pulled a folder from her desk and slapped it down in front of me. “Jack and Liam wanna expand. Go mainstream. They think repping an up-and-coming comic is a smart first step.”

My chest went tight. “I don’t… I mean… I don’t even have a manager right now.”

“Well, now you do. If you want one.”

I sat there, stunned. “Do you guys even know how to manage a comedy career? It’s a whole different beast, Nessa. This isn’t just booking me for cum shots and moody close-ups.”

She laughed, low and throaty. “Oh, honey. You think I don’t know that? I’ve already got you an offer.”

I stared. “An offer?”

“Yep.” She flipped through the folder and pulled out a printed email. “Opening set for Marcus Vance at The Orpheum next month. Fifteen-minute slot. Packed house. Industry people in the audience.”

I practically levitated out of my chair.

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Nope.”

Before I even knew what I was doing, I shot around her desk, picked her up like a rag doll, and kissed her right on the lips.

“YES!” I shouted, spinning her around.

“Jesus, put me down before I break a hip!” she laughed, smacking my shoulder but looking just as giddy as I felt.

“How the hell did you pull this off?” I asked, still breathless.

She straightened her jewelry like she was putting the final touch on a victory outfit. “Turns out… a lot of my contacts from the adult world have fingers in other pies. Agents. Producers. Club bookers. New York’s one big, slutty village if you know where to look.”

I let out a whistle, shaking my head.

“Okay,” I said. “Yes. Hell yes. Rep me. Let’s do this.”

Her grin widened. “That’s what I like to hear.”

She flipped to the next page in her folder, and her smile turned... thinner.

“Now... bad news.”

I braced myself.

“Liam and Jack made a decision.” She sighed like she’d been holding this in all weekend. “They’re hiring Bradley Mitchell.”

I blinked.

Bradley.

Laura’s warning about the ex-con popped into my brain like a bad pop-up ad. I played it cool. Tilted my head like I was just mildly curious. “That’s the bad news?”

Nessa’s expression soured. “The guy did them dirty, Nico. Dealing drugs and lying to them. They’re being sentimental. It’s bad business.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

Because… truth?

I’d been thinking about Bradley all weekend.

The way he’d flushed during our test shoot. The way his eyes kept darting away like I scared him. Plus, I absolutely, 100%, without question, wanted to get him naked. But none of that needed to be said right now.

No sense poking the Nessa-bear.

“Got it,” I said, keeping my tone neutral.

“Anyway,” she said, shaking her head like she was brushing the whole topic off, “he’s not even camera ready yet. But, he’s your new scene partner once he’s ready.”

That got my grin going for real. “Oh, really?”

Nessa’s smile turned wicked. “Oh yeah. And guess what? He’s coming in today for a full body session with Lola.”

I winced. “Oh, no.”

“Oh yes,” she purred, laughing. “And I told her to be extra thorough with hair removal.”

“Damn.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “That’s cold, Nessa.”

“Welcome to the industry, sweetheart.”

She waved me off, and I headed for the door, still buzzing with excitement about the comedy gig… and okay, yeah, buzzing a little about Bradley too. I wasn’t even three steps out of her office when I turned the corner—

—and walked straight into him.

Bradley Mitchell. Wearing jeans and a t-shirt, looking like sex on a stick. His eyes went wide, like I was the last person he wanted to see.

My heart did a weird little skip.

And just like that... Monday got a lot more interesting. Before I could say anything to him, Nessa popped her head out of her office. The moment she spotted Bradley standing there, she froze mid-step. Her smile faltered just enough to show how much effort it took for her not to laugh.

“Well, well, well,” she said, folding her arms. “Mitchell. You actually showed up. Color me shocked.”

Bradley shifted awkwardly, stuffing his hands into his pockets like he was debating a full retreat. Then Nessa’s gaze flicked to me.

“Nico, be a doll and escort our newest star to Lola’s Sanctuary of Beauty, would ya?” Her voice was all innocent sugar, but the glint in her eye was straight-up evil.

I sighed, but smiled. “Sure thing, boss.”

Bradley glanced between the two of us, his confusion plain as day.

Poor guy.

He had no idea what he was walking into.

“C’mon,” I said, tilting my head down the hall. “This way.”

Bradley fell into step beside me, close enough that I caught a whiff of him. No cologne, no obvious scent, just an earthy, masculine scent.

And damn… he was hot.

Broad shoulders, lean build, sharp jawline with that little notch in his chin that made him look like he belonged on the cover of some late-night Cinemax movie.

Which, yeah, was frustrating.

Couldn’t he just be some normal cocky guy with a big dick who wanted to be a porn star? Why did he have to come with a criminal record and a warning label from Laura? I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from doing something dumb, like reaching out to touch his arm.

Halfway down the hall, he cleared his throat.

“So… what exactly is about to happen?” His voice was low and uncertain, like he already knew he wasn’t gonna like the answer.

I hesitated, wondering if I could tell him the truth.

I could tell him Lola was about to wax him within an inch of his life, probably while giving a running commentary on his grooming habits.

Or…

I could sugarcoat it.

“Don’t worry,” I said, forcing a casual smile. “All performers see Lola regularly to stay camera ready.”

He gave me a look that said that didn’t answer my question at all.

I inhaled, pushed my sunglasses up onto my head, and added, “It’s a perk of the job, you know? Free beauty treatments. Haircuts. Skin care. The studio takes care of everything.”

Then, because I’m apparently an idiot, I tacked on, “Not that you need help in that department.”

I froze the second the words left my mouth.

Bradley blinked, like he wasn’t sure if he’d just been complimented or insulted.

I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets and kept walking faster.

By the time we reached the very back of the office, the part where the air smelled faintly like hairspray, lavender oil, and industrial-strength disinfectant, I was sweating.

Lola’s door was wide open, and I caught a full view of the setup.

Wax pot bubbling. Linen strips stacked like ammunition. Latex gloves on the counter.

The battlefield was ready.

Lola herself stood inside, wearing a bright green kimono and a lipstick shade that could only be described as nuclear fuchsia. She spotted me first, then Bradley.

“Well, look who finally showed up for his sacrifice,” she purred, stepping forward.

Before I could make my escape, she grabbed my face with both hands and squinted at me like she was inspecting fruit at a farmer’s market.

“When I’m done with this guy, come see me,” she said, giving my cheeks a little squeeze. “Your eyebrows are looking tragic.”

“Thanks, Lola. Love you too.”

Before Bradley could bolt, she grabbed him by the arm with surprising strength for someone her size. “Come on, pretty boy,” she said, yanking him inside. “Let’s get you smooth enough to slide off satin sheets.”

His eyes went wide, like a man realizing too late that he’d stepped into a trap. The door shut, and I muttered out loud, “Good luck, dude. You’re going to need it.”