The Billionaire and the Bestseller

Chapter Four: Maskerade

Well, that was interesting. A dungeon mistress? Colt couldn’t help but wonder if that appellation had more than one meaning. Either way, his interest was piqued.

“Right this way, sir.” the receptionist said as she moved to one of the book shelves to the left of her reception desk. She pulled a particular book, releasing the latch that held the bookcase in place so that she could easily slide it over to reveal the dimly lit hallway beyond. “I hope you have an enjoyable evening.”

Colt nodded to the receptionist, whose name tag he noted read Amanda, as he moved past her. He came just close enough that Amanda could feel the gravity of him without brushing up against her, and smirked when he felt her gaze drop to check out his ass as he strode down the hallway. It was good to know that he still had it - though he knew full well he’d never really lost it. 

The hordes of screaming fans on social media certainly never let him forget. At first that had been thrilling but now it felt just as fake as half the people he met in Hollywood.

There were exceptions, of course. Chirade was one; both a good friend and brilliant director, Colt had always wanted to work with Chirade but had never gotten the chance. They actually had a goal of all three C’s working together - Chirade, Colton, and Chris.  That was another reason he wanted to play Hunter in What Becomes of Snow. Chirade was rumored to be directing, though nothing had been officially announced, and in his opinion Chris was a shoe-in for the antagonist-s***h-competition for the heroine’s heart.

Now, he just needed to convince the studio to make the three C’s dream happen, and here was a prime opportunity to appeal to the creator of the story herself. Sure, she probably had no say over who or who did not act in the big screen version of her novel, authors generally didn’t, but convincing her to appeal to the studio on his behalf couldn’t hurt right? 

Well, it could hurt if she decided to go to the rag mags with the news that he was a member of a s*x club, but ...she wouldn’t do that, right? She’d effectively be outing herself as a member too. Mutually assured destruction didn’t seem like her bag, though she was a bit of a ball buster during their little encounter this morning. 

That had been a surprise. Everly’s sharp words, horribly oversized suit, and condescending attitude didn’t match the soft, sweet picture her writing had stirred up in his mind’s eyes. It was hard to believe that the same woman who had written such an emotionally stirring and erotically charged book could speak so cuttingly while also wearing the ugliest power suit that the eighties had ever dreamed up. And what was with her hair? It was both the texture and color of straw, and when paired with the ill fitting suit put him in mind of a scarecrow.

But, who was he to judge a book by it’s cover? Haha. Sometimes even he knew when to see himself to the door. Puns really were the lowest form of humor, and in his case also a deflection - because her words had cut him with the sheer edge of truth whether or not he wanted to admit it.

Colt took in a deep breath, willing himself to relax as the dimly lit hallway he was striding down grew brighter as it opened on to the public play room where various acts of depravity were taking place. From his vantage point on a balcony that split into two grand, sweeping staircases leading down to the public play room, he could take in the layout of the club. 

The public play room of this branch of Maskerade was arranged almost like a courtyard, complete with a hedge maze that glittered with twinkling fairy lights, lending the space an ethereal feel. Contributing further to that feeling of heavenly bodies - both literal and figurative - was an enormous astrolabe chandelier whose many rings turned in slow, almost hypnotic orbits while casting constellations of stars on the ceiling and the masked, frolicking club goers below.

It was an interesting design, immediately conjuring up images of lavish European gardens and Shakespeare’s a Midsummer Night’s Dream. Some of the other public play rooms he’d visited were more open, theater-like even with spotlights, curtains and stages with all the raunchy s*x taking place front and center. While those play rooms were certainly fun, this layout gave people the opportunity to come upon scenes unexpectedly. There was something about the maze, perhaps the cozy intimacy of its almost-private nooks, that intrigued Colt.

Of course, the ‘privacy’ of the maze’s varied play spaces was all an illusion, as the scenes taking place in the courtyard could all be observed from the second floor balcony rooms. 

The courtyard was bordered on two sides by private rooms, with the lounge on the back wall of the first floor and the brightly lit games and reading space above it. The private rooms on the first floor were completely private, but those on the second floor were semi-private observation booths with enormous picture windows that could be shielded, or made opaque, at the flip of a switch.

While he would definitely be having a poke around the maze later, Colt found himself skirting the outer edge of the maze. He made a beeline for the back of the building where the lounge and games room were, grabbing himself a drink to quiet the unsettling feeling in the back of his mind that something momentous was about to happen. The problem with momentous events was that there was no guarantee as to whether the momentousness would be good or bad. Simply overwhelming.

Overwhelming like the woman standing behind the lectern, a demure, lacy white laser cut mask adorning her face. Long auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back almost to the round swell of her rump, which he and the rest of the small gathering of members got an eyeful of as she turned to motion to an image projected on the screen behind her. Unfortunately, he couldn’t hear what she was saying over the sound of all his blood rushing down to his d**k.

Suddenly, a hand shot up. It was an older lady who had obviously had a little work done - though the work was tastefully done. “Mrs. Martindale?”

The red haired lecturer gave a wry smile, “It’s Miss I’m afraid… but nevermind that. Please, ask your question.”

“In an interview you gave a few months ago, you mentioned that you weren’t overly fond of movies. It was recently announced that What Becomes of Snow was being adapted to film. Are you looking forward to seeing the book come to life?”

Wait, hold on. Colt’s brain was struggling to catch up to the rest of him, which had taken up a casual leaning position against a wrought iron railing. Did that lady say Miss Martindale? But this fiery haired nerd queen in a figure hugging black velvet wrap dress that looked like it was put on only because of how easy it was to take off, was definitely not the Everly Martindale he met this morning. 

...And her name wasn’t the only thing that made bells ring in the back of his mind now. 

Colton narrowed his eyes a little, feeling that tickle of recognition crawl its way up his spine, as his mind cleared enough to take in the sound of her voice. Everything about her, from the way she stood with her spiked heels planted solidly on the mosaic tile, to the lush curves of her hourglass figure, to the warm timbre of her soft voice, felt crafted to trigger a visceral caveman response in him. He shifted a little, trying to adjust himself without being too obvious about it. He wasn’t the only one, and that knowledge made him irrationally angry. He didn’t want anyone looking at Everly, much less asking her questions - even if they were about her book. Was that agent putting him on? This could not be the same woman.

“Ah, I’m not sure you could say I’m looking forward to it. I don’t hate movies, of course, but there are some books that simply aren’t meant to be movies. Books like Ender’s Game, which mostly take place in the mind of the main character.” Everly said easily, as if she’d made this argument countless times. “What Becomes of Snow is very much the same. The s*x is fun and all, just like the battle sequences in Ender’s Game are fun and exciting, but I believe that the reason people were drawn to my book was because of its emotional heart. When you translate from book to film, you end up losing a lot of that emotional content - which was all tied up into the thoughts and feelings of the characters. So...I can’t say I’m looking forward to seeing my book made into a movie. It’s a tall order, making a book like mine into a movie with the same impact, and not one that I’m sure is possible to achieve.”

“But, emotional content doesn’t only have to come in the form of exposition, does it?” Colt’s voice burbled up, loud and clear and completely unexpected. “Can’t a person’s emotions be intuited through their actions? With the right actors, the right music…or perhaps voice overs could be used?”

“Voice overs!” Everly groaned a little in response, then shook her head and laughed lightly. “Ugh, voice overs are so bad. Boring. They kill a movie’s pacing unless they are used sparingly, and for humorous effect. No, thank you. Though, you do make a good point about actions speaking louder than words. I’d like to counter with the fact that there are many times in which a character’s actions run counter to their internal truth. Humans are, almost by design, contradictory. For example, as we’ve discussed, I am not a big fan of movies, or acting...but in about ten minutes I’m going to lead a live action role play scenario. Which is, in essence, acting...but you know, more fun.”

The beaming smile made Colt’s world tilt on its axis, and had he not already been leaning on the railing he might have toppled over. It was the kind of smile that seared itself into a man’s hindbrain. Even on his deathbed, with eyes dimmed by age, Colton would recognize that smile. 

After all, he’d spent a considerable chunk of his youth trying to get Nico to smile for him.