Holy fucking shit, I was getting good at puking.

As I sprawled sideways across the hotel room bathroom floor, my long limbs the bloggers and reviewers and editors praised stretched out almost to the tub, I half-closed my eyes.

Another burst of laughter came from outside the room -- definitely from Joaquín.

I threw up once more, then thumped my forehead against the counter as I hauled myself to my feet and flushed, then rinsed out my mouth at the sink. That allowed me to lean heavily on the counter for a few minutes more.

There was a knock on the door, and then Hunter’s voice. “How you doing?”

“Good job, baby!” Joaquín called out. “You’ll be fine.”

There was another round of laughter from the guys -- over a dozen acquaintances or strangers, plus my buddies. The others were friends of Joaquín, Hunter, Luca, or one of the other couple Prestige guys here.

“Fuckin’ right I’ll be fine,” I managed once I stole enough toothpaste and rubbed it around my teeth and gums and tongue to feel normal, then straightened up again. The room swayed, but it didn’t spin. That was a good sign.

I pulled open the bathroom door and leaned into Joaquín’s half-hug and extra hard slap on the back, then groaned. “Asshole.”

He laughed again and squeezed my shoulders. “Good job dumping calories, babe. Look, we finished that bottle. Everything else is low or no-cal.”

“The only no-cal thing is water,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes. I stumbled over the table with the stack of takeout boxes and cursed, then grabbed one and opened it up.

“Oooh, baby, you gonna indulge?” some guy whose name I didn’t know drawled.

The pizza stared up at me, glistening hot and dripping with cheese. It was the first solid thing I’d eaten all day. Fuck yeah, I was gonna indulge.

“Oh god, that looks good, but you’re braver than me.” Joaquín shook his head. “Not before this hell is over. New York City again? Deep dish pizzas for a week, baby.”

I shook my head. I needed solid food to settle my stomach and soak up the booze, and I needed the booze to soak up the vivid moment that afternoon when the drunken haze had been jolted out of me in the backseat of the car.

And the moment where Gideon had walked into the room, his eyes focused like a predator, just half an hour after Hayden had done the same damn thing.

I’d thrown my ex out without a word, but part of me was still shaking over it. No matter how high I got, I wasn’t so high that Hayden -- or, by proxy, Alex -- couldn’t get to me.

So why the fuck was I thinking about signing the deal with Alex? Not just because I was easy to win over with speeches about guys who didn’t know rock bottom, nor for money…

Gideon was using me. In a way, I was using him. But that had never been more apparent than when he had asked me to go home with him. Like I was a cheap hookup.

Not that I hadn’t wanted to strip all of his clothes off and ride him until he screamed. That was beside the point.

Oh god, I couldn’t think straight, no pun intended.

I laughed to myself as the pizza and dough melted along my tongue.

“He’s gone mad. Fashion month fever finally hit,” Hunter laughed over the music coming from Joaquín’s iPhone speaker, but I ignored him.

The pizza was too damn incredible.

The knock on the door made me wince, but I waved at the others. “Shh, shh. I’ll get it. I’m more sober than the rest of you.” It wasn’t like they could argue that point.

Once I stumbled over the broken furniture and made my way to the door, I opened it and neatly slipped outside in a pirouette. It was a trick I’d mastered to avoid showing the contents of the room to nagging hotel managers until we’d checked out.

“Yes?”

It was the same fucking hotel manager as yesterday, so I already knew what he wanted.

“Evening, sir. We’ve received a few complaints from other guests, and we’re sorry we have to ask you to keep it down--”

“We’re being as quiet as we can,” I told him. “A dozen guys in a small room? You should’ve put us in a suite if you didn’t want a bunch of guys in a little room like -- like this one… making a scene.”

Then the door cracked open, and Hunter sidled up behind me. His slur made me almost wince. I was way more sober than that. I just couldn’t master all my word endings right now.

“At least we’re not fucking. That’d be louder,” he giggled.

The manager didn’t even blush. “I’m sure it would be. I appreciate that. But we have to maintain a quality experience for all our guests…”

Before I could answer, Hunter slid an arm around my chest and pulled me in, grinning at me. “Don’t worry, pal. We’ll head to my buddy’s place. Call us a van taxi. Make that two.”

“Of course, sir. Would you like us to call up to your room when the taxis arrive?”

“Sure.” Hunter shrugged carelessly and waved at the manager, then pulled me back into the room.

“My god,” I laughed. “You have that down pat.”

“You will, too, when you’ve been kicked out of a dozen hotels.” He smirked. “C’mon, guys, get ready to go.”

“Jesus, this place is fancy.”

I had spent the last month being surrounded by and dressed in fabulous wealth, but it still shocked me sometimes. This building was… not just something out of a TV show, but out of a millionaire’s biopic.

There was a fountain in the middle of the indoor marble courtyard, and in the middle posed a live, nude male model.

Not that I objected to that -- the guy was gorgeous, after all -- but the idea of it was ridiculous compared to where I’d been not even a month ago.

I still couldn’t blend in all the time, however hard I tried to exude the arrogant confidence of everyone around me.

“Is he a prince?” I asked, pointing to some guy. He was dressed like one, even wearing a sash.

“Probably. It’s not a big deal,” Joaquín answered with a shrug. “They tend to be really bad in bed, though. Well, depending on the royal family involved.”

I rubbed my face and nodded, then glanced around. I could already spot a dozen actors and models I recognized, and it was easy to see how many men there were in the room compared to women. That led me to suspect everyone here was gay, or very publicly “gay-friendly” at the very least.

I wandered to the dessert table and grabbed a handful of chocolate truffles. I’d already binged tonight -- why not binge a little more?

The sea salt and decadent coating melted in my mouth, and when I bit through to the chocolate mousse centre, my brain gave me a second of orgasmic bliss.

When I opened my eyes again, there was a gorgeous, British guy standing by me. He looked British -- first, that distinctive face shape, and second, the way he dressed like he came from a titled family there. It only took a second for my guess to be confirmed.

“You must be Leonel James.”

Proper, posh accent, too. I giggled under my breath at it, but I nodded. “That’s me. Hello.”

“I’m Caspian Rensworth, the fourth. Joaquín was mentioning you to me as a potential new face of my brand. I’m with Rensworth, the premier men’s bespoke suit company--”

“Oh, I know Rensworth, honey,” I teased. The fourth. I considered it a miracle I hadn’t laughed. “You have to have a little bit of brains in this business, too.”

To his credit, Caspian took the news with a quick nod. “Of course. My apologies for implying anything of the sort.” He swirled a glass of something, probably champagne, in one hand. “Enjoying the truffles?”

“Very much. Is this your house?”

“Goodness, no,” he laughed. “Not at all my style. Lovely, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Just not quite my country retreat.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely.” I was unconsciously mimicking him, and I hoped he wasn’t offended. On the other hand, part of me wanted to get him ruffled. Not the part of me that liked money, though.

He didn’t even seem to notice, rendering my internal struggle moot.

“Have you met many others here? Come, I’ll show you around, if you like.”

I smiled and kissed cheeks and hugged my way around the room as name blurred into name and the alcohol wore off. Pity, this was all a bit more tolerable with a buzz. It was already late enough at night that everyone else was smashed, too, which was bearable only when I was drunk myself.

Luckily, Caspian saw fit to fix that and kept signaling waiters to ensure my champagne glass was always full.

When I caught Joaquín’s eye, he gave me two thumbs up and a big wink. I just rolled my eyes. Like fuck I was going to fuck -- shag -- this guy, cute as he was. My dick just wasn’t into him.

It didn’t seem to be into a lot lately, except Gideon staring me down like he wanted to shake sense into me while fucking me.

Well, that was kind of a hot thought. I had to distract myself quickly with a gulp of champagne that went right up my nose.

“You all right?” Caspian asked, leading me away from the main party to sit on a ridiculously ornate bench with gold carved spirals and plush purple velvet cushions. He looked around, then winked. “You know, I’d better go and socialize a little more, but… come and see me here later and I’ve got a business proposal for you.”

“What does it involve?” I wasn’t getting into smuggling shit.

“Well…” He dragged out the last letter and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “My company needs two new models. I’m sure you’re aware Joaquín’s contract with us expires next season.”

I nodded.

“In the meantime, there’s a private party and we’d like to do some dry runs, so to speak, to evaluate different options.”

“So, attending a party. Hopefully not naked.” I directed a pointed stare across the open-plan layout to the courtyard. We could just see a glimpse of ass and a small crowd gathered around the fountain, laughing.

Caspian snorted, touching his chin and moving his head in a particular way that I interpreted to mean he didn’t approve, but he wasn’t going to be vocal about it. Well, there was one point of agreement, at least. Dimes to donuts the model was a lot more uncomfortable than he let on.

Even modeling underwear was still enough to make me faintly uncomfortable. Not that I could turn down any gig Raymond told me I was taking. That thought led me down the path I was trying hard to avoid treading that day, so I redirected my attention to Caspian.

The rich kid was already gone, and I sighed and rolled my eyes, catching my breath. With a moment to myself, I scanned the house.

I could see what Caspian meant about the style, though. There wasn’t an architectural detail or feature that wasn’t highlighted with intricate levels of design. Whoever had this house, they wanted people to know they had shitloads more money than they needed.

I laughed under my breath at the thought of the place that was still technically my own house. I hadn’t slept in my own bed more than a week out of the last month.

Nora was getting her rent, though, at least. And bragging rights.

Three glasses of champagne later, Caspian found me again and dragged me aside, waving over Joaquín and a couple guys I didn’t know -- three who looked like rich business guys, a couple of models.

“I got the good shit tonight.”

My suspicions were already on edge. There were two possibilities, and one was optimistic at best. It wasn’t like I didn’t know what went on. I’d just always found convenient excuses to switch parties or leave the room. After London and Milan, it was a miracle it had taken this long.

Joaquín put his arm around me and leaned in to murmur, “You ever done coke before?”

My heart sank. There went that hope. “Nah.” I tried to turn away, but Caspian clasped my arm.

“Come on, mate.” He pulled a bag of white shit out of his pocket and tossed it at one of the guys in a dark suit.

The guy caught it and promptly pulled over an end table, then started pouring the baggie out.

This is real life? I tried to act cool, but my heart was pounding.

Caspian turned to me. “This is great stuff. Come on, you look cool. That’s why I want you on my runway.”

“I want him on my runway,” someone muttered and the whole group cracked up.

A twinge of discomfort crawled through my stomach. I was used to men eyeing me up, but Caspian had a hard grip on my arm and I was starting to feel Hayden’s fingers in place of Caspian’s.

For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel… safe.

I twisted out of the grip and straightened my shirt, then shook my head. “Sorry.”

“Oh, there’s your line?” Joaquín asked. He didn’t seem to be making fun of me, though. “Good for you. Once you pop, you can’t stop.”

“Ohhh,” the guy snorting the line groaned, almost falling over as he pressed his hand to his forehead. “That is good shit. Oh my god.”

Caspian snickered, then clapped my arm. “C’mon.”

Expectant faces were turned to me silently.

I sighed and shook my head. “No can do. Come on, mate. I see people I gotta catch up with.”

“Why not?”

Of course. I had the sneaking suspicion I wasn’t going to make friends with my answer, but I shoved my hands into my pockets and tried to stand up straight. “It’s not a victimless crime.”

Caspian laughed. “What? You’re hammered. That’s the same.”

“It isn’t. The chemicals they use to extract that shit poison water, plants, and animals.”

“Oh, how adorable. A little Greenpeace rep.” He smirked. “Come on, I’ll make sure it’s carbon-neutral.”

That got a round of laughter from everyone except Joaquín.

“That’s not all. Look,” I breathed out, “I don’t think I should…”

“You ever heard of corporate culture?”

Joaquín sucked in a quiet breath from beside me and reached out to squeeze my arm. Probably advising me to tread carefully. No choice now, honey. The thought was sweet, though.

I drew a breath, too. “I don’t care what I do to myself. I can drink myself to death, but coke’s farmed by people, and they die. And I can’t support that.”

“You wanna throw work away…” Caspian murmured.

For the first time, I could laugh. “Shit, no. I’ve got enough work for two of me. I don’t need to take jobs by guys who want me strung out and sprawled on the floor.”

“I’d take you strung out and sprawled on the bed instead.” He looked at me menacingly and started to come closer, but Joaquín stepped between us and slipped his arm around my shoulders. Caspian shrugged and grabbed his wallet to pull out a credit card.

“I gotta get this guy home. He’s… obviously hammered,” Joaquín laughed, inviting Caspian to laugh, too. “This is how he gets when he’s drunk. A lot smarter than he lets on when he’s sober.”

That much was true. My ears burned and my cheeks flushed, which had to only add to the drunken ruse.

Not that I wasn’t drunk as fuck, that much was true. I didn’t say much as I got my jacket on and headed down the stairs, Joaquín’s arm still around me. Words couldn’t express how grateful I was to him for bundling me into a taxi downstairs, kissing my forehead and telling me he’d see me in the morning.

Then, he turned to head back up the gleaming staircase to the house, his hands in his pockets.

The animal in the pit of my stomach was gnawing again. I covered my eyes with my fists for a few moments and rubbed hard, then opened my eyes again to catch sight of Joaquín near the top of the stairs.

I watched after him until the taxi pulled away.