Knox
“Found your phone, Good Sir. Will meet to return. Name time, place. No reward needed.”I smiled at the text message lighting up my screen.
Thank Christ.
Need to get that phone back. Leave it to me to lose my personal phone, not my business cell. Not the one chocked full of boring business contacts and my jam-packed schedule. Still had that one.
Oh, no. No, I lost my other phone. My personal cell. My very personal cell.
Yeah... the one I scope out new prospects with, take shots of competition hotels. And, my junk. Lots andlotsof shots of my junk. Naked. In the shower. Flexing. Doing things. Like plowing a few pussies.
In live action, too.
I scrub my hand down my face, regretting that fact.
It's always their idea. I swear.Take a video of you fucking me. Take a video of you eating me out. Send me photos of that perfect cock. Tell me what that beast will do to me.What can I say? I bring it out in them.
I am a fucking idiot for playing that reckless game. Too old for it, too. But, I like women, I like sex and I like to take photos. Truthfully, both my phones are full of photos and I have flash drives full of more. It's my second passion.
First would be building a hotel empire with my best friend.
Maybe photos are my third passion.
Second?Plowing pussies.
“Knox! You hear me, dick?” I smirk, catching the pen my best friend, Taylor Lassiter, throws at my head. Too slow, this kid.
“I did not. Someone found my phone. I am setting up a meet to get it back.” My fingers fly across the screen, responding to the text message from last night.Good Sir.I like that. It's cute.
“Meet at Grind at 50thand Lexington? Four o'clock tomorrow?”I glance at my watch, noting the flight we're headed out on in an hour. Otherwise, it would be today.
“Not tonight, right,” Taylor frowns down at his paperwork, “Heading out on the jet in an hour.” I finger-gun him, even adding a pew-pew sound, nodding as I wait for a response.
“I remember. Atlantic City. Where we will never own shit despite the bank we throw at that town.” Sighing, I set my phone aside and shove my hand through my dark hair. Mussing it up.
“We gotta put the time in, Knox. Kiss some ass, lose some cash. You know how it is.” I sigh again, spinning my phone on the table between us as I nod.
“I know how it is. Just tired of raw lips, man.” Taylor laughs a little, nodding in agreement.
At just this side of thirty, we both know we're damn lucky to be where we are. Growing up in the suburbs sounds ideal, but trust me, our stories were anything but. Taylor had a drunk father who got too handsy after dark and I had a mother who brought home whoever would take care of her. It was a shit show all tucked away in a nice cul-de-sac.
We got out as soon as we could and came to the city. New York was always the dream for us. Something about it called to us so it was the first place we put roots down. Spent half a dozen years working hard and living lean.
Seemingly endless ramen noodle nights paid off though.
At twenty-five we bought our first hotel.
Kincaid-Lassiter was born. Or, KL Hotels was, at least.
Our first hotel was just an old Howard Johnson, but we made it something special. Every room was rehabbed, every inch updated. We have a unique blueprint for our hotel plans, one that sets us apart from most chains.
We do not want to be a chain of boring, bland hotels.
We don't even want to be a chain, not really.
Instead, we want something people talk about, something people tell their friends about. Nothing hipster or too edgy. Just fresh, current, innovative. Flat screens in every room, stylish designs for linens and décor, more than half the rooms feature Jacuzzi tubs and every hotel has a classy bar with skilled baristas and chef designed food options.
“How do we like the designs for the Chicago hotel?” Taylor's assistant, Ora, slides a design book thick with carpet, drape and linen samples across the table at me.
