"NEXT," booms the behemoth gate troll. "INVITATION."
The athlete reaches into his tuxedo pocket and produces an invitation on thick ivory card stock, the letters gilt and swirly.
This Jean-Paul guy must fancy himself a king. But if people like the couple we just talked to have to get an invitation, then he may very well be exactly that, for all intents and purposes.
The gate troll examines the invitation. Stares hard down at the ultra-mega super power couple.
"ENTER."
She turns and gives me a finger wiggle wave. "See you in there! I'll introduce you to my friends. You'll be drowning in commissions by the end of the night, I promise!"
And then she's sweeping through the doors, which boom closed behind them.
Leaving us face-to-face with the gate troll.
Have you ever met someone in real life who's seven feet tall? It's wild. Like, yeah, intellectually, you know, "Seven feet… that's a tall man." But in real life? You don't know. It's mind-boggling. Even Saxon, who is by no means short, barely comes to his shoulders.
His head is shaved, the hint of stubble black—his eyebrows are thick and need a good plucking. Not that I'm gonna mention it. His suit can't contain his muscles, which should probably have their own area code.
"INVITATION." His voice rattles my bones.
Saxon, with elegant, fuck-you insouciance, slides his hand from his pocket and flicks the coin at the gate troll.
Who catches it, eyes widening. He stares down at Saxon, at me. At the coin. "No shit?" His voice stops being so bone-rattling.
"No shit." Saxon accepts it back and pockets it.
"Have a great evening, sir," the troll says, sounding a little rattled. "Mr. DuPlessis will want to make your acquaintance." It sounds an awful lot like an order couched as a suggestion.
"Oh, I'm sure we'll cross paths," Saxon says, sounding bored. He gestures at the door. "May we? I need a drink."
"Of course, sir." The troll elbows aside the half-size lackey who has been tasked with opening and closing the giant doors, so he can open them himself. "Sir, madam."
Once we're through and the doors are closed behind us, I collapse against Saxon for a moment. "He was kissing your ass, Saxon." I can't help a laugh…a somewhat delirious one. "Sir, madam. Never been called madam."
Saxon grins. "Told you. That coin, especially in this place, makes me damn near a god. That dude has probably never even seen one."
"How'd you earn it?"
His expression darkens. "A story for another time. When I’ve had a bottle of whiskey, first."
"Oh. Well. Never mind then."
He brightens and grins down at me. "So. That happened."
"Huh?"
"You-know-who? The dress?"
I widen my eyes. "Right? Like, holy shit." I glance up at him. "Should we not say her name?"
"No. No names, here. Even if the person you meet has been your idol your whole life, you don't say their name, and you don't make a scene."
"Do these people even know what kind of a person it is hosting this party?” I ask.
He shakes his head. "Not likely. They know there are a lot of rumors out there about him, but they won't pay any attention. Nor will they care. A good party is a good party, and these parties are world-famous. Besides, it's not like he does business here, especially not during a party." He eyes me. "And…don't call his character into question. Please. Be respectful."
I nod. "Of course. I won't embarrass you, I promise."
