Page 32 of The Money Shot
We were giggling like schoolgirls, our laughter bouncing off the walls of my tiny apartment, but I couldn’t help it. This was the highlight of my week—just us, our wine, and gossip as rich as my flan recipe.
Moira poured us each another glass, shaking her head as she raised hers in another toast. “To Anthony, the hot fool.”
“To Anthony,” I echoed, “and all the other gorgeous morons out there who make life interesting. Oh, and speaking ofinteresting,” I leaned closer, lowering my voice. “Have I told you about my ‘psychic’ ability?”
She burst out laughing, nearly spilling her wine again. “Nessa, you’re not psychic. You’re just nosy.”
“Oh, please. You doubt me?” I asked, feigning offense. “Jack and Liam have this tension between them. I can smell chemistry from a mile away, sweetie. It’s my superpower. They think they’re just friends, but I swear something else is going on between those two.”
Moira snorted, passing my phone back. “If you say so, Miss Martinez. But seriously, you’ve got a goldmine here.” She nodded toward my phone. “You’re like the curator of the hottest museum in New York. All the pieces, every detail, are perfect. But damn, why does that guy have to be gay?”
I grinned, holding up my glass. “Eh, I love the gay boys. And the best part? These pics are just for me.”
“To hell with that,” Moira stood and lurched over to the dining room table where she’d left her purse. A moment later, she returned with her phone. “It’s for me too, now. I just followed him!”
“Oh, wait a minute,” I gasped. “Moira, I just remembered. There’s this guy on Instagram who looks exactly like Liam. I swear, like his long-lost twin or something.”
Moira cocked an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “No way. Show me.”
“Hold your horses,” I muttered, scrolling through my account, tapping and swiping like a woman on a mission. “I saw him when I was, uh, researching new tenants for the ‘Hot Tenants’ account, and I nearly fell off my chair. He’s got Liam’s curls, those smoldering eyes… ugh, where is he?” I kept talking while I searched, knowing I’d never hear the end of it from Moira if I didn’t find him.
“Ah! Bingo!” I announced, jabbing at the screen triumphantly and holding it out. “Here he is. Lucien Steel, right there. Tell me he isn’t a dead ringer for Liam.”
Moira squinted at the screen, pulling it close to her face until it was practically grazing her nose. She’d never admit she needed reading glasses, but we both knew she did.
“Nessa,” she drawled, her voice full of mischief, “that is definitely the same guy. I mean, if he denies it, there must be an excellent reason.” She tilted her head, studying the screen like she was examining a Picasso. “Look! Here in his bio, there’s a link to FantasyFans!”
Something sparked in my chest, the thrill of a fresh scandal brewing right in front of us. “FantasyFans?” I repeated, my eyes narrowing as I snatched the phone back from her, practically drooling. “Ohhh, Lucien Steel,” I murmured as I took in his photos. The first one? Him in a perfectly tailored navy-blue suit, looking like he was about to step off a yacht and straight into my life. The next? He was wearing practically nothing at all—just a pair of briefs so sheer they might as well have been a suggestion.
Moira let out an inaudible murmur, leaning in over my shoulder. “Ooh, I’d love to see what he looks like with nothing on.”
“Oh, wouldn’t we all?” I grinned, unable to look away from Lucien Steel’s profile. My thumb hovered over the FantasyFans link, feeling the same thrill I did whenever I found a case of wine on sale.
I clicked the link, holding my breath like I was diving underwater, and we both leaned in closer as the FantasyFans page loaded. But no sooner had his profile come up than I was hit with that cursed message: “Subscribe for $15 to see all content.” My shoulders sank, and I made a face, pouting like a kid who’d just dropped their ice cream cone.
“Can you believe this?” I held the phone up so Moira could see the dreadful paywall. “Fifteen bucks! It’s highway robbery.”
Moira smirked, giving me a playful nudge. “Oh, go on, Nessa. It’s only fifteen bucks for the month. Don’t you want to see what this guy’s really up to?”
“Oh, believe me, I do,” I said, narrowing my eyes at Lucien’s profile picture. Just the thought of seeing more of that gorgeous specimen was tempting me something fierce.
“Ah, screw it,” I muttered, and without another thought, tapped the Subscribe button. Fifteen bucks? Small price to pay for something I’d been dreaming of ever since I first saw that boy’s cheekbones. A moment later, the paywall vanished, and all of Lucien’s content filled my screen. Instantly, my heart rate doubled.
“Oh my god,” Moira whispered, her voice breathless, her eyes huge as she took in the first image. “He’s… he’s perfect. He could be on the cover of magazines.”
We both just stared, barely blinking, as photo after photo of Lucien sprawled out before us. Muscles, abs, those legs… and let’s just say there was nothing left to the imagination. He knew exactly what he was working with, and let me tell you, he wasn’t shy about showing it off.
“I can’t handle this,” I murmured, fanning myself. “Moira, this might be a good time for you to leave so I can have a little… ‘alone time,’ if you know what I mean.”
She snorted, nudging me in the ribs. “Not a chance. You’re sharing him with me, Nessa. I don’t care what I have to threaten you with.”
“Oh, fine,” I sighed, still glued to the screen. I scrolled down to one of the videos, my thumb hesitating right over the little play button. “Should we?”
Moira gasped, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, we absolutely should.”
With one last look at her, both of us barely breathing—I hit play. The video started, and there he was, standing in front of a bed, all dressed up in that navy blue suit, every inch of him pure, delicious arrogance. He looked right at the camera, smirking as his hands went to his tie, pulling it loose with smooth, practiced ease. He slid it off and tossed it aside, then started slowly unbuttoning his shirt, the kind of tease that makes a girl forget her own name.
Both of us fell silent, eyes wide as we watched him strip down, bit by bit. The shirt came off, revealing a chest that had no business looking that good. And then the pants—oh, lord, the pants. I could practically feel my pulse in my ears as he worked them down, leaving him in those briefs I’d seen before. It was getting hard to breathe.