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If I leave now, I can shower, change, and arrange to take my private jet to the club. Maybe convince Gianni to have a quick scotch before the Angels and Sinners event begins. He’s the only person I trust with decisions that live in the gray. Him and his head of security, Anthony.

I grab my jacket and head for the door. If I’m going to drown this thought for a few hours, it might as well be somewhere loud, decadent, and full of distractions. Tomorrow, I’ll decide how deep I’m willing to go.

Lies. More lies I tell myself, hoping I’m delusional enough to think I still have a choice in this. Because I already know. I decided to cross this line the second that woman said teenage girls.

The Devil’s Playground shouldn’t be relaxing. The place is fraught with temptation at every turn. But, for me, it’s never been a place for endless one-offs with beautiful women or debauchery as it is for many of my peers. This swanky club is merely a safe space to hang with my friends. Where there’s total anonymity and security at every turn.

The place is buzzing with energy. Gianni holds a large, exuberant party whenever he introduces new women into the mix. And tonight has already proven to be one for the record books, with a bevy of women roaming the floors, dressed to impress.

I was able to meet G for a drink on the second floor before joining the rest of the guys in our usual VIP section. I’m actually amazed he was able to get away with all of the moving parts required for a party of this size. But then again, he has this place managed like a well-oiled machine.

As we descend the winding staircase to the main floor, I manage to catch Ben Banks and his new wife at the entrance to the VIP section.

“If it isn’t the lovely Mrs. Banks,” Gianni greets.

Her eyes sparkle in response. I’m not sure if it’s at Gianni’s use of her new title, Mrs. Banks, or if it’s him. Hell, I may be as straight as a ruler, but this man is hot enough to need a public safety warning. He’s dressed in one of his favorite bespoke three-piece black Armani suits, his smile bright, and eyes twinkling with unbridled flirtation. The man just can’t help himself.

Ben gives my shoulder a firm slap before extending his hand to shake. “Looking good, Mr. Wilde.”

I run my palms down the lapels of my suit. “Thank you. Not too shabby yourself.” Tonight I chose a crisp white shirt and black tie, which I paired with my dark gray Tom Ford dinner suit. I even traded my glasses for contacts for the night. It’s far from my usual attire of casual business wear. Hell, most days, I blend in with the crowd instead of looking like the billionaire cybersecurity CEO I am.

“Had to dig this old thing out of the back of the closet.” Ben snorts.

It’s customary to dress up for these events. Hell, it’s how G’s Billionaire Boys Club finally came together. As each new uber rich member joined, Gianni personally extended an invitation to contact him with any concerns. It was during these private meetings he formed a friendship with each of us, eventually obtaining permission to introduce one to another.

Privacy is paramount in this setting.

For everyone.

But particularly for men of this degree of wealth. They spend enough time in the press. They don’t need their personal lives shared with the world.

Yet, not all members are here for depravity. The exclusivity and security of the club are as appealing as the variety of entertainment inside the building. Gianni shared recently that there had been an increased number of women applying to become members. “They want to enjoy the same atmosphere as their male counterparts, both to meet like-minded individuals as well as to have the chance to experience new things in a safe environment,” he’d said. And many of the men bring their girlfriends and wives.

As if on cue, Dr. Weston arrives with his stunning wife. And trust me, that man only has eyes for her. “Gentlemen,” he greets. “You all know Poppy.”

We all nod, and she returns a dazzling smile. This blue-eyed blonde has this billionaire surgeon wrapped around her little finger. From what I recall, he was all about the job until she arrived on the scene. Not sure what type of magic she possesses, but I’m staying far far away from any of that kind of voodoo.

“Your drinks, sir.” A pretty young server deposits two flutes of champagne on the table before Ben and Grace, all the while her eyes are trained on her boss. I believe her name is Lala, if I remember correctly.

“Gentlemen, what would the rest of you like from the bar? Lala, could you help my friends with their first drink of the evening?” Gianni asks.

Oh, I was right.

Lala beams. But this isn’t merely the look of a devoted assistant. I worry this girl has stars in her eyes. And I’m not certain G has any intention of dating seriously, much less someone who works alongside him in his club.

Bzzz. Bzzz.

I pull my phone from my pocket and look at the screen. “Excuse me for a moment. Frank’s here.” I head toward the front entrance to collect my friend. While Ben and Broadie bring their wives to enjoy the evening, my plus one is a loud spray tanned guy from Jersey who spent most of his teens and early twenties at the shore.

Frank is already leaning against the front doors when I arrive, suit jacket open, thin black tie hanging loosely around his neck. Not only is he loud and overly tan, but his cologne enters the room before he does. He’s a walking stereotype. “Bro,” he says, pulling me into a one-armed hug. “Tell me this party tonight lives up to the hype.”

I eye the open collar, the gold chain, all of the product he’s applied to that black, unruly hair of his, and the sunglasses he absolutely does not need indoors. “Just try to keep it classy tonight.”

He pauses, then looks down at himself like he’s assessing a crime scene. “Classy? In a place called The Devil’s Playground?”

I lower my voice. “I’m serious. These are my friends. And this building is filled with very important people. You never know when you might cross paths in business. So I need you to behave with a little decorum.”

Frank frowns. “What? You think I’m gonna embarrass you?”