LITMIR.BIZ

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before rolling onto his back. Opening his eyes slowly, he stared up at the mirror mounted above the bed. Fuzzy memories of last night came back to him. He was in his playroom. The one room in his home where his bed partners were welcome. It was conveniently stationed just off the foyer, the first room closest to the front door.

      For Elliot Richards, privacy was his most treasured possession. His home was next in line. He hated the idea of bringing women home; this was his haven, his utopia away from the loud and busy life he led on the mainland. It annoyed him that he was reduced to bringing his conquests here. But there were few choices available to him.

      Miami was a small city, gossip ran rampant, and he was easily recognizable. Hotels were simply not an option. Elliot was not a vain person who relished the attention of others. He was quite the opposite. He shied away from publicity, often refusing to be interviewed by the press. However, as the owner of a string of successful South Beach businesses, he was often photographed sharing a drink with celebrities. The paparazzi had unknowingly made him into the one thing he worked hard to avoid: famous.

      The redhead sleeping to his right rolled into his side, nuzzling his chest with her nose. The movement caused the blonde lying on his left to toss her arm across his naked hips. Bored, and somewhat uncomfortable, Elliot nudged her limp body away from him and slid out of bed. He looked around for his pants, but after a few quick glances, he gave up the endeavor.

      The redhead awoke. “Where are you going?” she asked.

      He answered her with a question of his own. “Did you drive here?”

      She shook her head; her auburn locks curtained her eyes. “You drove us. Where are you going?”

      By this time, the blonde had come to life, yawning deeply before giving him a sexy grin. “Come back to bed, baby.”

      Spying his phone on the floor, Elliot scooped it up and punched a number stored in his auto dial.

      “Security,” a gruff voice answered.

      “This is Elliot Richards. Call a cab, please.” He hung up the phone and winked at the women. “Ladies, I have a busy day. You should go.” Stepping over miscellaneous sex toys used the previous night, he pulled open the door. Before leaving, he turned back. “Please don’t be here when I get back.”

      He closed the door closed behind him.

      When he stepped into the hall, he ran into Romero Latez, his personal assistant. The twenty-something Pennsylvania State University graduate had been employed by Elliot for over a year, and he was the best assistant Elliot had ever had. He was discreet and well-groomed. Romero held himself with the arrogant air of someone who was a decade older and had seen everything. He showed no obvious surprise over Elliot’s nakedness. It wasn’t the first time, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last.

      He handed Elliot a chilled bottle of water. “Are you ready for your messages?”

      Elliot took a modest sip before shaking his head. “Not just yet.” Nodding his head toward the door that led to the playroom, he said, “Get them out of here before Lucinda sees them.”

      Romero nodded and Elliot turned away. He crossed the living areas, passed the kitchen, and headed toward the west wing, where the master suite was located. He pushed open the door, closing it immediately behind him.

      This was the one room in the house where no one other than himself was allowed. It was the single place where he could truly be left to his private thoughts. Oftentimes, the scant half hour he used getting dressed for the day was the only time when he was by himself. He relished these moments. And he guarded them passionately.

      Elliot rarely had time to be alone. He was often surrounded by people. There was always someone waiting for him, needing an answer to a series of questions, or just plain wanting his insight. This was partly his fault. He’d purposely mapped his life so that every moment of the day was strategically planned. He liked to make the most of every minute. He had to. There were simply too many people who worked for him to keep track of it all without relying on a rhythm to the madness. Yes, it was often madness. And yes, there was a definite rhythm to it.

      Tossing his phone on the bed, he headed into the bathroom. Once showered and clean-shaven, he entered his expansive closet. After surveying the array of neatly hung expensive suits, he selected a pair of black slacks, matching jacket and a dark dress shirt. He triggered his phone to play his messages on speaker, so he could listen while he dressed. There were only a handful of people who knew his mobile number. And Elliot was particular about returning calls in a timely manner.

      Message 1: “Elliot, it’s Nick Sinclair. I’ll be in Miami soon. I thought you ought to know. I’ll call you later with details. Tell Lucinda I said hello.”

      Message 2: “This is Nico. Three words: Matrix. Party. Tonight.”

      Message 3: “Hi Elliot. This is Daria. I’ll be in Miami on the twenty first for a photo shoot. I’ll be there for the entire weekend. [giggle] I’d love to see you again. Call me.”

      Message 4: “Hey, Elliot. It’s Eddie. Don’t forget we have the financial meeting at three this afternoon. I think you’ll find the marketing budget interesting.”

      Elliot considered the messages, making note of the order in which he would return each call. He’d grinned when he’d listened to Nico’s cryptic message. Nico could always be counted on for a good laugh. The mention of Matrix throwing another one of his parties was good reason to call Nico back first.

      Afterward, Elliot planned to call Nick Sinclair, another longtime friend. The two spoke often on the phone, but due to the fact they lived on opposite coasts, they rarely saw each other. He wondered what would bring Nick to Miami this time of the year. Regardless, it would be nice to see his old friend again. Elliot made a mental note to call his comrade as soon as possible. As for Eddie, there was no need to return his call. Elliot would see Eddie within the hour.

      Daria was another issue. Her trips to Miami seemed to be coming more frequently. He would have to talk to her about this. If she was forming expectations about their arrangement, he would have to set the record straight.

      Now dressed, Elliot shot a fleeting glance toward his bed as he left the room. Equipped with the news Nico had delivered, it was doubtful he’d be sleeping in his own bed tonight.

      Romero was waiting for him in the foyer. Elliot was pleased to hear the house was silent; hence, the women were gone. Romero tossed him his car keys. Wordlessly, Elliot stepped onto the sprawling patio which wrapped around the front of his home. Elliot hit the key fob dangling from his keychain, and the headlights of a shiny black Porsche lit up. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he turned the ignition, pausing only long enough for Romero to sling into the passenger seat. Throwing the car into first gear, pebbles kicked up as Elliot sped off Star Island.

      A short time later, they pulled in front of a four-story building. On its broad side, a large sign read Club Babylon in sleek silver letters. On a typical night, the street would be lined with cars, and the sidewalks crowded with eager partygoers. But it was daylight, many hours before the club opened for business. Parking steps from he front entrance, Elliot tossed his car keys to Romero and strolled into the inside like he owned the place; which he did.

      * * *

      With Romero close on his heels, Elliot crossed the now empty dance floors, and jogged up the steps which led to his office. It was a large airy room, with stylish low-slung furniture and many shiny surfaces. It was positioned in a corner of the building. The architecture enabled it to jut out at an angle so that it was suspended over the main dance floor. With three of the walls made of glass, it allowed Elliot an unfiltered view of the club. Presently, the room glowed a dreamy orange hue, a reflection from the stage mood lights; and a clear indication the technicians were testing the lights before showtime.

      There was a cluster of men waiting for Elliot when he arrived. He nodded to each before taking a seat behind his desk. He punched a series of numbers on his speaker phone, and instantly two investors were conferenced into

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