Page 11 of Heart Over Heels

“Sounds expensive,” he said.

“It’ll pay for itself,” I assured him. “We’ll do group numbers, wear costumes, maybe throw in a few interactive activities.” I wiggled my brows, but Oz remained wary.

“I thought we were moving away from the…” His bright blue eyes flicked toward Colette in the driver’s seat before he whispered, “Prostitution.”

I snorted. “I said aparty,Ozzy. Think games.”

We could get a giant prize wheel and playSin for a Spin—tip challenges, flirty dares, maybe a little humiliation kink if the crowd leaned that way. Or divide the club into properties, the staff into players, and host a full-blown game ofStripopoly.I relished the thought of charging high rollers through the nose for rent on Luxe Lane.

Oz remained unconvinced, or maybe just confused, as he asked, “Playing games is gonna make us money?”

He was concerned enough to make me doubt myself. I needed him on my side. I needed everyone on my sideeventually. I’d just chosen to build the base of my platform atop Oz’s broad, well-defined shoulders.

Pasting on a dazzling smile, I tried again. “Therightgames will. Imagine how much people would pay to pin a tail on you.”

His forehead scrunched, and his lips pursed. I could practically hear his mental gears grinding.

Finally, he asked, “Shouldn’t it be Zeph? The rest of us already have tails…”

Oh, bless him.

“I’ll workshop it,” I said then clinked my glass against the bottle dangling in his grasp. “Now drink up, buddy. It’s never too early to pregame.”

We arrived at Mammon’s Mile like racers approaching the starting line. Fellow customers flocked the Strip-side entrance, spilling in and out through the glass doors.

Colette had taken off in the limo, claiming she’d return in a few hours. I’d told her not to rush, and Oz and I bounded joyfully into the retail wonderland.

Well,Ibounded joyfully. Oz ambled. Which was fine. He was the best candidate for this job for myriad reasons, only one of which was his ability to schlep large quantities of goods from one shop to the next.

Elliot would have hissed like a feral cat at the idea of being surrounded by strangers for untold hours. Zephyr was fun, but too distractible to keep on task. And the twins… Honestly, it gave me anxiety to think about what they were doing left to their own devices at the club. With Oz at my side and Colette on driver duty, that left no one onsite to keep the dastardly duo in check.

We reallydidneed another security guard. Or a designated babysitter. I would accept either at this point.

Working the map and list in tandem, Oz and I were a dream team. I had bedrooms to outfit, closets to stock, and an entire club to bring up to standard.

For the most part, Oz let me steer. But when we got to a housewares store called “It’s Kitch!” he took point. Since he was our resident chef, I trusted him to fill in the gaps in my culinary knowledge.

He was a thoughtful shopper, practical, focused, and mindful of Club Daddy’s credit line. It was sweet. Still, I nudged him into splurging on a high-end stand mixer and a six-slot toaster. We had a lot of mouths to feed, after all.

The one item we couldn’t source was a toaster oven. Despite having the difference explained to me several times, I still wasn’t sure why we needed a toasteranda toaster oven. But I didn’t press. It was enough of a mind fuck to have Oz explainanything, so I ended up just nodding along.

Then it was time for wardrobe.

Since I ordered the bulk of our costumes online, in-store shopping was reserved for basics. Las Vegas was a relatively progressive city, but even here, stores that catered to the specific needs of a troupe of male strippers—especially male strippers who dressed like I did—were few and far between.

But the makeup shop was my haven.

Makeup was universal. Genderless. Timeless. It didn’t care who you were when you walked in, only who you wanted to be when you walked out. There was power in that. Choice. Control.

I lost myself in the rows and aisles, fingertips swiping over silky powders, and sample bottles popping open with quiet little clicks. Soon, my handbasket overflowed with glosses, eyeliners, highlighters, and blush.

By the time I reached the checkout, I was high on pigment and perfume, and my heart beat steady and soothed.

That mood carried me into lunch, where Oz downed sushi by the roll. I mostly picked at mine, puzzling over what exactly went into imitation crab meat until it was time to continue our quest.

Besides the essentials, I grabbed a few extra goodies for my boys back home.

Zephyr was easy. He’d recently discovered a fondness for lollipops, so I hit the candy store and loaded a bag with two of every flavor, already anticipating him sampling each with that delighted little wrinkle in his nose.