One thing Venus hated more than chit-chat was pretending that she didn't.

"I love these events, don't you?" asked her boss before he took another sip of his sparkling wine in the corner of the grand hall as they watched the latecomers arrive.

The curator plastered on her biggest smile. "Absolutely! It's always the highlight of my quarter," she lied because replying with anything less than an affirmation would have been professional suicide.

Fundraising was critical for any non-profit and almost especially so for an organization like hers that was heavily reliant on the whims of the federal government. But the frequency and intensity that everyone in the museum at an Assistant Director level and above have been required to spend their uncompensated after-hours time schilling for donations didn't sit right with her.

The Director didn't seem to notice. "Mine, too!" he gushed, nodding to a couple who'd just entered in remote acknowledgement. "It was one of the reasons I accepted the museum directorship position."

It certainly wasn't because of your qualifications, thought Venus, recalling how Vinesh Kumar had struggled through the interview process, but then had surprisingly won the covered role anyway.

Only when a few months later he'd accidentally let it slip that his brother was a top-ranked cultural minister in the British government did Venus put the pieces into place. Because even the art world wasn't immune to the evergreen mantra that it's not what you know, but who you know. And during a time when national institutions under similarly conservative governments were fighting the same types of battles for funding and freedom of speech, who could be a better ally than a literal family member?

Venus silently groaned and continued to nurse her untouched drink. Maybe the alcohol would have made getting through the event more enjoyable, but she couldn't risk lowering her inhibitions and jeopardizing her reputation for a stupid misstep.

"Oh, will you look at that?" Kumar whispered in a shocked tone.

"Sir?" Venus asked, not understanding his point.

The Director gently thrust his chin toward a group of four across the room.

"There. I hadn't even seen him come in. Frankly, I didn't even think he'd accept the invitation since we've been trying to get him to come for over a year now," he said.

Following his line of sight, it wasn't hard for Venus to guess who her boss had meant. Because among the huddle having a grand old time laughing about something, there was only one person she didn't recognize.

The two graying women in their dripping of pearls and diamonds were easy. They were typical East coast, generational wealth, never worked a day in their lives, philanthropists.

The thirty-something year old dressed like a college kid was a new money, tech bro who pretended to shun propriety and manners, but wanted nothing more than to be accepted into high society.

And then there was Mr. Mysterious, the object of Mr. Kumar's astonishment.

Towering over not only his immediate companions, but likely everyone else in the room, he wore an impeccably tailored dark suit that probably cost more than her G-12 level monthly salary. He looked more muscular than thin, and his features were more rugged than handsome. And yet Venus was immediately enchanted.

"Have you two met? This would be a perfect time –"

"Oh, no! That's not necessary," she objected in horror, fearing that her first impressions would be written all over her face. And God forbid that she come off like a lustful schoolgirl rather than an expert in collections management.

But her boss was already pulling her along. "Nonsense. Come. He's a billionaire venture capitalist with lots of connections. Let's tell him about the new exhibit you're working on."

Venus' face flushed, and only her dark complexion and the dim lighting saved her from even further embarrassment. But left without a choice, she soon found herself at the edge of the group that a few moments earlier she'd been eying from across the room.

"Pardon the interruption, but could I borrow you for a minute?" asked Kumar in the first lull of conversation, tapping the tall stranger on the arm. When the man had turned away from the others, the museum director continued, "I don't think you've had to meet one of my most talented curators. Kristo Hinrikus, this is Venus Coleman. Venus, this is Kristo."

A bit flustered by the sudden and informal introduction, Venus held out her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hinrikus," she said, trying to hide her surprise that up close, notwithstanding the short hairstyle, the man looked like someone straight out of that Vikings TV-show.

Maintaining a similarly cool demeanor, he studied her face for an extra beat before shaking her hand. The grip was strong, but not too firm. "Likewise, Mrs. Coleman," he said in a strong Nordic accent, placing a questioning emphasis on the assumed title.

Even though she was in her fifth decade of life, Venus couldn't help, but giggle. She didn't spend six years in a post-graduate program to allow herself to fall victim to the patriarchy like this.

Drawing her hand away, she pointed to her bare ring finger. "Oh, no. There's no missus here. It's Dr. Coleman, actually," she corrected before seeing her boss' shocked face and realizing that she might have come across as rude instead of lighthearted.

But Kristo also laughed. "My apologies. Perhaps I can just call you Venus. She was the goddess of love and beauty, was she not? There certainly is no mistaking that truth where you are concerned."

It was Venus' turn to be shocked and she took a large sip of her bubbly to gain an extra moment to gather her thoughts for an appropriate response. But the drink went down the wrong way and she nearly choked.

"Are you all right, Dr. Coleman?" asked Kumar, patting her on the back like she was a five year-old as she sputtered.

Venus shook her head. "Yes, yes. Thank you. I'm fine," she finally managed to say as her coughing subsided. "Forgive me, Mr. Hinrikus–"

"Kristo," please, he cut her off before pointing to two empty seats at a nearby cocktail table. "Come, let's sit."

The invitation was a clear sign for Kumar to skedaddle and he smartly took the cue. "We'll catch up later, Mr. Hinrikus," he said, slinking away with a wave.

"I'm truly sorry if I may have offended you," Venus began as they sat down at the small table. Covered with a white cloth and small, but elaborate centerpiece of exotic flowers and twinkling candles, it gave off an air of sophistication and luxury that hopefully made rich people want to open up their pocketbooks.

"Please," Kristo said, waving off her concern. "It may not be true for America, but in my homeland, we respect smart women and I admire your candor."

Venus exhaled a deep breath at the confirmation that she hadn't screwed up irreversably. Her pride also enjoyed the compliment, but instead of dwelling on it, she took another opening.

"Your homeland," she repeated. "Based on the accent and the etymology of your name, I'm guessing you are Estonian?"

He beamed. "And you would be correct. Brava. Most people start with either Finnish or even Russian," Kristo said.

"Well, I'm not most people," Venus replied with a smile, feeling her previous unease melt away because despite his extraordinary presence, this man was extremely easy to talk to.

Leaning forward, Kristo placed his freshly shaven chin on his upturned palm. "Then who are you, Dr. Venus Coleman?"

Her heartrate accelerate at the inquiry and she bit her lower lip like a nervous schoolgirl.

C'mon, V. Get yourself together, Venus internally scolded herself. This was a professional event and this was just a casual conversation between a museum professional and a potential donor. But then why was she suddenly so flustered at a simple question?

"I'm . . . I'm a curator for this museum," she finally managed to sputter even though she'd answered this exact query this a million times before.

Kristo's eyes twinkled in the candlelight as he continued to intently gaze at her. "Ah, then you can tell me about this next project. It is about sex, no?"

Venus had already spent weeks planning the new exhibit and she had no qualms about the risqué topic, and yet, hearing those words come out of this man's mouth made her want to slink under the fancy tablecloth and disappear.

"Yes and no," she said, trying to keep a straight face. "It's a complex topic revolving around history, culture, philosophy and even politics."

He raised his brow. "Do you think I would enjoy this exhibit?"

"I would hope so, but then again, I know nothing about you," she said, hoping that he'd accept the invitation.

The opening worked. Somewhat.

"There is not much to tell that isn't public knowledge already," Kristo said, finally leaning back in the chair. "The Internet makes all of our lives common fodder for gossip."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but if it's any consolation, I know nothing about what has or hasn't been printed about you."

Grabbing a champagne flute off the tray of a passing waiter, Kristo nodded. "That is a relief then," he said before taking a sip. "So tell me, Venus. If I am but a stranger, what is it that you want from me?"

She vehemently shook her head. "Oh, nothing. Please don't think that we're having this conversation because I have any type of underlying agenda. I know that these events are supposed to raise funds–"

She didn't get a chance to finish.

"That is too bad," Kristo once again cut her off. "I was hoping that there is something that I could do for you."

The statement–in both content and delivery–had an undeniable double meaning and Venus' face flushed again. She was so bad at all of this.

"We're fortunate to have full, federal funding for the upcoming show," she said, pointing to a nearby poster for the KINK exhibit. It featured a black-and-white image of a bound pair of wrists and the name of the photographer, B.D. Tran, at the bottom. "But perhaps you could support a future project?"

"It's this one that intrigues me," Kristo said before downing the rest of his drink. Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, he looked at the screen before continuing. "Perhaps you can tell me more about it over dinner. Who knows? Maybe you'll think of something you'd like from me by then."

It was a purely professional request, Venus tried to tell herself. It had to be. Because then she couldn't turn it down. And more importantly, then she couldn't make any more of it. Even if she had read something into those words than what they could have really meant. 

As the elevator ascended from the lobby to the ninth floor, he had roughly forty-five seconds to turn from Chad Wight, conservative Congressman, to Ready2Mingle, closeted, middle-aged suburbanite looking for an anonymous hook-up.

Shedding his tie and removing the Congressional pin from his lapel, Chad stuck both in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He would have preferred to have changed clothes completely, but he'd come straight from the Capitol and it was nearly impossible for someone of his status to have the opportunity to ever completely go off the map. He was fortunate enough that his work obligations often included dinners or other late-night events, so at least his absence from home at this hour was rarely missed. Otherwise, he was just another DC-suit out for a good time.

The elevator dinged and came to an abrupt stop before the doors slowly slid open. Stepping out, Chad looked down the hallway in both directions and confirmed it was empty before proceeding to the designated door.

MaskedBendit, his date for the night, had taken care of the reservations and messaged him the room number an hour earlier. The notification had come so late that Chad had almost thought that they had scrapped the whole idea, but ever since then, that was all he could think about. As he stood outside room 923, he wondered what the guy on the other side of the door looked like, what he smelled like, what he felt like.

Just the thought of it nearly got him off.

Chad had lied, of course. This wasn't his first time doing something like this.

It wasn't an everyday thing, either, but he wasn't as bumbling as he often pretended to be online. That was just an ice-breaker to get his target's attention. And more often than not, it worked.

Men who liked to believe that they were so smooth in the art of Internet seduction were usually the easiest to play with his "I'm new at this" game. But that usually made their nights together even more fun as he quickly showed them that he wasn't so innocent, after all.

Still, he was taking a huge risk, and if his identity was compromised, his whole life would crumble. After slipping on a Zorro mask that would now stay on as long until he left the room, Chad knocked on the door.

The electronic lock whirred to life and the door opened.

"Well hello there," said the younger man on the other side of the threshold. Standing in just a pair of tight boxer briefs, he was very tan, very fit, and judging by the huge bulge in his underwear, very glad to see him.

Chad pushed past him as he shed his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair across from the bed. "Sorry for being a bit late. Mind if I use the facilities to freshen up?" he asked, pointing to the open bathroom door and not even waiting for an answer before going in.

"Sure thing," said his date, staying outside while Chad took the fastest shower of his life. "Would you like a drink? The mini-fridge is well stocked. My treat."

"If you see a beer in there, I wouldn't mind," he yelled back as he turned off the faucet and wrapped himself in a fluffy towel.

Looking into the mirror, he wiped the steam off with one hand and stared at his reflection. Son of a bitch, he was getting old. His hair grayer, his eyes more hooded, and his mid-section more paunchy than he'd ever recalled seeing them. It shouldn't have been a surprise. He was pushing sixty after all, and the constant wining and dining he got as a top lawmaker made it easy to let himself go.

Hearing a rustling outside the door, Chad was reminded of why he was in this unfamiliar hotel bathroom to begin with.

Right. He took a deep breath and turned around. He wasn't going to be able to continue to do this forever, so he might as well take advantage of it while he still could.

"Ready, handsome?" he asked, exiting the bathroom with the false impression of self-confidence that he could turn on like the tap.

The hot-ass hunk strewn almost buck naked across the bed grinned. "You know it."

Dropping his towel, Chad knelt by the bed and waved his hand. "Scooch down a bit, will you?"

"Scooch? That's kind of old school. I dig it," said his companion as he moved closer.

Chad's heartbeat accelerated. "You do, do you? What else do you dig?"

"I don't know. What do you got?"

Reaching for the waistband of the other guy's briefs, he gently tugged. "Well, what I really want is to suck you off. Is that okay with you?" he asked breathily, already imagining having the big, hard dick that was pressing against the thin fabric in his mouth.

"You can do whatever you want, daddy," came the teasing reply, but the address gave him pause.

Oh, shit.

"Wait. You're legal, right?" Chad asked, "I mean, I'm all for a good time, but there's just some things–"

The guy threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, you're so precious. Thank you for the compliment, but I assure you that I am definitely older than I look."

"That's not quite the affirmation I was looking for–"

The guy pushed himself up. "Listen, man. You said anonymous so I can't really show you my ID, now can I?"

"No, no. Of course not," Chad said, feeling his arousal diminishing until he thought of something. "Hey, have you ever taken aspirin?"

"I don't do drugs if that's what you're getting at."

"No, for a headache or something. Just answer. I swear it'll make sense."

His date didn't look convinced. "Sure, I've popped a Tylenol or two."

"Okay, but have you ever taken aspirin? Like the generic, plain old original," he said, losing his patience with the kid.

"Maybe? You're acting like you're on drugs so you better get to the point."

Chad sighed. "Fine. It was just a stupid test, but I guess you passed. There's just this thing where kids under eighteen aren't allowed to take aspirin because it could be toxic to them. So if you've taken it, it means you're probably old enough."

The guy shrugged and then smiled. "Works for me, but can you blow me now?"

ONC rolling word count: 11,134