Teach Me To Sin- Jace and Clara

CLARA'S POV

The spacious hall vibrates with music as I trail the hotel manager and security team in their neat suits. It's past one in the morning, but when my job demands it, I leave my bed and dress for work. This time, I have to rescue my boss from himself.

The manager swipes his keycard over the lock. "After you, Ms. Bellamy."

The second I push the door open, my head pounds in time with the deafening music. I'm shocked my eardrums didn't burst. It's dark inside, but I can see women, some barely dressed, others completely naked, moving everywhere.

If they believe they can get anything long term from Jace, one of Miami's biggest movie stars and wildest men, they ought to give up now. Jace doesn't do relationships. He has the H&D the Humped and Dumped. Yeah. Some reporter who thinks he's far cleverer than he is came up with that term for the groupies Jace supposedly sleeps with.

I inhale. The suite reeks of alcohol, sweat, and perfume. And marijuana. "Dear God, or whatever being watching over me, don't let it be Jace smoking pot," I whisper under my breath. And no hard substances. Jace has no past with drugs, but you never know. After all, this is Miami...and he has too much money and too much free time lately. And he's hunting for an excuse any excuse to avoid traveling tomorrow.

I hit the light switch, making several people suddenly cover their eyes, and look for the source of the music. I can't even hear myself think in this racket. Finally, I locate the plug and yank it out. The music stops, thank goodness, even as complaints and swears come my way.

"Turn that back on, you witch!" one of the women shouts.

"Be quiet before I summon the police on everyone," I state in my firm voice. I face the hotel manager and his security crew. "Can you remove the women from here? I'll handle Jace."

The security team, all men, glance at the crowded mass of barely dressed female bodies and agree. At least someone will enjoy themselves tonight.

The suite is a disaster. The floor is covered with leftovers of gold crackers, empty bottles of all kinds of alcohol, and something dark and gooey probably caviar. The four vases stand empty, their petals scattered everywhere. One of the bare bottomed women has a lily wedged in her rear.

There are a couple of motionless and naked women on the grand piano in the corner with vacant stares, and several others sprawled across the living area. They look sad in the light, hair messy, and makeup smudged. Nearly all of them fit a pattern, young, tall, slim with oversized breasts, courtesy of implants. Their hair likely isn't real either. I notice a few dark roots.

Breathing softly through my mouth, I stride with purpose into the bedroom. More women on the bed. One offers me a cigarette with a foolish smile. I tilt