Dan settles in with a cigar, using a cigar cutter to nip off the end and then lighting it. The room begins to smell spicy with a hint of vanilla, and I don't mind it. Cigar smoke has a richer quality than cigarettes, which I can't stand, and I enjoy the sweet, smoky atmosphere it creates.
I'm doing my best to avoid looking in Sebastian's direction, a sick feeling forming in the pit of my stomach as I realize I'll have to spend the whole evening pretending we are nothing to each other.
The other men have settled into chairs we’ve arranged around the room, scattered with small tables for their food and drink. Tate turns down the music so I can introduce my staff and myself and give them a brief reminder of what the evening will include—and what it will not.
When I give my standard disclaimer about no sex, no touching, no propositioning the dancers, a surly looking man with a goatee and small dark eyes actually “boos” me.
"We didn't come here to look. We came here for some action. That's what these parties are supposed to be about."
"What's your name, sir?" I ask. Tate is walking over to my side to create an impression of "don't fuck with us," I'm sure. I don't mind. He is the bouncer if things get too wild, which has only happened once.
"Henry," he says. And by his slurred words and clouded eyes, I can tell he's already been drinking. Great. Don't you just love a drunken man in a room full of still-sober people? Yeah, me neither.
"Henry," I keep a smile on my face and my voice conversational and light, "we made it clear to Dan when he chose us that we don't provide that particular service. If you're looking for companionship, there are other places on the Strip that will accommodate."
He frowns, his face sullen, but he doesn't argue, and I'm glad he's not making more of a scene. I give a look to my brother, and he nods. We'll both be keeping an eye on the guy.
Tate turns the music back up and puts on a set for our dancers.
Jasmine comes out first, her body covered in ribbons of fabric that I know will come off one by one as the song progresses.
We've created a pseudo stage for them, complete with a removable pole. We hired these two dancers in particular because of their remarkable skill on the pole. It never ceases to wow our clients.
Jasmine moves around the room, seducing each man with her eyes, with her swaying hips, as she pulls the ribbons off her dress, revealing bits of skin with each discarded cloth.
Most of the men in the room can't turn their eyes from her. Except Chad, who keeps glancing at Vi; Tate, who keeps his eyes sweeping the room; the groom, who's still texting his wife-to-be…
And Sebastian, who hasn't stopped staring at me since he arrived.
I can't avoid his gaze any longer, and so I turn my eyes to him, admiring his chiseled features, the way his body fills his jeans to perfection, the way he looks at me as if he wants to eat me.
My body burns with the same need I always have at the thought or sight of him, but I'm also angry. Angry he's here—and you and I both know it's not an accident—and angry that he won't accept no for an answer. And, if I'm being honest, angry that I don't want him to accept my no. Totally lame, am I right? I suck.
As Jasmine finishes up her dance, Nicole comes in, and the music changes to something more upbeat. She's dressed in an exotic belly-dancing costume, and she begins her strip tease.
By the end, both dancers are in a bra and panties with high heels. The men are nearly salivating. Vi keeps plying them with drink, and I make sure to walk the hors d'oeuvre tray around so they get something in their stomach.
When I lean over to serve the belligerent Henry, he breathes his liquored breath into my face and speaks in a hushed voice. "If they're not available, what about you? You could be a stripper with that body and a model with that face. I'd do you, and I'd pay nicely for it." He holds up a wad of cash and puts it in my hands. I take it, put it into our tip jar, and smile. "Thank you, but the answer is still no."
His face turns mean, but I leave him to serve the others, who also offer tips, without the propositions, and our jar fills with money that will go to Vi and the dancers. Tate and I never take tips collected at the parties. If the groom or bride want to tip us directly afterwards, that's fine.
When the music shifts again, the room turns foggy with white smoke from a smoke machine, and lights come on in different colors under the smoke, giving it a haunted dream-like look. Nicole dances around with ribbons as Jasmine begins a pole dance that is nothing short of athletic in its beauty. At one point she is actually walking on the ceiling, using only her arms to support her on the pole.
I can hear one of the men gasp, and I know they're as impressed as everyone is. The show is sexy, classy and amazing.
When it ends, they both reveal their breasts to clapping and catcalling, and they offer lap dances to those who want to pay more. I remind the men of the rules and look for Tate, knowing he'll keep an eye on things as I step away to call room service for dessert to be sent up.
I'm alone in the bedroom when the door opens. I expect it to be Tate or Vi. I want it to be Sebastian.