She hurriedly turned away and looked at the pool. It was full of topless women and a few men, who she assumed were Ryan's friends. She counted five guys and sixteen girls. The guys looked so happy; it made Alina wonder if any of them would ever settle down with just one woman. Most of them looked to be in their thirties, and she was sure they'd spent the last ten years fooling around with dozens of women at parties like this. She'd have to be careful to not get involved with a man like that. There was no way she was ever going to share her husband with anybody. She closed her eyes in embarrassment as the woman in the corner reached her climax.
Ryan handed her a drink, a long crystal glass full of real champagne. She took a sip and then another. “That's nice.”
“First time you've ever had real champagne?” he asked.
“I think so. Everyone calls sparkling wine champagne, but it isn't, is it?”
“No. Champagne comes from an area in France of the same name. Most of the stuff people think is champagne is just white wine with a few bubbles.”
A dark girl pulled herself from the pool and came to talk to them. “Hi. I'm Zoey,” she said.
“Alina. Nice to meet you.”
“You too. Ryan told me you were coming.”
“Are you his girlfriend?” Alina asked. She was a very beautiful woman, the type she imagined Ryan liked.
Zoey laughed. “No. We're friends. I organize the girls for his pool parties.”
“Do you mean they are call—”
“Call girls? No.” Zoey forgave Alina's innocence. “College friends of mine. Women who like a good time and love having a few dollars spent on them.”
“Oh.”
“Come on. Come into the water,” Zoey said.
“I don't have any swimming things.” Alina shuffled awkwardly from one foot to the other. She felt uncomfortable. It was more like an orgy than a party.
“You're wearing underwear, aren't you?”
“Of course,” she exclaimed.
“Then bra and panties. On second thought, topless and panties. Come on.” Zoey stepped forward and put her hands on the buttons of Alina's blouse.
“I think she'd rather not,” Ryan said. Zoey looked wounded and dived back into the pool. A minute later she had her legs wrapped around some blond guy. “Don't worry about her. She's a nympho. Guys or gals, she doesn't care.” Somebody turned the music up, and everyone got out of the pool and started to dance. “Are you shocked?” Ryan asked. His smoldering eyes burned into hers, and she suddenly felt very aroused. It was a surreal scene. Here she was, a serious young woman, fully dressed while a group of women shook their naked breasts at a much smaller group of men while dancing to some hit she knew was at least fifteen years old.
“No, I'm not shocked. I just haven't ever been to quite such a...” she wanted to find the right word to prevent offending him. “Lively party.”
“No. I don't suppose you have.”
He reached toward a chair a grabbed the T-shirt sitting there. “Come on. Let's go outside and leave them to it.”
Alina was thankful for the suggestion. They walked back onto the lawn and sat down in a couple of wicker chairs. “I'm glad you're here,” he said.
“Why did you choose me?” She'd been dying to ask. Halfway down a glass of champagne, she dared to ask.
“Because you were the best.”
“I don't believe that.”
“Well, on Monday you will meet Steffi. She'll tell you the same.”
“But there must have been hundreds of applicants from experienced PAs.”
“Yes, there were.”
She looked at the damp hairs on his inner thighs. They all seemed to be screaming at her to touch them. “Then I don't understand.”
“Simple. I decided a while back to help young people whenever possible. You were the most qualified in the under twenty-five category, so you got the job.”
Alina took another sip of her drink, but her glass was empty. She realized she'd drunk the rest of it in one go when she’d been looking at his thighs. “But that's illegal—age discrimination.”
“Who the hell cares? I got what I wanted. That's all that matters.”
From that moment, it was quite clear to her that Ryan Jacobson always got what he wanted. “Well I'm glad you chose me. It's a great opportunity. I won't let you down.”
“I know you won't,” he said confidently. “What kind of a place do you want to live in? You can stay here for a few weeks, or as long as you want for that matter. But I'm sure at some point you'll want some freedom.”
“I don't know what LA has to offer.”
“A lot. I have hundreds of apartments in the city. You can have one of your choosing.” He went to fetch some more champagne.
It was all too good to be true. Her own apartment. “It depends on what I can afford,” she said when he returned.
He ran his hand through his hair and sat back. “What do you mean afford?”
“Well, I'm sure LA is very expensive, and I don't suppose I'll be able to—”
“You don't have to pay for it. Tell you what, tomorrow I'll take you for a ride around and show you a few places. You can take your pick.”
Most girls would have been ecstatic about the opportunity to live in a luxury apartment free of charge, but Alina wondered what his motives were, and she could only come to one conclusion: He wanted to make her reliant on him so she felt obliged to give herself to him. “No, Mr. Jacobson. I don't want a free place. I'd rather pay for my own apartment, even if it's a tiny studio.”