Chapter 3

Kaitlin

Never in my wildest dream did I ever think I would one day be dressed up in see-through lingerie, serving drinks to people I've never met. When Bianca said that we would be wearing just lingerie to this party, I thought she was joking but it turns out she was dead serious.

I almost backed out, but for fear of not being able to raise the money for Andrew's transplant, I went. This is the quickest way I know, aside from robbery. The chances of me pulling off a successful robbery and not ending up like Papa and James are zero.

"Smile; I can see through your mask that you're frowning," Bianca whispers beside me as we both walk to pick up fresh trays of drinks for the guests.

I plaster on a fake smile as I readjust my Cleopatra mask, which only covers my eyes and nose. All the girls are wearing a mask, each representing a goddess, and I chose Cleopatra. I'm grateful we're allowed to wear masks; at least I don't have to fear running into anyone I know.

It's the birthday party of a big businessman I've never heard of. All the guests here hold the same social status as him or even more. At first, I expected the guests to be only men, but I'm surprised to see that women are also present.

Just like Joel had assured me, the guests have been cordial, and none have tried to touch me without seeking consent. Phones aren't allowed in here, not even from the guests. Everyone's phones were checked in at the reception.

"They're making out!" I almost scream, my eyes moving to the end of the room as I see one of the girls sitting on a man's lap, kissing him with his hands roaming her body, her tray of drinks long forgotten on his table.

"She must have consented to it," Bianca says with nonchalance.

"So…but everyone is here, and they seem like they're about to have sex…"

"Try not to pay them any heed," Bianca cuts in. "I see a guest requesting a drink," she says before walking away with her tray, sashaying her ass.

I stand immobile for a minute, staring at the couple making out. I seem to be the only one noticing, as everyone in the room acts unbothered.

Some girls are on the platform, seductively moving their bodies to the soft music that's coming from the speakers. "Hey, that man upstairs needs a refill," one of the girls says as she walks up to me. I follow her gesture and see a tall man standing by the railing upstairs. His face is obscured by the dim lighting, making it hard to discern his features.

"Could you take a bottle of champagne to him? He requested that you serve him," she says.

"Me? Why..." I turn and see she's already walking away. I hesitate for a moment wondering why the man had asked that I bring him a drink.

Remember, our customers aren't to be kept waiting. Joel's words replay in my head, making me let out a resigned sigh. I set my tray of drinks back on the table and pick up a bucket of ice containing a bottle of champagne and a flute.

As the man sees me coming upstairs, he enters one of the rooms. I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly through my lips, wondering if I should go in or not.

Even though I've already been assured that none of these people will touch me without my consent, I'm still a little skeptical about being in a room alone with any of them. I take a deep breath and release it in one long, controlled exhale before opening the door and walking in.

Just like the rest of the house, the room is dimly lit. But I can make out his face as I step deeper into the room. The room smells of expensive cologne, the kind that makes you want to hug the person wearing it so you can have a better sniff.

The man is sitting on a couch, his arm stretched out behind him on the headrest. With thick black hair neatly combed to the back and olive skin that glints under the dim light, he exudes a ruggedly masculine charm as he sweeps a clinical, detached gaze over my body.

The way he looks at me makes my body tingle with warmth, and for a split second, I'm held spellbound, staring at him. But I quickly regain composure when he looks away. "Here's your drink, sir," I manage to say without stuttering. He points at the coffee table in front of him. Does he not speak?

I place the bucket and glass on the coffee table. I open the champagne, the popping sound breaking the silence in the room. The room must be soundproofed because I can't hear any sound from downstairs.

I try to keep my hands steady as I pour the bubbly drink into the glass. I feel his eyes on me, and when I look up, I'm faced with the greenest eyes ever. They're so piercing; it seems he's trying to see into my soul. I swallow hard and quickly look away.

"Would you need anything else, sir?"

He's silent for a moment, just staring at me, making me wonder if he didn't hear me. "Sit," he finally says, pointing at the single couch next to him. His voice is rich and smooth, like whiskey; it makes every nerve in my body tingle with pleasure.

It takes me a moment to register his request. Why would he want me to stay? And why isn't he downstairs with the rest of the guests? "I'm sorry, I can't stay. I have to serve other guests," I try my best to sound polite.

"I'm sure your absence won't be noticed," he says, his voice relaxed yet authoritative.

"I…"

"Your job here is to serve the guests, no?"

"Yes, sir," I respond with a nod.

"I'm a guest, and your service is needed here. Sit, I'll need you to refill my glass when I'm done," he says with a note of finality.

Knowing I could get in trouble if he reports me to Joel, I decide to do as he said. I've never felt so exposed as I do right now, sitting in nothing but a thong and a bra that barely covers my nipples. My full breasts out in the open make me want to reach for a blanket on the queen-sized bed to cover myself with.

I try to focus my attention in the room, but nothing seems to be helping; focusing on the bed makes me think of sex. That's weird. I haven't thought about sex in a long while.

My eyes drift to the man's large hands as they hold the champagne glass, the other on his thigh, and I find myself wishing they were on my body, exploring every inch. The thought causes my heart to race. I shift uncomfortably, trying to shake off the feeling.

He takes a slow sip of his champagne, his eyes never leaving mine. The intensity of his gaze makes my heart race. I need to say something, anything to break the tension.

"Enjoying the party?" I manage to ask; my voice is slightly shaky.

He smirks, setting the glass down. "It just got a lot more interesting," he says, his voice smooth and deep. "What's your name?"

"Cleopatra," I reply, pointing to my mask with a nervous laugh.

He chuckles softly. "A fitting name for a goddess," he says, his eyes glinting with amusement.

My eyes move from his hand, scan the rest of his body, and stop on his broad shoulders. I've never seen a man fill out a suit so well. I quickly look away when I realize I'm ogling him. What is wrong with me?

"A refill," he says, placing his empty glass on the table.

I stand to refill his glass, conscious of my breasts that are almost spilling out as I bend. When I finish pouring his drink, I see him looking at my breasts, and he isn't even trying to hide it.

As I try walking back to my couch, he stops me with a hand on my arm. It should feel repulsive, but his touch is anything but. Instead, I find myself yearning for him to touch me even more. As if reading my mind, he gets on his feet and starts walking around the coffee table to close the distance between us.

He begins tracing his fingers along my arm. "Tell me if you want me to stop," he says, his eyes searching mine. "I'm not supposed to touch you without your consent. Do I go on?" he drops his hand, waiting for my response.

"Yes," I surprise myself by saying, and against my better judgment, I go on to say, "Don't stop," I whisper, my heart pounding.

"Good," he murmurs as he brings his hand to my chest, slowly tracing along my cleavage; I feel the rumble of his words against my skin. What is wrong with me?