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6
Cole
Mystery dinner party. The things you can do when you have money and a certain bent to your personality as well as the ability to satisfy it.
One of the rooms Annie never saw, having stayed only twenty days, was the formal dining room. Or the most formal dining room. The compound actually consists of five different houses set into a pentagon shape, with underground tunnels leading from one to the other, as well as paths between the foliage. In the Southern Nevada desert, that's a lot of sage and cactus and we're high enough for there to be some pines. The development is new, built on the coattails of a national park because money means more to some people than beauty and they don't understand that once a place is built up, the beauty they advertised isn't there anymore. Just people.
And they call me a philanthropist.
The dinner parties happened once or twice a month. In the beautiful mirrored room with white marble floors and chandeliers dripping with crystals, I'd entertain anywhere from five to twenty beautiful women, carefully … sourced, is a good word. There were gentlemen all over the world finding these beauties for me.
It was like my own version of The Bachelor. The women came for dinner, dressed exquisitely and each believing she was the only one, only to find there was competition every bit as beautiful and glittering.
Dinner was pleasant, with delicious and healthy food as befits bodies as toned and graceful as those at the table. It was served by men who could have been Chippendales dancers, wearing black tuxedo pants and nothing else, and sometimes mid dinner I ordered not even that. The reaction of the women was informative. There were those who wouldn't look, those who couldn't look away, those who flushed with pleasure or shame or embarrassment, or because they were becoming hotter and wetter and slicker and more anxious.
It was my pleasure to turn those women away.
My pleasure to find one or two or half a dozen who reacted with lust, their eyes glazed, their breathing fast, their décolletage beaded with sweat or flushed rosy, and send them on their way at the end of the night.
The girl, or girls, invited to stay were given not a rose, but an implement.
In the beginning I'd set them against each other, with cash prizes or jewelry but while that was entertaining, nothing was better than doing it myself.
Mystery Dinner Party.
There were two girls left at the table. The other three for the night had been led away. Josh and Curt had seen them home, innocent rides in town cars that ended with nothing more than a thank you and a parting gift of a very small diamond on a chain. Anything else would encourage repeat visits or lawsuits or blackmail.
I didn't have time for such bullshit.
Angela and Bailey. An ash blond and a brunette. They wore nearly matching ice blue and ice lavender dresses with plunging necklines. That didn't seem planned, just the luck of the draw, and maybe part of the reason I'd chosen them.
"Tell me what you think of the current situation with the presidential administration," I said, addressing Angela. She looked startled for an instant, her pale glossed lips an O of surprise I wanted to take advantage of. But then she closed her mouth, ordered her thoughts, and came back with a considered, reasonable account of what she thought.
I enjoy intelligent people. I enjoy good conversation and debate. When I pressed her, she defended her views, paraphrasing resources and more or less showing her work.
In my line of work, I dealt with intelligent people all day. Pharmaceuticals are literally life and death, whether because they're meant to prolong life and stave off death, or because they're being created from an unknown number of factors or at least unproven.
But the men and women I work with are not friends. My circle of friends is fairly small. My brother, who also works for the company. My best friend, who lives in London. We got together about once a month, but he's busy and so am I. My parents, living the good life in Florida and traveling because their son built a billion dollar business.
And the women. It's harder to meet someone when you're a billionaire than one would think.
Bailey joined the conversation so normally, it didn't feel any longer like a contest. Maybe she didn't realize that it was. When we ran down on the current terrible administration – it's always terrible to somebody, after all, but where we were now was far, far worse – I turned to Bailey and asked her what she thought the chances were of humans ever colonizing Mars.
It was out of the blue, that was certain. She blinked at the question, then considered for a moment, taking a long quaff of her cocktail before she answered.
"Unfortunately possible," she said, making Angelia laugh and me smile. "Mankind should stay here, stop reproducing, stop fucking up the planet – excuse me, I shouldn't swear at the dinner table."
"No, you certainly fucking should not," I said, and they both giggled, a little drunk or at least buzzed.
Good. That would help out later.
"But I think as for colonizing Mars, if mankind can change from users and destroyers and start looking at building things up and at letting them alone when they don't need to be fu – messed with. The possibilities are endless!"
They weren't, because she did end, and only about three minutes later when she saw me becoming restless. Angela had asked her questions along the way, a little aggressively, maybe, as if she'd figured out this was a contest, but the questions sparked interesting answers that all of us focused on and contributed too, so I allowed it.
Two beautiful women, two intelligent responses to random questions. I couldn't choose. I wanted them both.
I wanted them both and when Josh and Curt came back into the room I gave them instructions and they led the women away, strong masculine hands wrapped maybe too hard around slim biceps.
They'd be taken to separate rooms. They'd be tied up and gagged. They'd be left to wait for my pleasure.
I'd have the pleasure of making them wait.
And then I'd just have my pleasure.
