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She’s trussed up in a lace-up bustier that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, paired with a tiny skirt and heels. The girls are fully on display, and it’s barely even noon. But honestly, it suits her personality perfectly. If Candice ever showed up in business casual, I’d assume she’d been replaced by a body double.

I catch a reflection of myself in the glass, my pink hair taunting me. My eyes roll. Who am I to judge anyone else’s appearance?

My eyes land on Brier. She looks like she stepped out of a fashion editorial. She’s wearing designer everything. Perfectly styled hair, stilettos sharp enough to double as weapons, and nails that are polished to the point of intimidation. She’s sitting with one leg crossed over the other, scrolling on her phone like she’s killing time before a Vogue photoshoot.

Is this girl ever off?

And then there’s Fern, perched beside Candice. She’s the epitome of Southern charm. Cute, blonde hair in soft curls, wearing a top that hugs her generous breasts but doesn’t look indecent as with Candice’s. My gaze flicks back over to the man-eater as she adjusts her cleavage, a coy smile on her face that never quite seems to reach her eyes.

Candice is mid-monologue as I push through the doors. “I’m just saying, if a man orders a salad on a first date, that tells me everything I need to know. He’s either on a diet, is trying to insinuate I should be on a diet, or he’s mansexual. There is no fourth option.”

Fern snorts. “Can’t he just be health-conscious?”

“Health-conscious men are a myth,” Candice says solemnly. “Like Bigfoot. Or men who text back in under five minutes.”

Fern nods, hanging on her every word.

Candice continues as if she’s leading a girl power workshop. “My momma told me that some things in life can’t be forced. Like relationships, jobs, and jeans.”

“Sheesh. This girl has the IQ of a fence post,” Lala mutters so quietly I almost miss it.

“If brains were dynamite, she couldn’t blow her nose,” Brier adds.

I bite down on my lip to keep from laughing and instead focus on the room. The staff lounge is basically a velvet couch, a gold coffee table, and a bowl of fruit. The kind no one ever eats. Candice is draped across the couch as if she’s being interviewed for a reality show. “I’m just saying,” she drawls, “if I’m gonna spend my nights serving billionaires, I should at least get a Cartier bracelet out of it.”

Fern, perched beside her, giggles. “Or a condo. I’m flexible.”

Brier examines her nails as if the map to the Holy Grail is etched on them. “You both are amateurs.”

Fern gasps. “Excuse you, Miss Trust Fund.”

Brier looks up slowly. “I’m just being realistic. Most of these men already have wives. Or ex-wives. Or very aggressive attorneys.”

Candice blinks. “So what are you saying? Aim for the single ones?”

Brier’s lips purse as if she’s exhausted at having to share the same breath with these kindergarteners. “Unless you’re okay being the mistress. Not sure how that works out for you long term. Romantically or financially. Especially if you end up pregnant.”

Fern presses a hand to her chest. “Lord, don’t speak that into the universe.”

Lala stands near the counter with her tablet, already exasperated. “Okay, you three, focus. This is exactly why we’re having this meeting.” She looks at all of us, but her gaze lingers on Candice for a beat longer than necessary. “Gianni had to let someone go last week,” she continues. “One of the newer girls. She thought flirting meant sitting in a member’s lap.”

Fern winces. “Bold.”

“Unemployed!” Lala corrects. “This place is fun, yes. But it’s still a job. No numbers, no dates, no accidental meet-ups on the upper levels.”

Candice tilts her head innocently. “What if a member insists?”

Lala’s voice remains steady. “Then you push back harder. Tell them that isn’t how things work here. Or you come get me. Or Anthony. You do not handle it yourself.”

Brier smirks. “No fairy tale happily ever afters, girls.”

“Not on company time,” Lala adds.

Fern sighs dramatically. “You’re killing my dreams here, Lala.”

Candice laughs softly, but something about it feels rehearsed. Like she’s already thought through every loophole. “Okay, so what if you’ve followed the rules, but over time, you’ve built a rapport with a member who asks you out? What do we do then?”

“Candice, you know exactly what you need to do. You come to me or Gianni.” Lala releases a heavy exhale, frustrated at repeating this for the hundredth time. “Just know it’s highly possible you may need to decide between your dating life and your job.”