by EM BROWN
Despite my concerns, I find myself also wondering what Tony Lee would be like in bed. The year after graduating high school, I almost did it with a boy I was dating. I might have gone all the way, but he ended up ejaculating just from rubbing himself against me.
“Beginner’s luck,” scoffs Sierra from the doorway.
I sit up. “I’m not sure I can go through with this.”
She narrows her eyes. “Are you stupid or something? You’re going to pass up the opportunity to have sex with Tony Lee? I’d do him for free, but your redneck ass is going to get paid a buttload of money to do him.”
“Just because I’m from North Carolina doesn’t mean I’m a redneck.”
“Whatever. I got nothing for losing my virginity.”
“I think he knows I work at The Montclair. I still get paid for the hours I worked this week, even if I’m fired, right?”
Sierra rolls her eyes. “Why would he buy you if he wants to fire you?”
“I don’t know. It’s just the look he had on his face. I’m sure he’s not happy that one of the hotel employees is...doing this.”
She shrugs. “Well, maybe you’re right.”
“Have you...have you done this sort of gig before?”
“Only a few times. But it actually pays better than the modeling jobs I’ve gotten. And if Drumm gets elected president? How many women can say they’ve slept with the son of the frickin’ president of the United States?”
“I signed an NDA that said I can’t say anything about this. No who, what, where, when and why.”
“Yeah, yeah. I signed that, too. Dan says it’s to protect us as much as them.”
“In what way?”
“I don’t know. I don’t really care as long as I get paid.”
“And there’s never a problem with getting paid?”
“You have to give Dan his cut, but other than that, it’s easy money.”
I want to ask her about her other experiences but don’t want to exasperate her. I do have one pressing question, though.
“Are we supposed to provide the condoms or them?”
She does a double take. “You’re not on birth control?”
“I tried birth control pills when I had really bad cramps as a teenager, but the pills gave me headaches.”
“Sucks to be you. Guess you better hope Tony carries some.”
She leaves me to stew in my quandary. Her bedroom is next to mine. I hear the sound of her cellphone camera and remember her showing Tracy modeling photos she took of herself for her Instagram account.
What am I going to do? What would Lila advise?
Not to get myself in such a mess in the first place.
Money isn’t everything.
If you’re going to jump, jump with two feet, otherwise you land crooked.
I realize I have one foot in, one foot out. Part of me wants to go through with it. Part of me wants to run the hell away. Maybe I need to keep my eyes on the prize. Twenty thousand dollars. Andre’s basketball. Less stress for Lila. My future. Money may not be everything, but it is a means to some pretty important things.
And if I’m going to lose my virginity, why not get paid a buttload of money for it? I could hear the envy when Sierra spoke. Maybe I should consider myself lucky and be grateful for this opportunity. I could do far worse for my first sexual partner. Tony’s good-looking. He’s nice. Sort of.
Somehow I manage to drift asleep. When I wake, I realize I’m hugging one of the throw pillows, and I’m hungry. I never did get lunch. I look into Sierra’s room and find that she’s also napping. I go in search of the kitchen, hoping I don’t come across anyone. If anyone works in this house and wonders who I am, I’m not sure what to tell them. Luckily, the house seems empty.
I couldn’t even dream of living in a place like this. The living room ceiling is at least thirty feet high, the modern furniture is immaculate, and the hardwood floors gleam as if they were just installed yesterday. The kitchen is just as impressive. And huge.
Finding a fruit bowl, I help myself to an apple. Surely whoever can afford this place won’t mind a missing apple.
I finish exploring the rest of the house except for the upstairs. By the time I make it back to my room, I hear sounds of people entering the house. A few minutes later, Joe appears at my door and tells me to dress for dinner. I dig through the duffel bag that he had brought up earlier. What in the world do I wear?
If I want Tony Lee to change his mind about me, I should go with my sweats and my Michael Jordan Tarheels jersey. I had bought it for Andre for his twelfth birthday, but he grew out of it fast.
If I don’t want Tony to change his mind...
I choose a dress I’ve worn to church before because it’s actually the nicest thing I own, and put a sweater over it.
“Do all Southern girls have the same sense of fashion?” Sierra asks from the threshold. She’s wearing a halter mini and thigh-high boots. Lila would never let me be caught dead wearing something like that, but a little bit of me is envious. I wish I had the guts to wear something like what Sierra has on. Not to care who might think it looked slutty.
“Not everyone’s as lucky as you,” I reply with sincerity, slipping on a pair of strappy sandals I bought when my roommates and I went outlet shopping, and then reapplying some makeup. “I don’t have a body that could pull off a dress like yours.”
Mollified, Sierra makes no further comment. We head downstairs and find the men in the dining room having drinks at the bar. Sierra sidles up to Eric as if they’ve been dating for a long time.
She indicates the tequila he’s having. “I’ll take one of those. With a twist of lime.”
Eric makes her drink. “Let me know if you want seconds.”
I look at the shot glass Tony holds. It looks like some kind of whiskey. I could use a drink to calm my nerves. Eric is busy grinning at Sierra, so that leaves Tony to attend to me.
“Are you old enough to drink?” he asks.
“I’m twenty-one, but I’ll start with water,” I say. “Maybe I’ll have a glass of wine with dinner.”
Tony opens a glass bottle and pours a cup of water for me.
“Thanks,” I say. I still can’t tell what he thinks of me. I know he’s taken me in with one look of those dark eyes of his, and I find myself wishing I could look half as hot as Sierra. Or half as hot as him. His hair has less gel this time around, and he has on relaxed slacks and a lightweight sweater that shows off his broad shoulders and pecs.
“What’s your name?” he asks me.
It’s an obligatory question, one a drill sergeant might ask a new recruit.
“Virginia.”
He tries the name. “Virginia. Like the state?”
“Good Southern name, my mom says.”
He doesn’t say anything more. Next to us, Eric has wrapped his arm around Sierra. Tony and I stand at a stiff distance from each other.
I try to make polite conversation. “I’m not from Virginia, though. I’m from North Carolina. Tarheel state.”
He only stares at me. Assessing me.
I try harder. “You ever been there?”
“No. I’ve never traveled to the Southern United States.”
Glad to have a response from him, I continue, “Oh, it’s pretty. I miss the autumn colors especially. The seasons aren’t as distinct in California, though I’m not complaining as the weather is nice here. Do you come here, to California, often?”
“At least two to three times a year.”
Silence follows.
Luckily for me, dinner is served. I don’t know where the server came from. Does she live in the house or just work during the day?
We sit down at a table that seats twelve. Eric sits at the head of the table, Lee is to his right, and Sierra to his left. I decide to sit next to Sierra instead of Lee. The server starts us off with something called an aperitif. The appetizer is something called a tartare served in a glass garnished with capers and lime.
“
This is like being in a fancy restaurant,” says Sierra as she finishes off the aperitif. “Do you eat like this every night?”
“Nah,” Eric replies. “My favorite food is good old American fare, pizza, hot dogs, hamburgers—with good homegrown beef. Not that fancy Kobe beef.”
“I thought pizza is Italian,” Sierra giggles.
“Pizza in Italy is nothing like what we have here. There’s barely any cheese or toppings there. Americans have improved on it. The best things in life are either invented by Americans or improved by us.”
Lee raises a brow. “You drive an Audi.”
Eric bristles.
“And half the wines in your bar are French,” Lee adds.
“We’re catching up to the Frenchies on wine. Napa wines have kicked French ass. Before long, Florida wines will be up there with them. My father owns two wineries, one in Tampa and another in St. Augustine. Your family ever think about going into the wine business? It’s the fashionable thing to do. Everyone’s got to have their own label.”
“We have a joint enterprise with D’Argent in Xinjian.”
“Man, I’d love to sell some of our wines over in China.”
Lee seems amused. “But your father is advocating more tariffs on Chinese imports. That’s not the best way to encourage China to welcome American goods.”
“That’s just to correct the trade imbalance. It’s not fair that we buy more from China than you do from us.”
“What’s capitalism without a free economy? We’re just giving the American consumer what they want. And if you’re able to produce more of what the Chinese want, they’ll happily buy from you.”
“Tariffs can actually backfire and do the opposite of increasing exports to China,” I parrot what my economics instructor, Mr. Parker, once said. “If other countries produce the same thing, China may start to buy from them. Once they get in the habit of doing so, they may not come back.”
Everyone stares at me. From the look on Sierra’s face, I must have bugs crawling out of my head. Eric looks dumbfounded. And Tony Lee...again, I can’t quite tell what he’s thinking. The guy should become a professional poker player.
“What, you go to business school or something?” Eric asks. From the derision in his tone, I gather it’s a rhetorical question.
“We just started the topic of international trade in my economics class,” I reply. I suppose it is absurd for me to offer up anything in the company of men who know a helluva lot more about business and the economy than me.
“That’s quaint.” Eric looks to Tony. “My dad believes in the tough love approach. He’s not going to be a wuss like our opponent.”
“What is this?” Sierra asks as she pokes at the second appetizer, seared scallop on a bed of risotto, which I think is some kind of rice, and drizzled with pesto.
“You never had scallops before?”
She scrunches her face and pushes the plate away. “I’m not a fan of seafood. But I’ll take another shot of tequila.”
I’ve never had scallops before but give it a try.
O.M.G.
I never knew a piece of meat could be so buttery. It’s actually more amazing than lobster to me. Or maybe it’s cause I’ve never had lobster prepared like this. And the rice thing beneath the scallop is so rich and creamy, making the dish otherworldly.
In my gastric euphoria, I must look like a fool because Lee is staring at me.
“It’s really good,” I explain and quickly busy myself with my plate. I wish he’d stop staring at me like that.
The main course is something I’m more familiar with—filet mignon. Not that I’ve had a lot of filet mignon in my life, but my adoptive father, Maurice—or “Mo”—was a pretty mean griller. I’d actually take his ribs, smothered in his homemade rub, over just about anything.
I drink some of the red wine that’s paired with the steak. I’m guessing it’s a really good wine, but I can’t tell the difference and it’s a little too peppery for my taste.
Since the topic of trade had turned a little too political for comfort, the talk turned to safer topics like travel.
“That resort your family developed in Con Dao is pretty sweet,” Eric remarks. He looks startled, then smiles over at Sierra. I suspect she’s playing footsies under the table.
“Different part of the family. My father’s cousin.”
“Would that be the father of Benjamin Lee?”
“Yes.”
“How close are you to the mafia Lees?”
Wine in hand, Tony sits back in his chair. “What are you talking about?”
Eric’s arm subtlety moves up and down, like he’s stroking a pet dog beneath the table. He leans in toward Tony.
“My father’s oppo team did some investigating. Got to make sure we know who we’re dealing with in business.”
“What is an ‘oppo team’?”
“Opposition research. Every campaign, especially presidential campaigns, runs opposition research. We do it in business, too. So you pretty tight with the Chinese mafia?”
“You worry about us? You might want to look at some of your existing business partners.”
There’s something left unsaid, but I’m not sure what it is.
Eric gives a nervous laugh and looks over at Sierra. “You want dessert?”
“Of course,” Sierra purrs.
Like the scallops over risotto, dessert—a flourless chocolate torte topped with some kind of French cream—is to die for. I didn’t think my stomach had room for more food but I manage to eat every last bite. I feel Tony’s gaze again and glance up. Sure enough, he’s observing me. Blatantly.
The champagne served with dessert is more my style, and I drink that up. Hopefully it will ease my nerves because dinner is over, and that means we’re closer to what I came and auditioned for.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“More tequila?” Eric asks Sierra after we’ve gone downstairs to the den.
“Let’s change it up,” Sierra replies. “How about Sex on the Beach?”
Eric grins. “A staple from my days at U Penn.”
He and Sierra head to the bar. I stall at the threshold, not sure where to plant myself.
Tony indicates the sofa. “Sit.”
I’m glad to have a destination.
“What about you, Tony? There’s even some baijiu if you want.”
“I’ll try that Springbank scotch,” Tony replies as he takes a seat on the other side of the sofa from me.
“You want a chaser with that?”
“You have a lime seltzer?”
“Yep.”
To avoid Tony’s gaze, I look out the window at the gorgeous view with the grayish waters of the Pacific rolling toward shore.
“How ’bout you—Virginia, is it?”
“Um...I don’t know...”
Lila and Mo never had alcohol at home. In high school, the kids that drank gravitated towards Bud or Coors.
“I can whip you up a Long Island Iced Tea.”
“Sure...”
“Don’t overdo it,” Tony warns Eric.
“Ahh,” Eric groans. “That takes the fun out of the drink.”
After handing everyone their drinks, Eric plops down on a large leather armchair and pulls Sierra onto his lap.
“You ladies having fun yet?” he asks.
“Omigod, yes,” Sierra replies. “Who wouldn’t be? You’ve got like every drink in existence here and a badass chef. Does he work just for you?”
“He came with the house.”
“This house is fuckin’ amazing. I would kill to live in a place like this. You own a house like this?”
“My family owns several. Even bigger and badder. In Florida, where the beaches are much warmer. Northern California beaches aren’t like real beaches. They’re fucking freezing most of the time.”
She twirls a finger into his hair. “You own houses in Hawaii, too? That would be my beach of choice.”
“Yeah, we’ve got a place on Maui.” Eric nods tow
ard Tony. “How many places does your family own?”
Tony gives a small grin. “Is that some kind of proxy for dick size?”
I can’t help but chuckle and end up coughing on my drink, which is actually quite tasty.
“Drink it slow,” Tony tells me. “You can’t taste it, but there’s a lot of alcohol in a Long Island Iced Tea.”
“I’m telling you, you’ll thank me later,” Eric says as he rubs Sierra’s lower back. “So you really a model?”
Sierra nods and nestles farther against him.
“My last girlfriend was a lingerie model. Super high maintenance. Always on a different diet. Drove me fuckin’ crazy with it. I couldn’t eat a burger without her talking about carbs and shit.”
“I love hamburgers.”
He had a few of his buttons undone on his shirt, and she swirled a finger in the opening where his chest hairs were visible.
“Yeah? What else do you love?”
They seem to have forgotten Tony and I were still there. I take another sip of my drink.
After a long minute, he reaches for the box on the coffee table and offers me a cigar. “Would you like one?”
I shake my head. Although North Carolina is known for its tobacco, I’m not a smoker.
“Mind if I smoke?”
I do, but I’m just a guest. Maybe not even that. I’m a purchase. So I shake my head and watch him light the end of a cigar.
Eric looks up. “If you like cigars, I’ll send you a box of Arturo Fuente. See how you like ’em. They’re Florida-based.”
Sierra slides her hand under his shirt, drawing his attention. I clear my throat. It’s clear she and Eric are going to be getting it on. How in the world do I start with Tony? Should I try to get it over with sooner rather than later? Is he expecting I’ll make the first move?
I study how his middle finger curves under the cigar, and how his forefinger rests over the top of it to keep it in place. He has masculine hands, I decide. But there’s a certain grace to the way he holds the cigar.
Maybe I should try to get to know him a little better? Get him to like me? Then again, he chose me so quickly out of all the women, he can’t not like me, right?