Somehow, I still have a job at Penthouse, but I didn’t get off easy. Tina reprimanded me for striking Josh and removed me from the weekend schedule. She also reminded me to let the bouncers handle problematic patrons. Yes, Josh was in the wrong, but I’m an employee, so it falls on me to behave professionally with guests. At first, I was devastated and cried on the way home from our meeting, but now, I watch the clock tick as I prepare to be Enzo's significantly younger girlfriend.

A YouTube for styling curly updos plays on my tablet. So, I follow along and gather my tendrils with a hair tie and pin a few ringlets. 

“Mara.” Lydia taps on the door and steps into my room, holding a sizeable pink gift bag. “This was dropped off.” 

“What is it?”

“You tell me.” She hops onto my bed.

“Ok…” I take the bag, push aside the tissue paper, and remove a dress. 

It’s a rich shade like cocoa dust on top of Tiramisu and soft like a flower petal, so it has to be expensive silk. But that’s not all. A fur shoulder wrap thingamajig sits at the bottom. I pull it out.

“Holy shit!” Lydia jumps off the bed and rubs the material between her fingers. “I think it’s mink.”

“I hope not!” I check the label and breathe a sigh of relief. “It’s faux.”

“Well, someone paid top dollar because it looks and feels real.” Lydia narrows her eyes at me. “Mara… where are you going, and with whom?”

“Mind your business.” I snatch the faux fur and shove it back into the bag, along with the dress.

“How about no.” She plops onto the bed. “I am thirty, divorced with two kids, and live with our parents. Spill the beans so I can live vicariously through you.” 

“Alright, fine! I met a guy at Penthouse. He’s nice.”

“Nice? You have to give me more than that! What does he look like? But more importantly, what does he do because, judging by these gifts, the boy is rich.” 

“Man,” I correct.

“Oh, please. A twenty-something-year-old is not a man. Trust me.”

“He’s not twenty-something.” I turn away and pin another curl. 

“How old is he?” 

But I ignore her and move on to do my makeup. She places her hands on her hips.

“Mara! How old?” 

“Fifty…” 

“Did you say fifty?” 

“Yeah.” I shrug nonchalantly.

“Fifty, Mara? FIFTY.” 

“Keep your damn voice down!” I hiss. 

“Oh, no.” Lydia begins pacing and wagging her finger. “Only old perverts like Leonardo DiCaprio date twenty-four-year-olds. What the hell are you thinking? Actually, I take that back. What the hell is he thinking? Wait, no. I take that back, too. I know what he’s thinking, and he clearly wants sex and is buying you off with gifts.” 

“He’s not like that.” 

“How do you know? You met him at Penthouse. Why is a fifty-year-old man at a nightclub?” 

“I don’t know. Closing business deals?”

“What kind of business?” She arches a brow.

“I don’t know. I didn’t interview him.”

“What could you possibly find attractive about this old man?”

“He’s nice and handsome.” I shrug. “And it’s just a date.”

“I don’t like this.”

“Noted.”

“Does Lucas know?”

“Hell no.” I whip around. “And don’t you dare tell mom. I mean it, Lydia.” 

“I don’t like this, Mara.”

“You don’t have to. It’s just a date.”

“Fine.” She pulls out her phone. “But I’m tracking your damn GSP in case he turns out to be a serial killer! Have you seen the news lately?”

“Yes, unfortunately, I have.”

Another body was found—this time at a park, and with the same markings my father described.

∆∆∆

An hour later, a driver picks me up, and I shuffle out of the house before my parents can ask questions about my fancy outfit. The black town car weaves through the city, the destination unknown until we pull in front of House of Prime Rib on Van Ness Avenue. I’ve driven past this restaurant hundreds of times and have seen it on food networks, but I’ve never dined here. I snap a photo and send it to my friends in a group chat. Anika is the first to respond, asking why she wasn’t invited. Laughing, I type out that I’m meeting a date, then put my phone on silent.

It will eat the girls alive that I’m not answering their millions of questions.

And I love it.

Enzo walks out of the restaurant, adjusting the cufflinks on his tailored suit. My stomach does a little flip. For an older guy, he has a young, suave style with his hair quaffed in a way that gradually becomes fuller towards the front of his head and is shorter on the sides. His suit is tailored to perfection, too, so I know he has strong shoulders under there, and his tie matches the color of my dress.

I see what’s going on here. 

We’re going to be that couple who coordinates their outfits.

He opens my door and holds out his elbow, smiling. “Mara.” 

“Enzo.” I hook my arm through his, and we walk to the entrance. 

“You’re stunning. I hope you like the dress.”

“I do. A lot.” I smooth down the soft silk, which clings to me in flattering ways.

“Good. I figured since I invited you last minute, you wouldn’t have time to shop, but for the next event, let me know what you want, and my assistant Susie can get it for you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I absolutely do. Instead of being out with your friends, you’re here on a Friday night, doing me a favor.”

“Really, it’s OK. You’re already paying me.”

“Mara.” He pauses in front of the door and turns to me, taking both of my hands in his. “Don’t be afraid to accept what I offer.”

“What?” I furrow my brows. 

“People are too polite. We object when someone shows kindness, apologize when we don’t need to, and make ourselves smaller to make others feel bigger. Don’t be that person.”

“Are you lightweight calling me a pushover?”

“I’m heavyweight telling you to take advantage of our arrangement and not apologize.” He rubs my knuckles with his thumbs, and my hands are so much smaller than his. It’s oddly comforting. “You are a resilient young woman with the world in your hand. Yet, you don’t realize it.” 

He reaches for the door and ushers me inside, where piano music and the susurrous of conversations greet us. The place looks like we entered an English pub with whiskey-stained wood paneling, oil paintings on walls, and logs snapping in the fireplaces of each dining area we pass. We walk by tables with servers describing cuts of Prime Rib to their patrons while others explain the specials for the night. My stomach grumbles in hunger, and I’ll undoubtedly stain my dress when I stuff my face like a pig. 

A private room in the back awaits, and men stand around puffing on cigars while their dates sit on the opposite side chatting. The women look expensive with their botoxed faces, and glinting diamond jewelry.

“First things first.” Enzo turns to me. “What you hear tonight must go in one ear and out of the other.” He gestures for an older woman with grey hair styled into a French twist. “This is my assistant, Susie.”

“Please read this carefully.” She hands me an iPad with a DocuSign. “This is an NDA, which I will keep on file.”

“So formal. Do I really need to sign this?” I look at Enzo.

“Yes. If it makes you feel better, I’d have my mother sign one, too, if she were here, and I trust that woman with dirty secrets.”

“Dirty secrets?” I arch a brow. “I’m shocked, Mr. Esposito. I thought you were an angel.”

“Sometimes.” He winks.

Taking the pen from Susie, I scroll through the document. It explains the legal action that can be taken if it were discovered I shared privileged information, and I should probably have a lawyer look at this. I think. But I can't afford one. Yet. So, I scribble my signature at the bottom of the page. 

“Now, where were we?” Enzo steers me toward the men across the room with his palm on my lower back. 

It’s incredible how he’s barely touching me, yet the sensation radiates outward like ripples in water and spreads across my limbs with a shiver. 

“Cold?” he says. “Let’s get you something warm to drink.”

But before I can tell him I’m fine, he grabs our waiter's attention and rattles off a caramel latté. 

How did he know I love those? 

“Gentlemen.” We approach the others, and they exchange handshakes before he presents me as his date. “This is Mara Santiago. Mara, meet my uncle Sammy Costello, his business partner Carmine Caruso, and…”

Why do the names Costello and Carmine sound so familiar? I accidentally space out as Enzo introduces the rest of the men until one asks what I do for a living. It’s not a question I’m used to. People my age don’t come right out and ask such a thing when we’re at parties. Then, again, this isn’t a party. It’s a business meeting. 

“Mara is a ballerina,” Enzo answers, his expression beaming with pride as he smiles at me.

But I can’t tell if it’s genuine or part of the show we’re supposed to put on for his colleagues. 

“Is that so?” one of them says, his brows raised like he’s impressed. “My wife and I saw the Nutcracker in December. It was a beautiful production.”

“Ah, yes.” Another nods. “We donate annually to the San Francisco Ballet Company.”

My heart begins racing. Does he know about the budget cuts?

“Where do you dance, Mara?” Sammy asks.

“Actually, I used to dance at the San Francisco Ballet Company.”

“Where are you now?” he asks.

Enzo rests his hand on my lower back. “She was laid off due to budget cuts. So you might want to consider opening your wallet a lot wider, Dominic.” 

Everyone laughs, and they poke fun at Dominic, calling him a cheapskate. His cheeks turn crimson. 

“My apologies, Mara. I had no idea.” He turns to the others. “But maybe these loudmouths should donate, too.”

“Hey, just tell me where to send the check,” Carmine laughs and pretends to pull out his billfold.

Meanwhile, Dominic says, “Better yet, I’ll call Ira Collins about getting your job back.”

My stomach clenches at that thought. Ira Collins is part owner of the company. Could Dominic really get my job back with one phone call? 

“Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.” Enzo wags his finger.

“Is that a challenge?”

“Perhaps.” Enzo winks.

“Well, alright. You’ve got me cornered.” Dominic holds up his hands in surrender and whispers to me. “I’ll see what I can do.”

All the hope in the world fills my lungs, and I grab Enzo’s elbow not to faint. He turns to me and begins rubbing my arms.

“You don’t want to listen to us old men talk business. How about you sit with the ladies over there? I promise they don’t bite.”

“Alright. It was good talking with you, gentlemen.”

“Likewise,” Sammy says.

“It was good meeting you.” Carmine nods.

Walking away, I head for the group of women. However, they’re not as inviting with their sideways glances before returning to their conversations as I sit down. Perhaps they didn’t hear me introduce myself? 

“And he’s taking me to the Maldives for our twentieth,” one says, admiring the giant rock on her ring finger.

“I’m so jealous, Jeannie!” Another with duck lips says. “Dominic isn’t romantic like that.” She adjusts her balloon-sized boobs in her spaghetti strap dress. “His idea of sweeping me off my feet is more Botox,” she laughs. “But I’ll take it.”

“That’s a beautiful ring,” I say to Jeannie.

“Carmine gave me an upgrade for our anniversary.” She finally looks at me, sweeping aside her dark hair framed by silver streaks. “It’s nice to see Enzo bring a date, but you should know that he hasn’t been in a serious relationship since he divorced Evelyn five years ago.”

Duck lips snorts. “None of them have gotten past the fling stage.”

“I… beg your pardon?” 

Jeannie smiles like I’m pathetically innocent. “What we’re saying is, don’t get your hopes up. Especially considering how…” She rolls her gaze over me. “Young you are.”

 “How old are you, honey?” Duck lips asks.

“Twenty-four.”

They all glance at each other, biting back a laugh, and I grip the armrests of my chair. 

They think I’m a joke. 

Now I want to rip off this dress and chuck it at Enzo’s stupidly handsome face.