My elation at being needed by Harper is quickly deflated as I look back at the server's retreating form. She’s never asked for me during a meeting before, and I worked hard to put together all the details of this bachelorette event on short notice. My mind is working in overdrive, trying to find something I may have overlooked or done wrong. Maybe she wants to tell me what a great job I did, or simply wants Ms. Harlin to know who I am in case anything comes up on the night of.
I straighten my spine, running my hands over my pressed shirt before grabbing my tablet and work phone. Harper finally turns towards me, and it’s like being doused in ice water. She doesn’t look like she’s going to congratulate a job well done, and she certainly isn’t smiling.
Tessa raises a hand to rest against my forearm. “Good luck,” she says in a breathy whisper, clearly seeing the tension in Harper’s stare.
As I weave between couples pressed close together and businessmen sprawled across their chairs, drinks being refilled one after the other, I begin to contemplate all the choices I made for this event. What if Ms. Harlin hated something we put together? Or wants to completely scrap the event because of a mistake I made? I couldn’t care less if the over-perfumed celebrity thinks I’m incompetent.
I come to a standstill at the center of the floor, where I look into the eyes of the only woman whose opinion does matter to me. Whom I seek approval from, like a man seeks water in a desert.
My smile beams as she remains neutral, her gaze languidly shifting from the stage to my face. Careful to keep her face wiped clean of expression as she taps her nails against her glass. She used to do the same thing at the gym against her water bottle when she had something to say but didn’t want to admit her interest.
“Colton, let me introduce you to Cassandra Harlin. Ms. Harlin, this is Colton West,mynew assistant,” Harper waves between us in introduction. I can’t make out whether the edge in the way she called me her assistant was real or a figment of my imagination.
“Ms. Harlin, very pleased to meet you. Big fan of your work.” I’m not, but that’s okay. She doesn’t really care if I’m a fan or not. She’s too busy roaming her gaze over my body, and she isn’t being discreet in her admiration, a contrast to the image she has so carefully crafted for herself over the years. Chaste and pure, gaining her attention from the media, either to applaud or to insult. All press is good press, as they say.
“Please, call me Cassie,” she holds a delicate hand out for me in that awkward way you see in period movies, fingerspointed down with a slight curve to her palm. Am I supposed to kiss the massive engagement ring and bow? Not fucking likely. I take her hand and give a small shake, watching her lips curve into a smile as she release a single puff of laughter.
“As you know, Ms. Harlin is having a private bachelorette party here in a week’s time, and each guest will have their own personal attendants for the evening, specially picked from our dancers. Ms. Harlin has requested you as her personal attendant for the evening. I informed her that you are not part of the staff that provides those services. But she is nothing if notpersistentin her desires,” Harper says, eyes still trained on my face.
It's not lost on me that she isn’t actually asking, but simply relaying the request.
Cassie laughs coyly, lifting a hand in mock dismissal. “She told me you wouldn’t be the best fit, but when I asked if it was against the rules, she said it’s never been a request before. I do love being original,” she says. Resting one elbow on the table, she props her chin on her palm as she makes her case. “It is a bachelorette party after all, and I am the bride,” she pleads, as if it would be anti-marriage to deny any request she makes.
I look back over to Harper, waiting for her instruction. Her nails are no longer tapping against the crystal glass. Instead, they are white-knuckled around the base.
“As I said, Colton has only worked here for two months, and he is not a dancer. I must insist that someone trained in the position would be better suited tosatisfy. Don’t you agree, Colton?” Harper looks to me in question. Her glare is a clear warning. She doesn’t want me to take this offer. She has laid out the perfect refusal for me. All I need to do is agree with her.
“May I take some time to consider your request, Ms. Harlin?” I turn to Harper, hoping she understands my words may be spoken to Ms. Harlin, but they are for her. Always for her. “As Ms. Mathers said, I am not a dancer; however, I believeshe would also agree that I am more than capable tosatisfy.” Harper’s grip on the glass tightens, threatening to shatter under her anger.
Ms. Harlin claps her hands together once, as if the decision has been made, though I’m not sure that she even listened. She’s already turned away from us to look back at the main stage, prattling on about specific décor and table setup for the event that she just thought of.
“If that’s all, Ms. Mathers.” We are still staring at each other, her gaze searing into mine. Eyes burning with barely concealed rage.
Good.
I’ve heard you're ruthless.
Now let me see it.
You don’t want to share me?
Good.
Make meyours.
She was no longer pretendingto listen to her music, the earbuds sitting snugly in their case. She still took them out and placed them on the treadmill frame, but she hadn’t put them in her ears since she admitted she wasn’t really listening to anything other than me anyway.
She was asking questions and laughing along with me. Occasionally, she would tell me a story, usually about her and Sadie, or about when she was first setting up the club. But overall, it was still mostly me talking. And I was fine with that. Her walls were high, but I could feel them crumbling with each smile earned and each eye roll at my expense.
One morning I had even brought in boxing gloves, and when the time came for her to walk to the back area and wrap her wrists, she nodded for me to follow her. She silentlywrapped her wrists while I did mine, and when the time came to throw around her aggression, she had simply moved to the side during her breaks, letting me work into her routine.
She made room for me.
And from Harper, this felt like the equivalent of asking me to move in.
All of that was before Cassie Harlin. Before I was propositioned to dance for another woman, and before I let the request simmer, neither accepting nor refusing. Now, when I walk into the gym to start my workout, Harper is already walking on the treadmill at a fast pace and steep incline.
Uh oh.
