I climbed down the ladder and grabbed the water, twisting off the cap and chugging it down. The cold stuff felt amazing against the afternoon heat and calmed my nerves a bit. All around us, other companions and staff were rushing to finish everything: setting up centerpieces, polishing silverware, moving chairs around so people could actually talk to each other.
“What’s the deal with these parties, anyway?” I asked, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Everyone keeps talking about them like they’re some big deal.”
Carter and Kaiden exchanged a glance, the look of seasoned veterans about to share wisdom.
“Monthly soirées,” Kaiden said, leaning against one of the tables. “Vincent throws them for the guests, but they’re really networking events. High-powered guys who wouldn’t admit to knowing each other outside these walls can let their guard down here.”
“And for us,” Carter added, arching an eyebrow knowingly, “they’re opportunities.”
“Opportunities?” I echoed, curiosity piqued.
“Tips,” Lance clarified, joining our circle with a stack of folded napkins in his arms. He was newer than Kaiden and Carter but already had a few months on me—tall and lean, with auburn hair and freckles that made him look younger than his twenty-six years. “These parties are the only time when clients can directly tip companions.”
My eyebrows shotup. “Tips? Like... cash?”
“Sometimes,” Lance said, placing the napkins on a nearby table and folding them into elaborate shapes. “But usually it's gifts. Watches, jewelry, designer clothes. I got a Rolex last time from a tech CEO who was feeling generous after I spent the evening keeping his champagne glass full and pretending to laugh at his dad jokes.”
“Didn’t even have to sleep with him,” Carter added with a smirk. “Though, plenty of that happens too, especially later in the night.”
I tried to keep my expression neutral, but my mind raced. Tips. Extra cash beyond my already decent salary that could go straight toward Casey's rehab costs?Hell yes!
If these clients were as wealthy as everyone claimed, and as generous as Lance suggested, a single good night could cover weeks of Casey's therapy. A watch like Lance's Rolex could be sold for enough to pay for months of better care. For the first time since arriving at The Ranch, I felt a surge of genuine enthusiasm for the job; not just resignation about necessary sacrifice but actual motivation.
“What's the strategy?” I asked Lance while the others continued working. “For maximizing tips, I mean.”
Lance glanced around to make sure no supervisors were within earshot. “Find someone who's trying to impress others with their wealth. Make them feel special but not pandered to. And always, always respond with massive gratitude for even small gifts. Makes them want to top themselves next time.”
“The last party got pretty wild,” Kaiden continued, his fingers deftly creating a perfect fan from a linen napkin. “Remember that oil magnate from Houston? The one who thought the fountain made a perfect swimming pool?”
Carter snorted. “Hard to forget. Especially since he insisted on bringing three companions in with him.”
Their stories painted these events as glamorous and unpredictable, part sophisticated cocktail party, part decadent escapade. I imagined Ricard mingling among the guests, wondering how things were going back in Dallas, what turmoil he might face with his brother, and if he would even return.
If he’d return at all.
“Anyone know what we’re wearing tonight?” Lance wiped sweat off his forehead and draped an arm around Carter. “Please tell me it’s not those awful gold lamé shorts from the Valentine's Day event.”
Kaiden shuddered dramatically. “God, no. Those were crimes against both fashion and comfort.” He lowered his voice, though there were no clients within earshot. “The Master showed me the outfits earlier. Black silk-blend boxer briefs—very tasteful, but definitely sexy. They cling in all the right places, with just enough sheen to catch the light when you move.”
“Waistband?” Carter asked, leaning in like we were discussing top-secret government files.
“Low on the hips,” Kaiden confirmed. “Cut to enhance our assets, if you catch my drift.”
“Thin enough to leave little to the imagination?” Lance inquired.
“But opaque enough to keep some mystery,” Kaiden finished, flashing a confident smile. “Ibrahim has good taste. We’ll look like living sculptures.”
A thought crossed my mind: these outfits actually sounded pretty tasteful.Damn, maybe I’m adapting to this job faster than I thought.“So what happens at these parties?” I asked. “Besides the usual drinking and... whatever comes after.”
Kaiden perched on the edge of a nearby bench, crossing his legs. “It’s actually quite structured, at least at the start. Cocktail hour begins at nine, with passed hors d'oeuvres and champagne. That’s whenyou’ll see everyone at their most composed—clients in linen suits or designer casual wear, companions in our uniforms. Everything very civilized.”
“Around ten,” Carter continued, “dinner’s served. It’s always incredible. Vincent flies in chefs from New York or Los Angeles for these events. You’ll be assigned to either general service or to a specific client, depending on requests.”
“After dinner comes the entertainment,” Kaiden added, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “Sometimes it’s relatively tame, like a jazz quartet or a mentalist. Other times? It's more interactive. Last month, they had a demonstration of Japanese rope bondage with volunteers from the audience.”
“Damn,” I muttered. “And the clients just... volunteer?”
“Oh honey,” Kaiden laughed, “these guys pay a fortune to be here precisely because it’s a place where they can indulge their desires. Getting publicly bound and displayed? For some of our sugar daddies, that’s the highlight of their year.”
