“This is Theo, our newest addition,” Pablo said, gesturing toward me. “He's still learning the ropes, so be gentle with him.”
The double meaning hung in the air. The men chuckled, and I managed what I hoped was a professional smile. “What can I get for you, gentlemen?”
“Depends on what's on offer,” Salt-and-Pepper replied, holding my gaze a beat too long.
Jesus Christ. Is everything a proposition here?
“The usual menu, sir,” I said, nodding toward the drink list. “Though if you have a special request, I'll do my best to make it happen.”
Another round of knowing chuckles. Seriously, these guys could turn a weather report into innuendo.
“I'll have a mojito,” Salt-and-Pepper decided. “Fresh mint, not too sweet.”
The others ordered—whiskey neat, two gin and tonics, and a martini with specific instructions about olive brine that I committed to memory. As I prepared their drinks, I sensed their eyes on me, assessing, speculating.
It wasn't entirely unpleasant. There was something kinda intoxicating about being the focus of so much attention.Is this how it starts?I wondered, muddling mint with practiced movements.Going from freaked out to... liking it?
The lack of my phone was helping with that transition. No constant reminders of my real life, no ability to check on Casey or Google ‘how to stop feeling like an imposter at a sex resort.’ At first, the phantom sensation in my pocket had been like missing a limb. What kind of 24-year-old survives without Instagram? But after a few days, the anxiety faded. Without that constant digital tether, I was actually... present. Noticing things. Like how the air smelled of chlorine and expensive cologne, or how the light hit the pool water just right to create dancing patterns on the cabana walls.
I'd also noticed the complete absence of women at The Ranch, something they'd explained during orientation but hadn't fully registered until I'd been here a few days. Initially, it had seemed weird,almost cultish. But watching these men now, completely uninhibited, I understood the reasoning. No women meant no performing, no peacocking, no subconscious need to project whatever society had programmed them to be. Just men being authentically themselves, without judgment. I could see how liberating that was, especially for guys who spent their regular lives hiding behind carefully constructed personas.
I finished the drinks and arranged them on the bar in front of them. “Here you are, gentlemen,” I said. “Will there be anything else?”
“Join us for a round?” Salt-and-Pepper suggested, patting the empty stool beside him. “We'd love to hear more about you, Theo.”
I hesitated, caught between the need to be friendly and my reluctance to get too personal. I was still in my training period and not seeing clients yet, and wasn’t sure how to explain that.
But before I could answer, Renato Ricci materialized at my side like a guardian angel in form-fitting attire. Powerfully built, with broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, he carried himself with the quiet confidence of a man in charge. “Theo,” Renato's smooth voice cut through the tension. “I need to borrow you for a moment.”
I nodded to the men, professional smile firmly in place. “Enjoy your drinks, gentlemen. Pablo will take excellent care of you.”
Renato guided me away with a light touch on my elbow. Once we were out of earshot, his expression softened. “You alright?” Unlike us “Companions,” the supervisors got to wear actual clothes, though what Renato wore usually looked painted on his muscular body.
“Yeah,” I said with a nod. “Still getting used to... all this.” My hand waved vaguely at the sexual carnival around us.
“It's a lot to handle,” Renato acknowledged, dark eyes flashing. “But we have more pressing matters. Mr. Stone needs our bestchampagne delivered to Villa 6 immediately.” His eyes crinkled when he smiled. “Really wants to impress this new guy.”
I followed him across the plaza to a service room where a silver ice bucket waited, condensation beading on its surface. Inside sat a champagne bottle with a name I'd butcher if I tried to pronounce it. From Renato's careful handling, I guessed it was pretty pricy.
“Villa 6 is our most private accommodation,” Renato explained, placing the bucket on a serving tray with two crystal flutes. “This delivery needs to be prompt and discreet.”
“Got it. Prompt and discreet.”
“Down the path past the west gardens.” He handed me the tray, our fingers brushing. “Remember, you're not just delivering champagne—”
“I'm delivering an experience,” I finished, recalling Master Ibrahim's words from orientation.
Renato smiled. “Exactly.”
I balanced the tray carefully, taking a deep breath and shifting my thoughts from anxiety into determination. The weight of the champagne was nothing compared to the demands of the role expected of me here at Dove Canyon. Time to deliver.
Chapter 3
Ricard
“Ilike to show our new members around on their first visit,” Vincent said with a practiced smile that revealed perfect white teeth. “The Ranch offers so many... experiences that it can be overwhelming without a proper introduction.”
I nodded, struggling to maintain my aristocratic composure.Shoulders back, chin parallel to the floor, nothing betrays a gentleman's thoughts. Despite growing up in progressive Avaline with all its royal indulgences, nothing had prepared me for the brazen decadence here—beautiful men in various states of undress lounging freely. “Quite the establishment you have here,” I managed, my voice steadier than I felt.
