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9
Sierra
Itake a deep breath before entering the restaurant at the club, smoothing down my hair self-consciously. Do I look okay? Do I look like the type of women three handsome, powerful men would be interested in?
I hope so because I blew a ton of money on my outfit tonight. Of course, I have some extra cash courtesy of Harry, Mike and James, but still, for a girl used to shopping at Target and Zara, this outfit was expensive. I’m wearing a beautiful hunter green cocktail dress that brings out the different hues of brown in my hair and eyes. It’s silk and fitted, off the shoulder, with a cut-out at my waist that highlights my ample cleavage. The hem cuts off just below the curve of my ass, and I’ve got sexy sheer hose on, as well as high heels that lengthen my legs. I’m actually more covered than usual, even if the outfit’s still risqué.
“Miss Malone,” the maître ‘d greets. “Please come with me. Your dinner partners are already here.” As we approach a table in the back, I see Mike, James, and Harry and swallow heavily because they’re breathtakingly handsome, just as always. The men are dressed in perfectly tailored suits, with stark white button down shirts that show off their bronzed skin. Plus, the moment they see me, the three men flash billion dollar smiles that make me weak in the knees. Goodness. I literally totter a bit and have to give myself a minute to make sure I’m not going to collapse in a heap before I take another step.
“Hey gorgeous,” Harry greets, leaning forward to kiss my cheek.
“Hey,” I say softly, feeling the heat of his lips on my skin.
Meanwhile, Mike and James press kisses to my neck and collarbone. It’s scandalous, but we’re on Club Z premises, so it’s okay.
“You look beautiful, baby girl,” Mike rasps.
“Good enough to eat,” James groans, his eyes running up and down my curvy form. I’ve never felt butterflies before, but right now, there are about a million butterflies practicing their flight patterns in my chest. Wow. I guess I’ve never met the right person in the past, but now I’ve met three and it’s havoc.
We sit, and I take a moment to look around, stunned a bit at the splendor. Just like everything at Club Z, the restaurant is sumptuously decorated with modern glass tables, a dark leather bar, and glittering yet tasteful chandeliers. There is a small vase of exotic blooms in the middle of the table surrounded a a circle of tea lights, and matching cloth napkins in a pretty teal color. Mike pours me a glass of wine from the bottle on ice off to the side, just as a waitress delivers three tumblers of bourbon for my men.
“Would you like to hear the chef’s specials?” she asks politely.
My lovers look at me.
“Do you like steak?” James asks. I smile brightly.
“Yes, definitely! Especially when it’s rare.”
“Good girl,” he nods approvingly. “I can’t take it when folks order their steaks well-done because it ruins the meat.”
“Oh, I definitely like my meat rare,” I titter coyly, shooting glances their way.
With that, four steaks are ordered, as well as mashed potatoes, creamed spinach, iceberg salad, and of course, three different types of dessert.
“We’re ordering dessert now?” I ask after the waitress walks away.
Harry nods and snorts.
“It’s this guy,” he says, jerking a thumb at Mike. “He insists on having dessert ready, just in case they run out. I keep telling him that no restaurant is going to run out, but he doesn’t listen.”
“Hey, I like to be safe!” Mike protests gamely. “Besides, Veniero’s did run out of their maple cream puff once, and I practically shit a brick.”
James grins and rolls his eyes.
“How many guys in their forties do you know who eat maple cream puffs?” he asks in a droll tone. But then he gets serious. “We had a feeling you were a steak girl,” James adds with a cocky grin. “There’s just something about you that points in that direction.” I laugh.
“Well, I’m sure it’ll be delicious because I’ve heard really good things about the restaurant here.”
The men share puzzled glances.
“You work here, but you haven’t eaten at the restaurant?” Mike asks.
I shake my head.
“No. I actually haven’t worked for Club Z very long, but you know this particular dining establishment is really expensive. I mean, I can’t afford it, not on my salary.”
Mike brushes a curl behind my ear and flashes a devilish smile at me.
“Well now that you’re with us, you can. But wow, sweetheart. How long have you been with Club Z?”
I shrug.
“Just a few months. Actually, I kind of wound up working here through sheer luck. I used to be a waitress at a small restaurant in the West Village called Le Coq Au Vin. The pay wasn’t very good, but I needed a job when I moved to the city and beggars can’t be choosers. Honestly, I don’t mind service positions. I just didn’t like Le Coq because of the smell. It’s a terrible mix of grease and chicken, and I was beginning to worry it was going to permanently alter my body chemistry so that I’d smell like that forever.”
