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"Don't wait until all the bubbles evaporate. It's better when it's fresh, just like you," someone tells me from behind.
When I turn around, I see a man who’s obviously over sixty wearing a massive Rolex watch on his wrist and holding a glass of whiskey in his hand.
"I want to prolong the pleasure," I say politely, trying to sound at ease, although I want to run away.
"I'm sure you do," he says slyly, licking his lips, without even trying to hide his appraisal of me from top to bottom.
I try to breathe normally, but my legs are already shaking with fear.
Maybe coming here wasn't the best idea.
"Don't worry, I'll order another glass for you when you're done," he says, smiling like a perv, and it takes me a couple of seconds to process his words.
"Are you telling me that this is a gift fromyou?" I ask in surprise, trying not to sound so disappointed.
"Of course it is!" he exclaims with a laugh. "The guy at the bar should've told you."
Yes, he said it was from a man in the corner, but he didn't point at the table. And there's more than one corner, of course.
I can't believe I took a glass from a man older than my father. Does that mean that I'm accepting his flirting? Because I don't want to.
"So tell me, pretty, what's your name?" the man continues, moving a little closer. "And which city has raised such a beautiful flower as you? I bet you'll be a new rising star in Hollywood soon."
His snow-white fake teeth remind me of my grandfather, who had implants installed recently. I think I'm going to vomit.
When I came here, I was wishing for a Prince Charming who would make my dream of my first time come true.
But all I have is an old man with a midlife crisis who probably frequents sex clubs so his wife won’t find out about his addictions.
"I'm not an actress; I was born in LA," I say, pulling away and leaving the glass of champagne on the counter.
"Oh, I bet you were," he chuckles, obviously assuming that I’m lying, and moves even closer, stretching his hand to touch mine.
When I pull my hand away, he frowns in irritation.
"There's no need to be shy, darling," he says, and his voice is harsh this time, as if he's sick of playing the good guy. "We all know why you're here tonight. Beautiful young girls like you want to find men who will show them the city."
"I'm not interested," I say and turn around to walk away, but he grabs the fabric of my dress and pulls me sharply back to him.
"We're done when I say," he growls, taking my wrist and squeezing it so tightly that I'm hurt.
I feel how my eyes are getting wet, and I know that I'm about to start crying.
I can't believe I was stupid enough to come here in the middle of the night alone with no car and no one to save me.
"She said you're done," commands a low, deep baritone voice, sounding as if it’s coming out of nowhere.
The man I saw in the corner a couple of minutes ago is standing right here, next to us. He grabs my attacker's hand and pushes him away from me so hard that he hits the counter.
And when the perv starts arguing, my savior nods silently to someone. In two seconds, security is throwing the man out of the club.
Everything happened so fast that I don't have time to process it.
Who's this guy, and why does everyone listen to him?
What is he going to do next?
My whole body is shaking from fear.
