Page 9 of Mr. Wilde

“Good. We don’t want you worrying about a thing. You’re here to do a job, nothing more.” She smiles again, softer this time, and launches into the tour. “This is the main floor.” She sweeps her arm in front of her dramatically. “Music, dancing, drinking, flirting. Think Vegas with better manners. VIP sections here and upstairs. The second floor is more… watching. Meetings, wheeling and dealing. Rich men pretending they aren’t really enjoying themselves.” She gives a playful eye roll.

“And the upper floors?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral.

Her grin turns wicked. “Don’t worry, it’s all legal. Consensual. You won’t end up there unless you want to.”

My feet stop before I tell them to. I suspected that went on up there, but hearing it confirmed is another thing all together. But the reassurance it’s not an expected rung on the ladder is comforting.

Because that’s definitely not my jam.

A blonde whirlwind with big hair and a bigger grin comes to stand beside Lala. “Well, hello, sugar,” she drawls. “You must be new.”

“This is Fern,” Lala introduces. “Be prepared. She says whatever pops into her head.”

Fern beams, giving a playful shrug. “It’s a gift.”

I snicker. “Hi. I’m Cassidy.”

Fern eyes me up and down approvingly. “Honey, if I looked like you, I’d already be shopping for engagement rings.”

I choke on a laugh.

Behind her, another woman approaches. She’s tall, dark-haired, sleek, and composed. “Brier,” she greets, offering a curt nod. “A fellow server. For now.”

“For now,” Lala mimics under her breath.

Brier’s gaze flicks over me. “You’ll want to learn the regulars quickly. This place rewards ambition.”

“I’m more focused on competence,” I reply. “I’d prefer they not remember me because their Tom Ford suit is covered in Jack and Coke.”

Her lips curve, amused despite herself. “The men are more of the Macallan crowd. But fair point.”

Another server drifts over last, hips swaying, tray balanced effortlessly. All strawberry-blonde hair and a glossy smile. “Hi. I’m Candice. You’re cute,” she says bluntly. “You’ll do well here.” Something about her tone makes my spine prickle.

“Thanks,” I offer anyway.

Lala steers me away before I can think too much about it. “So,” she says lightly, “are you in school? What are you studying?” The question lands like a tripwire.

“Just… basic classes,” I splutter. “Online. Nothing exciting.”

She hums, unconvinced, but lets it drop. “Most of us are in school. Well, except Fern and Candice. It’s fishing season for them.”

My brows pinch.

“They’re trying to catch a rich husband.” She snorts. “I’m in nursing school. I’m hoping eventually to get my nurse practitioner degree. I’d like to work in forensic nursing.”

My heart jumps despite myself. “Wow. Really?”

“Yeah. I want to be able to help people after the worst has happened.”

I almost tell her. Almost. Instead, I simply nod. “That’s really important work.”

Her eyes linger on me a beat longer than necessary. Lala slows her pace as we move away from the noise of the main floor, guiding me into a quieter corridor near the service stations. The music fades enough that I can hear my own breathing again. “Okay,” she says gently, stopping and turning to face me. “This is the most important part of the handbook.” Her tone shifts. It’s still kind, but serious enough that my spine straightens.

I nod. “Okay.”

She studies my face for a moment, her expression stern. “You’re here to serve drinks. That’s it. Not attention. Not yourself.”

I swallow. “I understand.”