Page 18 of The Whole Package

"Hi," I reply, my tone not so much shy as it is cautious. I've never been one for crowds, finding them more draining than exhilarating, especially when it's part of a client's request. And a new client at that. But tonight's gig promises to pay double my usual rate, and I need to remember the ever-looming cost of acting lessons in this city. It's a necessary investment in my future, but it certainly doesn't come cheap.

"Did you find the place okay?" he inquires, guiding me past the grand entrance and into an even more extravagant foyer. The opulence is almost overwhelming, with each detail meticulously designed to impress.

"It's kind of hard to miss," I remark, a touch of dry humor in my voice. He chuckles as he assists me with my coat, handing it over to a man who looks more like a sculpted piece of art than a butler.

"Yeah, I get that a lot," he responds, his attempt at modesty falling flat. I've been around enough to recognize a performance when I see one, and this man is definitely putting on a show. His mansion, with its lavish decor and ostentatious design, tells me how much he loves attention.

"I'm Enzo," he introduces himself, taking my hand and lifting it to his lips for a kiss. The gesture feels archaic, like something out of an old movie, and I can't help but wonder if he's serious. It's an over-the-top display, one that matches the extravagant personality of the man himself.

As I withdraw my hand, I take a moment to observe Enzo. He's the epitome of what you'd expect from someone who lives in such a place – confident, perhaps overly so, and clearly accustomed to a certain level of admiration. It's clear that he's used to being the center of attention, and his home is a reflection of that ego. Despite the awkwardness of his greeting, I remind myself of the reason I'm here – the pay, which justifies enduring a bit of theatrics.

"Okay," I drawl, my eyes sweeping across the lavish interior of Enzo's mansion. The sound of music and distant chatter hints at a gathering elsewhere in the house, yet here in the foyer, it's just Enzo, the coat attendant, and me. "Where do you want me? Is this a public thing, or are we sneaking off somewhere?" I ask, my tone laced with a hint of skepticism. In my work, assignments can range from intimate encounters to playing a part in more elaborate setups.

"Wow, wow, slow down," Enzo says quickly, his voice carrying a note of amusement as he steps closer. He gently guides me forward, his hand lightly resting on my back. "It's nothing like that. We're having a small get-together, a reunion of sorts with some friends from college, and I need a date." His explanation rolls off his tongue so nonchalantly that I am momentarily taken aback.

"Just a date?" I repeat, my voice tinged with skepticism. The idea of someone paying double the regular fee for companionship seems almost quaint and unusual. Sure, I've heard of, even been part of, assignments where the job was simply to be seen, not

to be intimately engaged. Arm candy at a gala, playing the role of a girlfriend to divert family suspicions, or to make someone appear more desirable – these scenarios are part of the game.

I remember Ava mentioning once that she even played the part of a bride, a temporary wife in a ruse designed to secure a client's inheritance. The variety of requests in this business can be astonishing. At this point, Ava, our fearless leader and the brain behind our operations, has seen every possible scenario. I rely on her experiences and judgment, which keep me grounded when assignments take an unexpected turn. So, here I am, in Enzo's extravagant mansion, trusting Ava's instincts over my own hesitations. Something about this setup feels off, but I can't quite put my finger on it.

"Yeah, come on, you'll see it'll be a blast." Enzo's tone of voice exudes a sense of optimism that contrasts with my nervousness. Without further comment, I let him guide me through the opulent corridors of his mansion, my curiosity piqued despite my initial reservations. We approach a set of grand double doors guarded by a man who shares a knowing nod with Enzo before swinging them open to allow us entry.

The scene that unfolds before me is nothing short of spectacular. We've entered a ballroom from another era, where classic architecture melds seamlessly with modern luxury. I am immediately drawn to the DJ at the room's far end, spinning tracks from the '80s – a nostalgic touch in this lavish setting. Across from the DJ, a bar stretches along the wall, manned by a bartender busy crafting cocktails for two young women perched on stools. Their laughter is light and carefree, starkly contrasting with the slightly more subdued group seated at the large table dominating the center of the room.

This table, which has replaced a traditional dance floor, is a feast for the senses. It's laden with an array of gourmet dishes, the spread that speaks of no expense spared. Empty glasses arescattered about, hinting at the evening's indulgences. Around the table sit five men, their ages hovering around the late thirties, perhaps older. They exude a sense of relaxed affluence, each nursing a drink while engaged in what appears to be a light, congenial conversation. Across from them, there's a group of three women; they look to vary in age. While the girls at the bar look to be in their early twenties, like me, the other four are older, much like the men chatting across from them.

Enzo raises his hand, signaling subtly to the DJ. In an instant, the music ceases, creating a sudden hush that blankets the room. The abrupt silence draws everyone's attention to us, and I feel dozens of eyes focusing on our entrance. While I'm no stranger to being the center of attention and often relish it in my line of work, there's something about this place, this moment, that sets my nerves on edge.

My host, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort, clasps my hand firmly and leads me deeper into the room. We move with deliberate slowness, Enzo's grip on my hand both guiding and reassuring. We stop at a central spot, perfectly positioned for maximum visibility. The feeling of being displayed, showcased even, is unmistakable. I'm acutely aware of the curious gazes that scan over me, assessing, judging. Standing beside Enzo, I can't shake the feeling of being paraded around like a trophy. It's a sensation that's both flattering and unsettling. The idea that he's proudly displaying me to these affluent strangers should fill me with a sense of accomplishment. But instead, it leaves me with more questions than answers. The world of the rich and their extravagant, sometimes peculiar, ways is something I doubt I'll ever fully comprehend.

"Everyone, meet Carmen," Enzo announces with a flourish, his voice ringing out clearly in the now-softly humming room. Then, turning to me, he adds in a much gentler tone, "Carmen, meet everyone." His introduction is broad, encompassing theentire gathering in a single sweep. As the DJ eases the music back into life, Enzo guides me toward the large table that dominates the room.

I notice the two young women from the bar approaching us, each with a drink. Their movements are confident, and they carry an air that suggests they're familiar with this scene. I brace myself, readying for the interactions that are sure to follow.

"Hello," I announce; sliding into the seat, Enzo points out to me. I can't help but notice how the whole room reorient itself when he sits beside me. It's like an unspoken signal; conversations halt mid-sentence, and people start shuffling around, probably looking for their places at the table. Glancing at the spread before us, I wonder what the plan is. The table is heaving under the weight of more food than a small army could eat. Are they seriously thinking of serving dinner on top of this? Seems like overkill to me.

I lean back in my chair, observing the orchestrated chaos. This whole setup feels like a scene from some ritzy movie, and here I am, smack in the middle of it, thanks to Enzo. I can't help but let out a small snort – this is way more extravagant and bizarre than my usual gigs.

"Carmen, these are my friends, some from college and Mark over there with the beard; we've known each other since high school," Enzo introduces, his voice laced with pride. I glance at Mark, offering a polite, somewhat mechanical smile. He acknowledges me with a casual lift of his drink and a subtle nod before taking a sip.

"Next to him are Noah and Oliver," Enzo continues. He doesn't bother pointing them out and doesn't need to. I clocked them the moment we walked in. Twins. Although you'd spot some differences if you looked closely, it's obvious. But they're playing up the twin thing, dressed identically, hair styled the same. Judging by the matching grins they flash my way, they'reclearly into messing with people. I wave back, playing along with their game while Enzo rattles on. But I can't help noticing how they let Enzo do the talking, an odd dynamic that makes me peg Enzo as the group's alpha.

"Elijah," Enzo says, nodding toward a blonde guy puffing on a cigar. One look at Elijah, and I feel a chill – his eyes, strikingly blue, pierce right through me. It's like he's got X-ray vision or something, seeing parts of me I'd rather keep hidden.

"And last but not least, Silas, my brother." He gestures towards another man, and I have to do a double-take. Silas. There's a family resemblance, but he's got a whole different vibe from Enzo. Where Enzo is all charisma and show, Silas seems more... reserved? Intense? I can't quite put my finger on it.

"Nice to meet you all," I say, though it feels like my skepticism is written all over my face. Before I even had a chance to process the introductions, a drink magically appeared before me. I resist the urge to glance back at the bar – I'm pretty sure it's the bartender's doing, but it's not like I asked for anything.

"All these lovely women are their wives or significant others," Enzo continues, gesturing broadly at the group. "But I'll leave the pleasantries to them. Enjoy your drink, Carmen. I'll be right back, and then we can start this party."

The moment Enzo walks away, the atmosphere returns to its previous buzz. Conversations resume, flowing around me like water. The women, previously seated, stand up to grab their drinks. Then, they settle down around me one by one, forming a semi-circle of curiosity and polite smiles.

"Hi," greets a petite blonde, sliding into the seat Enzo vacated. "I'm Marissa, Noah's girlfriend," she introduced herself with a friendly smile. I nod and offer a polite smile in return, using the opportunity to take a sip from the mystery drink before me.

Martini.

Not bad, I think, and promptly down the rest in a few smooth gulps.

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