Page 25 of The Naughty List

The hotel is a crazy rich one. The lights outside are huge domes lighting up the courtyard, and the black and gold doors are tall, guarded by two lion statues, one either side. This place is magnificent. The cab pulls up on the gravel, and I clickarrivedon the app before I pay the cab driver. I’m expecting a room number to ping through, but I don’t get one.

In the baris all the message says.

In the bar? How the hell am I supposed to recognise them?

I head straight through reception, knowing the staff are whispering about me in my long black coat and stilettos. My hair is loose and curled, and my lipstick is dark purple. I stand out in this place by a clear mile.

I’ve never been anywhere like this in my life.

I hear the bar easily before I arrive there – a hustle and bustle of a room off to the right. It’s busy with posh guests, in suits and glamour dresses, and I’ve no idea who I’m looking for.Two guys aged 25…I’m scanning the place when I hear a wolf whistle, and there they are. A pair of guys sitting on barstools with one empty one between them. They wave me over with cheers, making a raucous spectacle, but they don’t seem to give a shit about that.

I know the whole bar is watching me as I approach them. I feel tottery on my heels, shy and exposed and out of my comfort zone, but I force myself to hide it, pasting on confidence as one of them pats the stool between them. I tell myself that I’m Holly here. The entertainer. I’m going to live up to it, whatever it takes.

The guy on my left is blond, in a posh smoking jacket and bow tie, clearly born with a silver spoon in his mouth. The one on my right has hot ginger hair, slimmer, in a tight-fitting suit jacket with jeans. These two look like they own the place, clearly tipsy as they spin on their stools to check me out.

“I’ll take your coat,” blond guy says, and I hope he doesn’t notice I’m trembling as I hand it over. I’m not dressed for this place, in my tiny PVC skirt and fishnets. My tits are on display in my tight matching crop top, my cleavage on show to the world.Come on, Holly, I tell myself.Be an entertainer.

I’m being examined by the Users. Their eyes rove all over me, and they give each other a nod and a high five, right in front of me.

“Good choice,” the ginger haired guy says to his friend.

“Yeah, I knew she’d be a good one.”

They don’t even say hello. Mr Ginger hair points to the drinks displayed behind the bar.

“What do you want?” he asks me.

“I’ll have a Coke, please.”

“A Coke? Come on. That’s hardly party fuel.”

I lean forward, checking out the selection, and I sum up the confidence from the depths of me. They want aparty girl, they can have one.

“Alright, then. I’ll have a champagne, thank you. The finest.”

“Good call,” Blondie says. He taps on the bar for the bartender’s attention. “A bottle of De Chante, please.”

“Coming right up, Mr Leonard.”

“Ooh, dear.”Mr Leonardfake laughs at me as the bartender gets to work. “You aren’t allowed to know our full names, are you?”

I’ve read that in the terms of service, yes – no asking for names.

“I’m now allowed toaskfor names, no.”

“Fuck the terms of service. We’ll give them to you anyway. I’m Dean,” the ginger guy says with a grin. “And that’s Ryan.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Holly.”

“Yeah, right, sure you are.” Dean checks his watch, clearly a Rolex. “You’re nice and prompt,Holly. Just as well since we’re paying you four grand for this filthy experience. You have a pair of cracking hot tits. Even better than your photos.”

The bartender hears that, but pretends not to. He sets up three glasses on the counter and pops the cork.

Great. So now he knows I’m a prostitute, and so does everyone else in earshot.

I take a swig of my drink before I answer the lovely Dean. I shouldn’t break the terms, but I do.

So this is banter? Fine. I’ll take it. I flick my hair out of the way, propping an elbow on the bar as I answer him.

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