9. Harper
HARPER
“Ireally think this is the only space that I would even consider for the event.”
Cassandra Harlin, America’s sweetheart, raises her martini glass to her perfectly painted lips, making her Van Cleef bracelet slide a little down her wrist with the movement.
Everything about her is proper, from her off-white cardigan, matching cream-colored nails, and pink painted lips that can barely be considered a color.
I see patrons peeking over at us, and I can only imagine how we look sitting side by side. If you placed anyone between us right now, it would look as though we worked together, perching on shoulders, encouraging purity on one side and debauchery on the other.
The only thing between us now are cocktails and contracts.
“I have to admit I’m surprised to hear you say that. Even for a bachelorette party, it doesn’t exactly seem like your scene,” I question. I’m toeing the line between questioning and rude, especially for someone whose business I want.
She giggles over the rim of her glass, the sound equivalent of nails on a chalkboard, before placing it down on the table. Giggles. Hard to imagine why I didn’t think Cirque was a match.
“I’ve been a member here since you opened, why wouldn’t I want to take advantage of that membership and host it here,” she asks, folding a napkin to gently dab at the corners of her mouth.
Lord forbid she smudge the color-free lipstick that no one would notice.
“Frankly, Ms. Harlin, I think you’ve only stepped into the club on a handful of occasions in that time frame,” I reply, rapping my nails against the glass I hold.
“Most of which were during charity events in which membership isn’t even a requirement for entry.
So hopefully you can understand my curiosity why now you’ve decided to grace us not just with your attendance, but a private event. ”
“Well, for this type of evening, I wanted to have something a little more intimate. So I needed somewhere known for discretion,” she smiles at me, like we are long-time friends sharing a joke. “And obviously a well-established security system and team in place.”
I don’t need the reminder that she’s hounded by the paparazzi, especially after the hassle it took just getting her here for this meeting.
We have advanced security systems in place, of course, but we had to hire even more contractors to physically create a human barrier so she could walk comfortably from her car to the door tonight.
I offered her the back entrance for employees that’s attached to a garage, but she said the exposure would be good.
Next week will be even worse for this event. All her friends attending will bring the same level of chaos that she does. Luckily, she kept the guest list short with only fifteen people in attendance, herself included.
“Of course. The proper security measures have already been initiated so that the event runs smoothly. You won’t have to worry about anything other than having a great night.”
“Oh, that’s absolutely lovely to hear,” she sighs, leaning back into her chair. “My assistant told me she’s already provided your team with the finalized guest list and any special requests.”
By special requests she means her specialty cocktail for the event along with the approved list of foods that my chef is allowed to work with for the event.
I decided to let Colton have that conversation with Amela, my head chef, hoping that she would react better if the news was delivered with a pretty face.
If it weren’t for the fact that he told her she could make the menu phallic, I think she would have thrown a pan at him, pretty face or not.
Luckily for him, she’s a sucker for themed food, and this request is a fun one to challenge herself with.
“Yes, my head of security has already reviewed the list of attendees and is running security checks. Many of them are not current members, so additional checks needed to be done. You understand, of course.” I give her a wide smile, showing all my teeth, watching her smile falter for a moment.
I’m not known for being subtle, and why beat around the bush?
“You are going to be held accountable for their actions of the night. They are not members for a reason and not due to a lack of effort on their part,” I tell her, driving home the implications of what bringing guests means.
“Of course,” she replies, fake smile back in place. “And once your employees all sign the non-disclosure agreements, they can just be sent back to my assistant. She will bring them to my legal team. For safekeeping.”
“Yes, we received them, but they won’t be getting signed.” I turn to look her dead in the eyes, all pretense of politeness gone. “My employees are the epitome of discretion and have all signed NDAs with me,” I assure her.
“Are you saying your staff refused to sign?” her tone drips with indignation, a hand coming up to her chest like she’s searching for pearls to clutch.
That my employees are so beneath her, she can’t fathom a world in which they would say no.
A word I don’t think she hears all that often, but could benefit from a few life lessons with the word at its core.
“I’m saying I refuse to ask them. If your entourage, for one evening, can’t act in a manner befitting their status without silencing those around them, perhaps this is the wrong fit after all,” I chastise, my tone leaving no room for argument.
She believes this is a negotiation. It is not. She has special requests that I allow—she needed more security that I was willing to provide; she wanted non-member guests for whom I made an exception.
I do these things because her cost for one night is the equivalent of one member’s fees for six months. And she wants me to do these things for her, not because we are friends, but simply because Cirque is the best and her circle of idiot socialites and movie star frenemies expects the best.
“Oh, I completely understand. It’s no problem at all.
I’ll let my team know.” She clears her throat before returning to her fake, demure smile.
She can play bravado all she wants, but the pink of her cheeks and the nervous hives painted on her chest give her away.
A girl trying to intimidate a woman. It’s adorable.
“So, tonight is just to reacquaint yourself with the club and give you an idea of the layout and performances you can anticipate. Of course, the seating will be arranged differently for the larger party and will be closer to the main stage. Part of the night’s entertainment will be performances on stage, the other half will be more, let’s call it, interactive.
” I smirk at her, and she seems to relax a little.
“Will there be live music at the event?” She nods her head towards where Stella is perched in her alcove, crooning sweet nothings about fools in love, while the contortionists untangle themselves from the massive theatrical throne and each other.
I take a sip of my seltzer while the curtain falls amidst applause from the audience. The thunderous claps are like little bursts of pride overflowing in my chest. To know the audience is as enraptured by their performance as I was the first time I saw it and knew it had to be part of my show.
A contortionist throuple, consisting of two women and one man, who met when paired to perform together, managed to turn their chemistry on stage into a passionate relationship.
They have been together as long as I have known them, and the only condition they gave me when I poached them from their troupe, was that they would never be separated, and that they were free to introduce new bodies into their act whenever they wanted.
During this particular contract signing, my mind was still replaying some of the positions of their act. I was so distracted, I could have promised them my firstborn without noticing what I was agreeing to. If even I couldn’t pull it together to discuss their onboarding, Cirque had to have them.
As they walk off the stage, hand in hand, I clear my throat. Noting happily that their act still very much affects me. Stella takes a small bow before slinking behind the curtain to rest and hydrate between songs.
“Each night is a mix of live singers and track recordings. Typically, the tracks are played in between stage performances, while the props and setup are done for the next act. If you have specific songs you want or performances you want to see, just let me or Colton know and we will work it into the night, if able.” I gesture to where Colton is chatting with Tessa while she scribbles down notes on her tablet, probably preparing the drink menu for this bachelorette event.
In the pauses she takes to look up from her writing, she looks at Colton as if he hung the moon. She’s not wrong.
Stella returns to position, voice booming across the main floor, while Adam walks onto the stage, ready to set it ablaze. Why is Adam up there instead of Ben? I swear I’ve seen him at rehearsals this week, and I don’t remember anything about him being sick or needing time off.
I glance around, looking for Marcus where he normally lurks around the edges of the stage.
When I don’t see him, I make a mental note to bring it up at our next one-on-one meeting.
I return to the conversation at hand, trying to get through the rest of this planning quickly, before I start feeling an urge to buy something in beige.
“Of course, we have a list of performances planned for the night, and dancers have been selected for the more interactive portion of the evening. Your guests will be welcome to stay in the main audience area and enjoy the main stage performances, or they can ask a dancer to accompany them into one of the private rooms for a more intimate setting. If anything or anyone catches your eye tonight though, we can make changes…”
Cassie cuts me off mid-sentence, “Him. I want him.” I look up at her outburst, expecting her to be watching the dancers that float through the audience. I follow her gaze back to where I had gestured to Colton, still leaning against the bar.
Colton.
My Colton.
What the actual fuck is happening right now? I’m clenching my jaw hard as I turn back to Cassie to realize she still hasn’t turned away from staring at where he leans against the bar, completely ignoring the performance in front of her and the gorgeous dancers that weave between tables.
I look back to where Colton slouches, and I can’t even blame her. I hate her right now, but I don’t blame her.
“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, Ms. Harlin. He is not a performer of any kind. He is my assistant,” I explain, keeping my tone light.
“You said I could make requests, right?” she asks, eyes still glued to Colton.
Shouldn’t he be moving around, checking on different stations?
Maybe I can ban him from coming onto the floor altogether.
If she doesn’t stop staring at him like that, I’m going to lock him in my office for the rest of the night.
Cassie finally turns back to me, realizing I still haven’t responded, ignoring her in favor of thinking up creative ways to tie Colton to my desk chair.
“Yes, we can accommodate requests for specific personnel, but…” She cuts me off before I can tell her there is no way in Hell I will be accommodating that specific request.
“Great, then let’s get him over here and request it,” she says, so matter of fact, like she’s made some power play and is going to get exactly what she wants. Even if I did let her ask him, he would never say yes to this. It’s insane. He’s not a dancer.
But that didn’t stop him before.