Simon had money that the average person couldn’t dream of. At one stage, years ago, Simon was in the same boat. Only a couple bucks to his name and running from a past that kept him up at night.

Because of that, he didn’t grow up the same way as the other men at his level. They were arrogant, egotistical, and only had respect for themselves. The way they treated the people around them was something that made Simon ill. But nonetheless, he had to fake it.

If he stood out, that would put a target on his back. So he blended in to the narcissistic party of rich assholes, and he did it well.

The party was in full swing. Butlers roamed the large room with trays of Hors d'oeuvres and champagne flutes. It looked formal, but that was all a front. None of the business that was happening here was ethical or ’formal’.

That was what he expected.

But what he didn’t expect was for them to order fucking escorts to the party. So much for formal.

When you all arrived, his attention immediately landed on you. He wasn’t particularly interested in women like the others were. He had other stuff to worry about without adding unnecessary complications. But you seemed to snag his attention, like a deer caught in your headlights.

But Simon wasn’t the only one entranced. He was just the only one with any dignity and restraint. He knew he had to swoop in before someone made a fool of themselves, and you got caught in the line of fire.

He stood up, excusing himself from the conversation he was having. He beelined straight towards the table you were sitting at, perched on someone’s lap. He slammed 2k worth of bills on the table in front of you.

“Private room. An hour of your time,” he said, eyes locking with yours. You didn’t protest. You probably weren’t allowed.

You followed Simon into one of the back rooms, and instinctively reached for the hem of your shirt. His voice stopped you in your tracks.

“No. Clothes can stay on.” He gestured to one of the chairs. “Sit.”