All characters are at least eighteen or older!
*****
The tea tray rattled as my hands shook, the crystal bottle of whiskey threatening to tip. Normally, a servant would bring him his booze and maybe I would open it and get a sip if he was in a good mood, but it was my duty to be paraded around and shown off when he had company. Male voices came from the other side of the wall. His was distinctive, gruff. I took a breath to calm my nerves before pushing open the heavy door with my hips.
"There's my baby," Grant grinned, cigar pinched between his sausage fingers. He sat behind his desk, lounging back in the cracked leather of the chair with his feet propped up and crossed. His dark, curly chest hair struggled to break free of the button up and suit. I blushed and batted my lashes, used to the routine by now.
Three men sat in front of him, and they turned to look at me. Two, I knew. They glanced at me, admired my body and the scandalous cut of my tank top, the flashy gold necklace that hung heavy over my collarbones. Then they looked back at Grant, chuckling appreciatively between each other. "Ain't she a doll?" He grunted, patting his leg and replacing the cigar between his lips. I teetered carefully over in my stilettos, biting my ruby red lips in concentration before setting the tray down on the table. I had leaned forward a little, my breasts threatening to spill out. The men could see the lace of my bra poking out from under my shirt at that angle. Grant sat back and pulled me into his lap. "Drink up, boys. Let's get back to business." His voice rumbled in his chest as I straddled him, hands on his shoulders. I glanced back at the others innocently, the fake lashes making my eyes feel heavy.
I didn't recognize the third man, oh, but I wish I did. He was chiseled and strong, his dark hair peppered with age and his eyes were an intense shade of green. He was darker than the other men, Arab maybe, and seemed around forty or so. His eyes probed mine as he studied me silently. I looked away, planting a few pecks on Grant's sweaty neck. He would get angry if I stared. He could get really jealous when he paid attention.
"Baby, you know Mr. Risetti and Mr. Jones. Say hello."
I looked demurely over my shoulder at the first two. "Hello again," I said, voice soft, as if I was a shy thing.