“So how is your evening so far?”

            “It’s good since you’re here, HyunA,” Mr. Harris leaned closer into me. “How about you?”

            I tried to control my facial expression. The strong scent of overpriced cologne filled my nose. It’s funny how this man seems to think he was actually charming me. The man was over forty-five years old and was actually handsome… if I hadn’t known the fact that his sixth marriage, which only lasted for a good year, had recently ended. Not even that, he was still my client during his fourth marriage.  

            I swirled my wine glass, took a long sip, and faced Mr. Harris with my winning smile.

            “Well it’s always nice to see a regular,” I replied.

            I adjusted my extremely short sparkling skirt that was of my uniform. Even the black shirt was too low for my liking and showed off my chest. Now you may be wondering why a uniform consists of a low halter top, an up-my- skirt, and sky high heels. I am a club hostess, a date for hire type. Men, mainly rich and successful, buy me drinks and I am to flirt with them. This place isn’t like Hooters or a strip club; it’s supposed to be a high-rise classy lounge, but many customers seem to forget about that.

            “Well, Miss HyunA, as a regular for about two years, can we perhaps take this relationship to the next level?” Mr. Harris whispered into my ear.

            “Excuse me?” I gritted my teeth as Mr. Harris put his hot hand around my waist and slowly aiming it for my .

            Without any words, Mr. Harris’s lips met the base of my neck. I “playfully” pushed him away but Mr. Harris’s arm wrapped around me forcefully, pressing his lips a lot harder onto my bare shoulder.

            “Mr. Harris…” I managed to put my hand in between my, now irritated and bruising, skin and his salivating lips. “I must remind you about the club rules.”

            Mr. Harris just smirked and played stupid about the club rule; which is, to put it bluntly, we are not es. Getting slightly more heated, I said with my most polite voice, “Back the off.”

            Now let me tell you what I have noticed about Mr. Harris. He is a sick son of a , who doesn’t know when to stop and acts as if everything is his… including people. From little “playful” arguments to losing my temper, Mr. Harris’s hand now was swung straight to my face.

            I stared at the floor, trying so hard not to curse and go ballistic…until I heard Jay holding Mr. Harris back from swinging his fists again; which was the reason why he lost wife number two and six (much to his “surprise”).

            I could hear Mr. Harris continue to shout “” and “” towards my way, so I walked towards his way.

            “You’re a sick son of a who needs to learn about personal space and about how everything is NOT yours. It’s no wonder why your wives continue to leave you,” I spoke in a hushed tone but just loud enough for Mr. Harris and Jay to hear.

I then was taken away by my manager, Katherine Song, as Mr. Harris was kicked out of the murmuring building by Jay and the two of the security men that finally decided to intervene.

            After a lengthy lecture from Katherine, I finally was walking home with Jay. Jay Park is the closest person I have as family and vice versa. I met Jay during the first day I found myself at a huge orphanage. They say I was in a car accident… and that my parents were in it too, though I’m not sure since I can only seem to remember bits