Chapter 4 🍋
The clothing Brother Zee provided fit Milim perfectly. The size 175 dress wrapped elegantly around her slender frame, outlining her delicate waist and long legs in a way that drew quiet admiration.
Shortly after, Brother Zee assigned someone to teach Milim and two other newcomers the strict rules of working in the club—how to greet guests, sell drinks, and handle themselves professionally. Apparently, summer was the peak season for job seekers, and Milim found herself among many eager faces.
"How many types of wine can you name?" their instructor, a seasoned man named Noah, asked with a smile. Noah was second-in-command of the male sales staff and was known for his sharp instincts.
The two other newcomers quickly rattled off names with practiced ease: "Remy Martin, Black Rum, Louis XIII…" One of them paused reverently. "This wine... it's extremely expensive."
Noah grinned at their reaction.
"If you can sell Louis XIII, do you know how much commission you'll earn?" he teased.
"A single bottle earns you $209.99," Noah said casually. "And trust me, we have no shortage of wealthy patrons here. You could make that commission with just one good sale. But"—he added, his tone sobering—"it all depends on how well you speak and persuade."
Milim was stunned.
Just one bottle… and I could earn $209.99?
The thought made her head spin, and she barely heard anything Noah said afterward.
Later, Noah addressed a grimmer reality: safety.
"You're all women, so your situation is more dangerous than the male staff's," he said seriously. "We're regular employees, but if someone tries anything inappropriate, use your emotional intelligence to diffuse it. If it gets serious, come find me."
His words brought a fleeting sense of comfort, but everyone knew the truth: working in an entertainment venue came with risks. Most girls had mentally prepared themselves before stepping into this world. Milim, however, hadn't realized how different it would be. Still, this was only a temporary summer job—if it became too much, she could always leave.
At nine o'clock, guests began to flood into the club. Veteran sales staff quickly found themselves accompanying familiar patrons, while new girls like Milim waited for opportunities. Brother Zee, thankfully, didn't assign her to any troublesome guests. Instead, he dealt personally with a particularly difficult customer—a burly man acting like a nagging mother—allowing Milim a gentler start.
Soon, the atmosphere in the club shifted; laughter, clinking glasses, and low music filled the air. Beautiful girls were stationed in the better rooms, while the less attractive—or less fortunate—stayed behind at the desk, waiting for a chance.
Just then, a group of young, extravagant guests arrived—billionaire heirs who hadn't visited in a long time. Lucas, one of them, greeted Brother Zee warmly.
Brother Zee beamed.
"Oh, Young Master Lucas, Young Master Hayes, Young Master Asher! It's been too long!"
But then Brother Zee's face shifted when he noticed another figure behind them. Quickly straightening, he greeted him with deep respect:
"Mister Dylan."
Lucas joked, "Tch, differential treatment, huh? Why is he 'Mister' while we're just 'young masters'?"
Hayes smirked. "Because Dylan's a shareholder, dummy."
Laughing, Asher added, "Now find us a good room, and call a few girls over."
Brother Zee immediately arranged it, leading them upstairs. Dylan, meanwhile, said nothing, staying quiet and detached.
After the men were settled into their private booth, Brother Zee gestured for Milim to come over.
"There's a VIP box that's perfect for you. Do your best, alright?"
Milim's heart raced as she followed him, feeling incredibly nervous.
Brother Zee first picked out a few top girls from the club's best to accompany the gentlemen. As a salesperson, Milim wouldn't have to sit with them—just handle the sales and billing. Still, the tension was thick.
When the female supervisor heard the guests were Dylan and his friends, she and the other girls froze. Brother Zee issued a serious warning:
"Take proper care of these guests. No pushing drinks. No games. Treat them right, and everything will go well."
Milim, listening on the side, felt her stomach knot up with anxiety. Some older girls comforted her, whispering tips and encouragement as they ascended to Box 309.
Inside the room, the girls began chatting and pouring drinks. One, the most striking, walked toward Dylan—but he casually raised his hand to stop her.
"No. Sit elsewhere," he said coldly.
Lucas chuckled.
"Dylan hasn't been here in a while. These girls forgot he doesn't like company."
As Lucas scanned the room, he noticed Milim standing awkwardly by the door.
Hayes beckoned to her.
"Come here, you."
Dylan looked up, following Hayes' gesture—and froze when his eyes locked onto Milim.
Milim's face instantly flushed crimson. She clutched the hem of her dress nervously, her mind screaming, Why is fate so cruel?!
Dylan spoke, his voice low and commanding:
"Come here."
His friends gaped. Dylan? Inviting a girl to sit next to him? Unbelievable.
Milim hesitated, but the memory of Brother Zee's stern warning made her step forward. Losing this job wasn't an option. She bowed slightly at the table, her voice trembling.
"Good evening, gentlemen. I'm Ayla, your salesperson for tonight. What wine would you like?"
Her movement made the dress cling even closer to her body, drawing Dylan's dark gaze.
"Don't you recognize me?" he asked softly.
Milim's face grew even redder, but she didn't respond.
"Sit," Dylan said again.
"I don't drink with guests... I'm only here to sell wine," Milim replied quietly.
"I'm not asking you to drink wine. Just juice." Dylan's tone softened a little.
Relieved, Milim carefully sat beside him, keeping some distance. But Dylan leaned in, slipping an arm around her waist.
The three young men watching the scene looked like they'd seen a ghost.
Since when did Dylan ever let someone so close?
"So that's it," Asher drawled lazily.
Lucas, still shocked, stammered, "What do you mean 'that's it'?"
Asher simply smirked and sipped his wine.
"Shut up," Dylan said lightly without moving his arm from Milim's waist. Then he turned to her, voice gentle.
"How long have you been working here?"
"I... I just started tonight," Milim replied, clearly flustered.
"What's your name?"
"Milim Snow," she said, scooting slightly away.
Dylan smiled.
"Nice name." He took a slow sip of his drink, eyes never leaving her.
"How old are you?"
Milim hesitated, then said softly, "Nineteen."
The men exchanged looks. Hayes spoke up, teasing,
"She's only nineteen, Dylan. Let her go—you're old enough to be her dad."
Lucas and Asher burst into laughter.
"Nineteen... very good," Dylan mused, loosening his tie.
"Don't you go to school?" he asked.
"I'm still studying... I'll be a freshman this September," Milim answered, rubbing her hands nervously on her knees.
The men laughed again, finding her seriousness adorable.
Hayes, feeling a bit sorry for her, said,
"Alright, stop teasing her. She's just here to sell wine, not to drink with us."
Dylan leaned closer.
"Are you short on money?"
Milim nodded, quickly changing the subject.
"What wine would you like?" she asked, her voice small.
The men burst into laughter again at her sudden switch.
Dylan chuckled and leaned in, his thumb idly stroking her waist.
"Give me your phone number," he said casually, "and I'll open two bottles of Louis XIII."
The three men practically choked on their drinks, staring wide-eyed.
They had to admit—Dylan was truly dangerous when he decided to flirt.