Green Enterprise Summit Pt. 2

The murky haze of memory left an odd sense of detachment as you adjusted the strap of your dress. The last clear recollection was popping one of Hermes’ mints, and now you were inside the lavish Green Enterprise Summit. The opulent décor of the venue surrounded you, all marble floors and glittering chandeliers. A faint bitterness clung stubbornly to the back of your throat—a stark reminder of what you couldn’t consciously recall.

An oversight in Hermes’ spell, you realized grimly. While it wiped away the memory, it left behind the physical aftermath. The taste lingered, refusing to fade, and the thought made your stomach churn with disgust. You discreetly pressed a hand to your mouth and exhaled, testing for any remnants of cum breath. A hint of musk and salt sent you straight into damage-control mode.

Mental note: Carry actual mints.

“Vincent,” you said, tugging lightly on his arm as he glanced your way. “Let’s hit the bar.”

His grin widened knowingly, and he led you across the room toward the sleek, polished bar counter. The bartender, a sharp-dressed man in a vest and tie, greeted you both warmly.

“Whiskey sour for me,” Vincent ordered, tapping the counter.

You gave a polite smile, your voice confident. “French 75, please.”

The bartender nodded, turning to prepare your drinks. You turned your attention to Vincent, leaning in slightly. “We need to blend in,” you murmured. “Let’s not waste time with small talk when we have...goals.”

Vincent raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. “Relax. You’re a natural. I'm sure you'll get that threesome you want so badly”

You bit your lip and looked at him, masking the cringe you felt internally from Vincent still thinking this was about a threesome.

Moments later, the bartender slid your drinks across the counter. You took a long sip, relishing the refreshing combination of lemon and gin, the faint sting of **** masking the lingering aftertaste. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

With Vincent at your side, you soon found yourself in a group conversation. Richard Solano stood at the center, flanked by a few business elites—men in tailored suits, their cufflinks gleaming under the soft lighting. The air buzzed with discussions about renewable energy initiatives, investment strategies, and the long-term vision for sustainable business models.

You sipped your drink, half-listening, half-strategizing. The trial loomed large in your mind, and you knew cozying up to Richard was essential. His influence and connections could open doors you desperately needed, both for the trial and to keep your head above water in this messy, complicated life.

Still, a part of you burned with shame. Every action you took felt calculated, transactional, like playing a part in a role you didn’t ask for. The justifications ran in circles: This is for the trial. This is for rent. This is survival. It’s not forever.

But wasn’t it?

You glanced at Richard, whose sharp features and commanding presence demanded attention. He exuded the kind of confidence that came from power and wealth, and you hated that you found it appealing. Vincent’s presence beside you was a steady reminder of how far you’d gone already. Three times a month. That’s what it would take to scrape by—just to cover rent. The rest of your expenses would have to come from your monthly allowance and careful budgeting.

The voice in your head whispered cruel truths: You’re a glorified sugar baby. A rent-dependent whore.

You smiled through it, nodding at Richard’s words as if you were engaged in the conversation. Inside, you pushed the thoughts away. None of this mattered if you succeeded. It was a means to an end.

The elegant burgundy dress you wore—the last unworn piece in your event-ready wardrobe—hugged your body in all the right places, the plunging neckline tastefully hinting at your curves. It was feminine, alluring, and confident, but as you stood there, you couldn’t help but think about how soon you’d need to buy more clothes. Another expense. Another headache.

You took another sip of your drink, mentally bracing yourself. The world didn’t care about your internal struggles. It didn’t care that you were sacrificing pride for survival. All that mattered was that you played your part flawlessly.

Vincent leaned closer, his hand lightly resting on your back. “You’re quiet tonight,” he murmured.

“Just listening,” you replied, keeping your tone light and teasing.

“Don’t forget,” Vincent said, his voice low. “You’re the star here.”

You gave a small smile, turning your attention back to the group. Richard’s eyes flicked to you briefly, a subtle acknowledgment. The conversation shifted, and you laughed lightly at a joke someone made, seamlessly inserting yourself into the dynamic.

It was all calculated, deliberate. And it was working. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the bitter taste—of the drink, of the lingering shame, of the sacrifices you were making.

Still, you told yourself, It’s justified. It has to be.

You steadied yourself, taking another sip of your French 75. The conversation swirled around you, a heady mix of technical jargon and casual boasts. Richard Solano dominated the discussion, his deep voice commanding attention, while Vincent lingered beside you, smug and self-assured. His presence was both a blessing and a complication—he believed he understood your motives, but his interpretation of your flirtation was woefully off the mark.

The goal was clear: Get Richard’s attention. Use his influence to move closer to Damian Kane. You knew the stakes, and you were prepared to use every tool in your arsenal to get there.

You leaned slightly closer to Richard, your eyes locking with his as you spoke. “Your work on the sustainability initiative is incredible,” you said, letting your voice carry a blend of admiration and subtle seduction. “It’s rare to see someone balancing vision with practicality the way you do.”

Richard glanced at you, his expression unreadable at first. Then, a flicker of interest sparked in his eyes. “Well, it’s not easy,” he admitted, a touch of pride creeping into his tone. “Most people underestimate how much discipline it takes to see real results.”

You nodded, your gaze unwavering. “Discipline is one of the most underrated qualities. But it’s essential, isn’t it? The ability to stay focused, to push through distractions... it’s what separates the good from the great.”

Richard smirked, his attention now fully on you. “You sound like someone who knows a thing or two about discipline.”

“Oh, I try,” you replied, letting your lips curve into a slow smile. “Though I’ll admit, I’m always eager to learn from the best.”

The compliment hung in the air, and you saw the way Richard’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary. Vincent, standing at your side, chuckled lowly, clearly enjoying the exchange for entirely different reasons.

“You’re making moves,” Vincent whispered, leaning close to your ear. “Don’t forget to save some of that charm for later.”

You shot him a playful glare, swatting his arm lightly. “Behave,” you teased, keeping the mood light. “We’re here to network, remember?”

Vincent grinned, unbothered by your deflection, and took a sip of his drink. His attention drifted back to the group, giving you the space you needed to refocus on Richard.

The Green Enterprise Summit buzzed with a cocktail of polished professionals and ambitious entrepreneurs, each cloaked in their own brand of charisma. You were among them, poised and composed, but internally strategizing every move. With Vincent’s lingering presence and Richard’s growing interest, the stage was set for a delicate dance—one where every word, every glance, every subtle touch had to be perfectly orchestrated.

Richard had excused himself from the group to grab another drink, and you seized the opportunity.

“Let me join you,” you offered, the words rolling off your tongue smoothly as you took a step forward, ensuring that your shoulder gently grazed his arm.

Richard raised an eyebrow but nodded, his curiosity piqued. “Of course.”

You turned to Vincent, who had been nursing his scotch with an air of smugness. “Hold our spot, won’t you?” you said lightly, flashing him a playful wink.

Vincent chuckled, clearly entertained by what he assumed was a mutual game. “Don’t take too long,” he said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

You followed Richard to the bar, the faint sound of your heels clicking against the polished floor mingling with the low hum of conversations around you. The weight of his gaze on your back was palpable, and you made sure to sway your hips just enough to keep his attention fixed.

At the bar, you leaned casually against the counter, your body angled toward him. The neckline of your dress dipped slightly as you adjusted your posture, the movement subtle yet deliberate.

“What’s your poison?” Richard asked, signaling to the bartender.

“French 75,” you replied with a soft smile, the name rolling off your tongue with practiced ease. It was an elegant choice, one that spoke to sophistication without being pretentious.

Richard nodded approvingly and ordered for you, adding his own whiskey to the mix. As the bartender prepared your drinks, you turned to Richard, your expression thoughtful.

“So,” you began, letting a note of curiosity slip into your voice, “what drives someone like you? With everything you’ve accomplished, what keeps you motivated?”

Richard glanced at you, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Legacy,” he said after a moment. “Building something that lasts. Something people will remember.”

You tilted your head slightly, your fingers idly tracing the stem of a nearby glass. “That’s admirable,” you said, your tone laced with sincerity. “A lot of people chase short-term gains, but thinking about the future... that’s real power.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, as if he were trying to read between the lines of your words. “And what about you?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more intimate. “What motivates you?”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound light and melodic. “Oh, I’m still figuring that out,” you admitted, your eyes meeting his. “But I know one thing—I’m always drawn to people who inspire me.”

The words hung in the air, charged with a subtle tension that neither of you acknowledged directly. When the bartender placed your drinks on the counter, you reached for yours, brushing your fingers against Richard’s in the process. The touch was fleeting, accidental enough to seem innocent, but intentional enough to spark awareness.

As you took a sip of your drink, Richard leaned slightly closer, his attention fully on you now. “Inspiration can be a powerful thing,” he murmured, his tone carrying a hint of intrigue.

Before you could respond, Vincent’s voice cut through the moment. “Interrupting something?” he asked, his tone playful as he appeared at your side.

You turned to him, your expression shifting to one of amused exasperation. “Just getting to know Richard better,” you said lightly, placing a hand on Vincent’s arm in a gesture meant to keep things amicable.

Vincent’s grin widened, clearly entertained. “Good. Keep it up,” he said, stepping back slightly but remaining close enough to observe.

The three of you returned to the group, but you could feel the shift in dynamics. Richard’s attention was now almost exclusively on you, and Vincent watched with a mix of amusement and approval, clearly convinced that this was all leading to the kind of arrangement he’d been imagining.

As the evening progressed, you continued to navigate the conversation with precision, ensuring that your focus remained on Richard while keeping Vincent entertained enough to avoid suspicion. When Richard made a particularly insightful comment about balancing innovation with sustainability, you leaned in, your hand lightly brushing his arm as you voiced your agreement.

“That’s exactly the kind of thinking we need more of,” you said, your voice carrying a blend of admiration and subtle seduction. “It’s not just about solving today’s problems—it’s about anticipating the ones that haven’t even arisen yet.”

Richard’s lips curved into a small smile, and you saw the way his gaze dipped briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. “You have a good head on your shoulders,” he said, his tone almost contemplative. “Not many people see the bigger picture like that.”

You felt a flush of satisfaction at his words, though you kept your expression composed. “Coming from you, that means a lot,” you replied softly, letting your gaze linger on him for just a moment longer than necessary.

Vincent, meanwhile, was observing the exchange with a knowing smirk, clearly convinced that he was witnessing the build-up to his own fantasy. You allowed him to believe that, knowing it was easier to keep him on your side than to risk derailing the delicate balance you’d established.

By the time the group began to disperse, Richard was standing closer to you than anyone else, his attention fully captured. You had already popped a Forget-Me-Mint a few minutes ago when Richard wasn't paying attention. When he leaned in slightly, his voice low and tinged with curiosity, you felt your pulse quicken.

“There’s something about you,” he said, his gaze intense. “I’d like to continue this conversation somewhere quieter.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Vincent watching the exchange, his smirk now a full grin. He clearly thought his fantasy was about to come true, while you had an entirely different agenda in mind.

And as Richard placed a hand lightly on your back, guiding you toward a more private corner of the venue, you couldn’t help but wonder just how far you’d have to go to secure his trust—and his connections.

As Richard led you away, his hand lingering on your waist, he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Tell me,” he murmured, his voice dripping with intent, “how far are you willing to go to make an impression?”