Mr. Crassle approaches you

You are in the middle of chatting with Sara Cleft and sipping your drinks when you feel a firm tap on the shoulder. You turn around to find the older man who was giving you looks standing behind you. He has a thin-lipped smile and he smells like cigars and aftershave. His skin is so tan he looks Greek or Sicilian.

"Hello, gorgeous," he says, sliding an arm around your waist as if he was invited.

You let him rest his hand on your hip for the time being, but you're surprised by how forward he is acting.

"Hello," you reply, glancing down at his arm, "I don't believe we have met before."

"Crassle," he says, "You can call me Hugh."

"My name is Joy. It's nice to me you, Hugh," you say. "Are you here with-"

"Let's cut to the chase," he says and leans in. "I want you. You wouldn't be here if you didn't want some action. So let's go somewhere a little more quiet."

"Like where?" You ask, still not sure you're interested.

"We can go out to my car," he suggests. "Or to one of the private rooms upstairs."

You glance over to Sara for support, but she has turned away to give you some privacy and is doing a good job of pretending not to pay attention.

"Come on, doll," Crassle says and gives your ass a squeeze through the leather coat. "Make my night."