My face lit up. “Well . . . I love planning events! Can I help you? Let me help! We could do cute invitations. Oh, they could be designed like little tasting menus where people could pencil in their RSVP. Oh, and I can get some chocolates from this cute little dessert place over by my parents’. People could use it as a palate cleanser.”
I was bursting with ideas for this event I hadn’t even been invited to, let alone asked to help with, but Max was smiling when he said, “Yeah, of course, you can help. I’d really appreciate that.”
“Sorry for the overzealousness.” I bit my lip nervously, slightly embarrassed at my high energy around the event. “My parents used to have me be their little party planner whenever they’d have friends over. I’d make it into this huge ordeal with hand-drawn menus and invitations and I’d decorate the living room or set the dining room to match the theme.” I found myself lost in thought at how my parents indulged me. “It was a lot of fun.”
“Well, I could use all the help I could get, so please feel free to take over,” Max said as he grabbed our empty plates and tossed them in the trash, pulling up the drawstrings of the bag to toss it. “I might know a thing or two about tannins and up-and-coming growers, but I know nothing about event planning.
“Events like these,” Max said with a weary smile, “they need a personal touch, something to make them memorable. A theme that ties it all together.”
I tapped a finger against my lips, already visualizing the possibilities. “How about a ‘Journey through the Vines’ theme? We could take our guests on a sensory trip to different vineyards with each tasting.” My mind raced with details—invitations designed like vintage postcards, table settings that mirrored the rustic charm of a vineyard, maybe even a bit of live music to set the ambiance.
Max’s smile broadened as he leaned on the bar, clearly intrigued by the concept. “I love that. It’s perfect—elegant but still relaxed. And the vineyard vibe is totally on-brand for us.”
“Great! I can curate a selection of chocolates that pair well with each wine,” I continued, my enthusiasm bubbling over. “I know a great local chocolatier. That way we can keep the whole experience authentic and boutique.”
He nodded, his eyes shining with gratitude. “You’re a lifesaver, Isabella. This is why you’re perfect for this.”
Flattered by the trust he was placing in me, I couldn’t help but blush. “I just want to create an experience that feels intimate, even if it’s in the middle of New York City. Maybe some string lights, gentle music—nothing too loud, just . . . something that enhances the wine.”
Max tossed the trash bag into the bin and wiped down the bar one last time. “A month, then,” he said, looking at me with a nod that sealed our informal agreement. “We can iron out the specifics over the next few days, but I trust your vision, Isabella.”
A rush of warmth spread through me at his words. “Then it’s set, Boss,” I said as I gave him a mini salute.
As I busied myself collecting the last of the glasses, I felt a new sense of purpose. I had always loved organizing these little gatherings for my parents’ friends, transforming their spaces into themed wonderlands. But this was different—this was mine to lead, and the prospect was both thrilling and a touch daunting.
Max rinsed the glasses, his movements methodical, as Panic at the Disco continued to play in the background. By four in the morning, the weight of the day settled into my bones, but the excitement for what was to come kept the fatigue at bay. Finding Max buried in his wine notes in the back office, I knew we were both gearing up for a busy month ahead, but with a shared goal now in sight.
“I’m gonna head out if that’s okay,” I said as I tapped my knuckles on the doorframe. Max’s hair was in disarray, and he had glasses pushed up on the bridge of his nose. The top few buttons of his collared shirt were unbuttoned, and his sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms. These were all details I should not have noticed.
Max smiled up at me. “Good night, thanks for the dinner. Tomorrow’s shift might be a little crazier since it’s a weekend, so get some good sleep.”
“Sure thing, Boss,” I said over my shoulder as I walked back down the hall, and I heard Max chuckle from behind me.
* * *
Max had undersold just how wild a Saturday night at the Prism Society was. It was as if all of New York’s wealthy and horny came together in one place to let out their frustrations they’d let build up all week.
So far, I had made over seven hundred dollars in tips, seen three pairs of tits, and walked in on one blow job being given in a lounge upstairs. And it wasn’t even ten o’clock. But I was also working my magic on hyping up Max’s event. I was busy schmoozing members to get them to verbally commit to joining the tasting next month. I knew how much the hands-on practice would help Max with his exam and I desperately wanted to make the event incredible.
I also desperately needed to find more comfortable shoes. I thought I was a pro at being on my feet in designer footwear. I was one to not sacrifice style for comfort and knew the way my legs looked in a nice heel. But the shifts this week and the busy back and forth I was making tonight from the lounge to the bar and back again were killing me.
But if I took my shoes off now, they wouldn’t go back on my feet, so I took a deep breath, ignored the throbbing in the balls of my feet, and put a smile on my face. I might have to make a fashion faux pas and switch to comfort footwear next week. The thought made me nauseous.
“How’s your first couple of weeks going, sis?” Dominic’s voice stole my attention away from my achy feet. I was pleased he and Liam kept their appearances in the club to busy nights and big events. I really had no interest in seeing my brother waltzing around a sex club.
I let out a breath. “It’s good, my feet hurt, but the tips are good.”
Dom leaned against the bar, his gaze thoughtful as he watched me rearrange the cocktail menus. “Izzy, about this wine-tasting event next month . . .” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve been thinking it might be time to take event planning off Max’s plate, especially with his sommelier exam coming up.”
My heart skipped a beat, sensing where this was going. “Really?”
He nodded. “Yeah, and I was thinking, if this event goes well—by which I mean, it draws a good crowd, gets positive feedback, and brings in some new memberships—then maybe we could make event planning an official part of your job here.”
The stakes had never been clearer, and a thrill of excitement coursed through me. The idea of having a more concrete role in shaping the experience at the Prism Society, especially in a way that played to my strengths and passions, was both daunting and exhilarating.
Dom continued, a hint of a smile on his face. “I’ve seen how you are with people, Izzy. You have a knack for this. And I trust you to bring something special to the table. So, what do you say? Think you can make this wine tasting a night to remember?”
Fired up, I locked eyes with Dom. “You got it, Dom. I’ll make this event killer, promise.”
