"She's not. You'll see in a minute." The man crossed his arms, sat back down, and sank into the sofa, watching Ashley Bowen's every move.
He was sure Ashley Bowen understood what he meant. The best proof was how she'd picked a drink just now. At first, she refused to choose, but as soon as he said the two words, "I'm paying," she immediately made her selection.
In their circle, when a man offered a woman a drink, it was a way of asking if she needed "special services."
A bottle of mineral water meant one hundred a night. A bottle of iced tea, three hundred. A can of herbal tea, five hundred. And the Assam milk tea was a thousand a night.
He hadn't pulled out a high-end red wine to test her. A bottle from Carmine Valley, for instance, would have signified tens of thousands, or even over a hundred thousand, for a night.
He believed Ashley Bowen was a rich woman—a bored, lonely rich woman out looking for some fun on the side.
