She lowers herself above me, propping her hands on my shoulders, effectively blocking my view of the blonde. “What’s your name?” I ask.

“Sophie,” she tosses out. No last name. First name most likely fake. I already know her profession. What do you talk to escorts about while they’re grinding against your dick?

Next to me, Braxton doesn’t have the same dilemma. He’s comfortable in his stoic nature as he reclines farther to allow the girl to take charge. I try to mimic his posture and cool demeanor, taking advantage of the silence to observe.

Everyone here is preoccupied with drinks and dancing escorts. It’s not an ideal environment to discern traits. I need an inciting incident to draw out a reaction—something I can scale and measure.

“Oh—” The girl on my lap startles. “Are you turned on, baby? What’s this…?” Her hand goes to my pocket, and I realize she’s referring to my watch.

“It’s nothing.” I catch her wrist. She smiles seductively, then starts to writhe her hips again. I slide the watch deeper into my pocket, noticing the blonde studying my every move.

As if the gods hear my plea, Ericson turns his attention to his date. He’s ready to play. I watch as he drapes an arm around the blonde’s shoulders, lays his hand on her thigh. Then progresses to inch higher…

The woman places her hand over his to stop his advance. Interesting. However, Ericson isn’t as amused by her peculiar behavior. He pushes her knees apart and slides his hand up her inner thigh.

My shoulders tense. Before anyone else notices their altercation, the woman grabs hold of his tie and pulls him close. There’s a whispered exchange where Ericson smiles, chuckles, then returns to his drink and the conversation to his right.

I take a chance. “Who’s your friend over there?” I nod to the blonde.

The woman on top of me grins. “Oh, you like blondes.” She happens to be a brunette. “I don’t know, baby. Goes by Lilah, but she’s not with our company. That guy ordered her himself. Guess he wanted something particular.”

Don’t we all.

The song ends, giving way to a faster tempo, and I nod my thanks to the escort. The blonde—Lilah—narrows her gaze on me from across the table, then politely excuses herself. She grabs a silver clutch from the seat next to her and wanders out of the lounge.

She’s not part of the pack; a lone wolf. All the other escorts are from the same company, but apparently, Ericson rented his date from another—why? Did he desire a more assertive, dominating escort? No, I highly doubt that. Everything about his personality states he demands to be the one in control.

Based on what I do know, I can make a general hypothesis:

Lilah does exhibit a few of the desired characteristics, but our brief time together this evening won’t allow for a full evaluation of the Dirty Dozen scale—a psych eval of the twelve most prominent traits to determine if a person fits the dark triad.