James found himself covered in Tailsa's lipstick marks, unwilling to wipe them off. He couldn't stop grinning, amazed that he hadn't even bought the car yet, and her affection had already surged by 20 points.
Women truly were emotional creatures.
No wonder some men could charm their way into women's hearts with empty promises alone.
Some girls even ended up lending money to such men, despite everything, utterly baffling.
James found himself reflecting on this truth.
Tailsa, meanwhile, was excited to see what James would do next. Judging by today's events, his financial depth seemed boundless.
Hanging off James's neck, she sweetly suggested, "Didn't you want to drink, big brother? I'll join you for a bit."
James teased, "Didn't you say I was out of chances?"
"I just suddenly felt like it, is that not allowed?" she pouted playfully.
James chuckled, not pressing further.
After a little more cuddling, they hailed a cab to a trendy-looking bar called [Dragon Bay].
It was a spacious, standalone building with lines of blue neon lights on the exterior walls, dazzling in their bright glow.
Inside, a young promoter greeted them at the entrance, his smile deepening as he took in the sight of Tailsa. Typically, the more beautiful the companion, the higher the customer's expenditure.
"Welcome, sir and madam! How many of you? Do you have a reservation, or would you like to book a spot?"
Having never been there before, James looked to Tailsa for guidance.
"Get us a nice booth," she instructed.
"Certainly, we have S-class booths available. Would you like one?"
James, knowing how expensive booths could be, asked, "How much?"
"The S-class booth is our top area, requiring a minimum spend of $6,000."
Only $6,000?
James replied with a nonchalant, "Sure."
Seeing him agree so lightly, the promoter grew more expectant about their spending capacity.
He quickly led them to an S3 booth.
Positioned higher up, this booth offered a near bird's-eye view of the entire bar.
Enclosed in sheer drapes with dry ice vapor gently rising, the semi-obscured surroundings lent an ethereal quality.
The bar's atmosphere was dim yet vibrantly lit with stage lights, spotlights, and neon fixtures creating a dreamlike aura.
A band was softly playing popular tracks on stage, calm enough due to the early hour, keeping the noise levels pleasantly moderate.
Having seated them, the promoter handed over the drink menu.
Tailsa, concerned about ordering something too expensive, suggested, "How about the $6,800 mixed set?"
That would just cover the booth cost.
The promoter's face twitched with concern.
For such a high-end booth, his role was to attend to them throughout, and if the spending only met the minimum, his commission would be disappointing.
Scanning the menu, James noticed items like the Little Dragon for $38,000 and the Supreme Dragon for $88,000. Unfamiliar with these, he asked, "What's the Supreme Dragon?"
"It's Ace of Spades, the top champagne. The Little Dragon comes in three colors, the big one in five, with a bottle of black gold. It's not for the average drinker," Tailsa explained patiently.
James nodded, curious, "Have you tried it? How does it taste?"
Detecting James's interest in the Dragon set, Tailsa didn't want to risk depleting funds set aside for tomorrow's Porsche.
Feigning indifference, she replied, "It's just okay, not much different from regular champagne."
Listening to James's questioning, the promoter pegged him for an inexperienced bumpkin, seemingly unfamiliar with their famous Little Dragon.
Resigned to a long night ahead with minimal excitement, he cast a disdainful glance at well-dressed James, silently pitying Tailsa.
Usually, women in such opulent settings sought to impress, squeezing their boyfriends mercilessly. Tailsa seemed a rarity, concerned with saving for himâa rarity in anyone.
Encouragingly, he prodded, "So, the $6,800 set, sir?"
Having never tasted champagne before, James couldn't help but be intrigued by Ace of Spades, asking Tailsa, "Is it really that bad?"
Caught in a dilemma, Tailsa noted James's curiosity. Discouraging him seemed a party-pooper move.
Mulling it over, she said, "It's alright. Don't waste money; this set's fine."
James pondered for a moment.
He mentally consulted the systemâcould he stick the girl with an expensive order if she now wanted less?
The system responded, allowing for date expenses to be settled with the fund.
With confidence, James was all set to sample the Dragon set when the promoter chimed in, "Our mixed set sounds perfect for you."
He noted the girl's thoughtful care for the boy, suggesting cheaper options and a graceful out for him.
The hesitation, though, made it seem like James was bluffing with insufficient funds. It annoyed the promoter enough to snipe without thinking.
Tailsa spotted his slight but telltale tonal sneer, as if their expense was below par.
Fearing James's reaction, she stood, confronting, "What do you mean?"
The promoter sneered inwardly, thinking she was ungrateful. He was doing her a favor, after all.
Yet annoyed by her barking, he acquiesced nominally, "Pardon, miss. I'm not so eloquent, don't mind any offense from me."
His impassive demeanor was faultless yet off-putting, evoking a sense of discomfort.
Tailsa disliked his tone, but with his formal apology, exposing frustration felt unladylike. She huffed, returning to her seat.
Having worked food delivery and security, James was familiar with dismissiveness.
Recognizing the promoter's condescension, he suspected it stemmed from their low order, leading to the foul mood.
Still, letting it upset Tailsa was unacceptable.
Once women got upset and lost the mood, any chance with them evaporated.
James saw an opportunity to show off and rebuke the snobbish attendant.
In a measured tone, he instructed, "Fetch your manager."
The promoter laughed inwardly, unimpressed by the demand.
Confident, he'd done nothing unprofessional.
Even should the manager come, there'd be no consequence, nor reason to reprimand him.
Besides, James was using the top-tier booth for peanutsâa light expense wouldn't sit well with the manager either.
Murmuring something inaudible, the promoter spun away, prideful and unfazed.
His imposing posture seemingly taunted themâteeth bared in perverse triumph.
James, reassuring Tailsa with a smile, promised, "Don't worry. I'll give him a good dressing down for you."
No small amount of guilt pricked at Tailsa. Intent on tomorrow's car, she picked less costly options, subjecting James to disdain by association.
"Nah, don't worry," she offered weakly. "Maybe we shouldn't drink tonight?"
A smirk adorned James's face; headstrong, he affirmed, "No wayâI've got a point to make, and nothing'll stop me now."
A day of restraint left him eager to indulge, relishing a chance to perform in style.
Truly, only bars provided the stage for his debut act.
On cue, the promoter reached the bar's back office, where he sought out the floor manager, Amandaâa woman of commanding presence and reputed connections of steel.
He bustled over with complaints, dubbing James and Tailsa cheap imposters looking to flash pictures for effect in the S-class area, now picking a fight over his demeanor.
Glancing askew, Amanda sighed inwardly.
Her patience with his antics was worn thin. Repeated customer complaints annoyed her.
Were it not for his ties to wealthy patrons, often spending sizeable sums, she'd have long sent him packing.
With resignation, Amanda led him to James's booth.