BABY GIGOLO.

Tate.

The Tate estate, situated on the slopes of a hill called Devil's Peak, was ready to receive its guests. The trees were neatly trimmed, the lawn freshly mowed, the flowers gave off their best scent, the box hedges stood in a neat line like an army on parade and the vines overhanging the abor provided a cool and inviting atmosphere. Inside the mansion everything was spit and polished and there was not a dust mite in sight. The staff, having slaved away to get everything done on time, stood around in newly starched uniforms waiting for further orders from their employer. The spider has chosen his location, spun his web and was ready to receive its prey.

After his initial glimpse of Francesa, Tate had wondered what kind of girl she was and what would impress her the most. He had set his army of spies to work but they came up short and he found little to satisfy his curiosity. Other than the fact that she was an only child, that she was living with them, that she was a bright student and had won a scholarship to study psychology at the University, there was very little else to learn.

She had one social media account and her activities were restricted to interaction with family and friends that had moved to other parts of the world. She had few friends and hardly discusses anything of importance on her account. He found one or two photos of her, downloaded it and never missed an opportunity to study it closely. He concluded that she has what the world at large called the x-factor; something that defied explanation or definition, and that made him want to see if in reality she matched the picture he had formed in his mind.

Despite his love for partying he had never invited his associates to his house. That was his private domain where he relaxed and freshened up for the next round of partying. A few of his associates had rocked up unannounced only to be turned away at the gate and banned from his company. That was why the few that received invitations to dinner at his place accepted it so eagerly. It was an unheard of honor, and the ones who were left out felt jealous and rejected but they dared not ask to be included. The first person he invited was Christopher with a request to bring Francesca as his date.

"I'll check if she's free, and then I'll call you back," Christopher said.
Two hours passed before Christopher returned his call, and in that time Tate went through hell. He paced up and down, sat down, jumped up, bit his nails and shouted at his staff for no reason. The waiting drove him insane but he did not want to appear desperate by calling again. There would be no party without Francesca present. After he received confirmation that they would attend, there was a fresh round of pacing the floor, jumping up and down and shouting at his staff. This time around he was happy and wanted everything to be perfect.

When Christopher hung up after the initial call a smile played in the corners of his mouth. He knew his friend well enough to know that he was curious about Francesca and that Tate had done the unthinkable of inviting people to his house to try and impress her. Christopher was happy to play along to see what the outcome of his friend's elaborate scheme would be.

Including Tate there were ten people altogether. His guests arrived at eight o' clock and were ushered onto the patio where cocktails were served. The sun had already set and in the Cape Town city the street lights, skyscraper lights and the red and white lights of the cars crawling along the highways and byways created a glittering panorama of life down below. Some of the guests lounged on rattan chairs while a few, including Francesca stood near the glass enclosure admiring the view.

"Do you like what you see?" a voice sounded behind her with a note of flirtation as an undertone. She knew it wasn't her boyfriend because he had gone to the bar to get her a drink. Francesca turned around and saw Tate smiling at her. She did not like the look in his eyes, nor did she appreciate his overtly flirtatious body language, nor the question and the manner in which it was asked.