My Bad Boy Werewolf Quadrillionaire Space Lord

Creme de la Creme

The gala awaiting them just on the other side of the portal was widely regarded as a social event of unparalleled grandeur. The chandeliers were synthetic diamonds suspended on their own quadcopter drones. The champagne was from a vineyard on an asteroid in orbit, making the drinks being served today the rarest in existence. The wait staff was made entirely of what the guests believed to be a renowned ice ballet troupe known as the Princesses and Peasants of Winter. The band was so obscure even hipsters haven't heard of them. And this particular performance of Cirque de Étoiles had never been seen before, and would never be seen again.

At least, that was how Cardego Corp advertised their annual 'Circus on a Yacht' charity event. And all of was true.

Technically.

"I wouldn't drink that if I were you," Luca said to Isabella as he reached out and snatched a fluted glass away. The burly looking waitress who had served it stopped, and held her free hand over her mouth.

"Oh, I am so sorry," the waitress said, as took the glass from Luca and set it back on her tray. "I thought she was part of the VPP list."

Luca wasn't surprised to see Isabella frown. "Don't you mean VIP list?" she asked.

Luca laughed. "VPP. Very Pretentious People. The people who need to be impressed," he explained. He turned to the waitress and added "This is Isabella Bonny. Add her to the VIP list, if you would."

"Of course, Mister Cardego," the woman replied with a polite nod. She turned back to Isabella and asked, "so, what can I getcha, luv?"

"Well, I am thirsty," Isabella said, and she eyed the champagne flutes.

"Oh, take Mister Cardego's word for it, luv. You don't want to drink this. We'll get you hooked up," the waitress said.

Isabella snatched another glass anyway, glared at Luca, and took a tentative sip. Her look of smug defiance faded like a lightbulb that was just turned off, replaced by a look of abject disgust. She spat on the floor and began licking her coat. "Oh, ick, fuck, that's disgusting.

"I did warn her, boss," the woman said.

"You did, it's her own fault. If you would, find her a decent lager so she can get that taste off her tongue," Luca requester kindly.

The waitress nodded and grinned, before she turned around and walked away.

Luca watched her leave with a contented grin creeping across his face. The departing sashay of clingy fabric shifting with the gentle sway of curvy hips was both invigorating and slightly soporific.

"So, I hate to be judgemental, but she doesn't look like your conventional waitress for a bunch of lecherous Billionaires," Isabella noted, still wiping her tongue. Like Luca, she was watching the woman's departure, though she wasn't enjoying the sight with the same degree of appreciation. "She looks like she could probably clobber most of them."

"That's why I hired her," Luca agreed. He turned to see Isabella's look of shock and decided to explain himself. "Billionaires can struggle to keep their hands to themselves, so I hired a professional hockey team to do the serving. I make a point of letting them know that breaking a billionaire's nose, or arm, isn't necessarily a bad thing, and that I'll cover their legal costs if they get sued. Or want to sue."

"Well, that's one mystery. Now, what the hell was that piss you let me drink?" Isabella asked.

"The rarest vintage in the system. It's grown on the 'Blasted Rock', an asteroid caught in Earth's orbit that someone tried to grow a vineyard on," Luca said. "It tastes like microwaved grape juice mixed with moonshine. Which it is, because the radiation kills bacteria and it has no alcohol on its own."