Neon loves me best—slick on my skin, sugar on my smile. The DJ hits my song and the room tilts toward me like a secret. Bimbo energy? Absolutely. I’m the glossy, bubblegum blonde who knows exactly where to point your attention and when to make you wait for it.

On stage I’m sparkle and rhythm; off stage I’m structure in heels. The host taps my shoulder and three high-rollers look up like they’ve just remembered their manners. I crook a finger. We all understand.

“Phones down. Eyes up. Breathe with me.”

The door to the VIP clicks shut; velvet hush. I cross my legs slowly, let the heel dangle, and take attendance like this is my meeting.

“Here’s how this works,” I purr, tapping my lip with a pen I don’t really need. “You follow directions, I’m generous. You rush me, I slow the world down. Clear?”

“Clear,” they echo—late but together. Cute.

I set tiny rules that taste like candy when you earn them. Little treats for perfect attention. A countdown here, a name used properly there, a reward slipped between syllables.

“Use my first name—once.”
“Now my title.”
“Thank me like you mean it.”

I pass out assignments like party favors with bows:

“You—count back from ten, clean and slow.”
“You—say my name every time he hesitates.”
“You—don’t speak until I call on you.”

They try not to compete. They fail adorably. I keep them coordinated with the flick of a wrist and the lilt in my voice. The room gets warm and obedient. The music dissolves into breath and velvet shadows. I circle the table; all three follow like tidewater—no rushing, just listening.

“Posture.”
“Attention.”
“Good. Again.”

Every move is deliberate: a gloss swipe, a pen tap, the pause before I grant permission. I underline what I want in the air and watch them learn the tempo. The trick isn’t doing more; it’s making each second feel custom—sugar-bright and precise.

“Close your eyes.”
“Repeat the plan back to me.”
“Say, ‘Yes, Ms. Ella.’”

When they hit every mark, I soften like a reward I’ve been saving.

“There you go.”
“Perfect. I knew you could.”
“Now schedule me properly—tomorrow, same time. Don’t keep me waiting.”

I leave the VIP with neon still kissing my shoulders and a grin that says they’ll be hearing my voice in their heads all week. I’m the glitter on your collar and the rule in your pocket: the bimbo who brings the party, then makes it behave. Bring your best manners. I’ll bring everything else.