Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
I wasn’t really a femme fatale. I knew that my looks – extremely long, blonde hair with baby blues and pearly whites to boot – only merited a cute girl next door. But I knew how to play my best assets. I was the good girl gone bad, just sweet enough to hold their interest, just slutty enough to catch their attention. Too bad none of my exes could do the same for me. I got bored really fast.
“Are you paying attention, Ver-o-ni-ca?”
I looked up to find the guy who’d led me there glaring at me. I motioned for him to go on and he sighed heavily.
“I swear, this is the most incompetent fucking group of…” the guy muttered to himself, before massaging his temples dramatically. “My name is Elliot fucking Richards. I threw this shindig, and you’d better make me proud, or there’ll be fucking hell to pay.”
He glared right at me.
“And I mean fucking hell. I’ll skin you and wear you as a coat if you mess this up,” he said, clicking his fingers for emphasis.
We all straightened up and I looked at the floor with burning cheeks. Jesus, this guy was intense. I’d have to bite my tongue and not sass him, or he’d probably crucify me while the rest of the waiters cheered him on.
“So the fucking menu is on the fucking list in front of you. Don’t fucking mess it up. Carry the fucking trays. Answer any fucking questions. Do a good fucking job. And make Elliot fucking proud.” Elliot flashed an angelic smile. So he was insane and bipolar. What a winning combination.
We all milled around the tables for the next hour, setting up the hors d’oeuvres and champagne flutes. As far as I knew, the evening was in honor of a young artist called Helene something or other, who’d gotten a rich benefactor to sponsor her stuff. Veronica told me it was utter shit, and Helene had only gotten as far as she did by banging the right people. I was curious about the actual art, wondering whether it would really be as shit as Nic claimed.
I was too preoccupied with folding napkins and setting trays to wonder, though, and the hour passed in no time. My waist-length hair was getting in the way, so I pinned it up in a chignon as I worked with the rest of the waiters.
Every so often, a tall, light-haired guy would catch my eye, and I played my role perfectly. A shy smile here, an averted gaze there. I was sure he was hooked.
“What’s a pretty girl like you doing serving food?”
I turned towards the direction of the voice, pleased to see the man decided to approach me, just like I knew he would.
“Well, I’ve got to make money somehow, don’t I?” I drawled, batting my eyelashes.
He used such a generic line to talk me up, I was almost disappointed. I’d been hoping for something a little more original. A little worthier of my attention.
“That’s true,” the man said, snapping up a prawn canapé from my platter and taking a bite. “Mm, this is lovely.”
Quickly growing bored and disappointed with the way our conversation was moving, I smiled politely, bowed my head and moved out of his path. Once I’d gotten them to talk to me, I seemed to easily get bored. Unfortunately, that meant I didn’t get laid nearly as much as I wanted to.
Well… I’d never gotten laid per se. Which wasn’t something I liked to admit to anyone, least of all myself.
The man followed me, and when I felt his cold, clammy hand on my elbow, I had this sinking feeling he was going to cause trouble.
“Now don’t you run away from me,” he said. It was only then that I noticed the slight slur in his words. He was drunk – or at the very least, on a very good path to being drunk.
“I have work to do,” I excused myself politely. “You’re not the only hungry person around here, sir!”
He scowled at me. “I told you not to leave,” he snarled, and his grip on my elbow tightened. My eyes scanned the crowd, noticing several well-to-do people who chose to avert their eyes so they wouldn’t have to witness the scene unfolding between us.
“I’m sorry,” I said, this time with more determination. “I’m going to have to leave now.”
“Says who?” the man demanded.
I moved away from him, forcefully tearing my arm out of his grasp, when I bumped into another man.
Only he wasn’t just a man. At the risk of sounding like an absolute twat, he was an absolute god.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Handsome. Dark. You know the thing, ticking all the boxes to make me go weak at the knees. But there was something else there, and it made my head spin.
He exuded power. My body wanted to obey. I wanted to do whatever this man told me to. I wanted to submit.