"Wait," she calls out.
I glare at her over my shoulder.
She pales, then shrugs into my shirt, which hits her mid-thigh. The sleeves cover her arms completely. I frown. She darts her fingers to the front and begins to thread the buttons through the holes. Good. She gets me. Finally.
"When…" she swallows. "...when do we start?"
"You’ll find out soon enough." I turn back, take another step toward Weston. A man behind him breaks through the chain of bodyguards.
He barrels forward, tries to brush past me, his gaze set on Victoria.
I swing and my fist connects with his jaw. He crumples to the ground. Silence descends. The mob behind stills.
I scan their faces, "Anyone, else?"
12
What did the baseball glove say to the ball?
Answer: Catch you later
Victoria
"Why hasn't he called yet?" I chew on my fingernails. I haven’t heard from the asshole in an entire seven days.
Well, except for the call from one of his assistants—not Meredith—directing me to a private clinic in Hampstead Heath. The doctor—a woman—had given me a complete physical and drawn enough blood for a series of blood tests. Jesus, the brute is thorough. He’s probably having me tested for every STD under the sun.
The doc had wanted to administer the contraceptive injection, but I'd opted for birth control pills. I'd been surprised when she hadn't insisted otherwise.
The acrid taste of nail polish laces my tongue. I hold up my fingers and groan. Every one of my finger nails is bitten down to the quick. Ugh. This definitely doesn't go along with the sophisticated image I try to portray. I fist my fingers at my sides, glance around the tiny flat. Amelie had invited me to move in with her and I had agreed.
Truthfully, it had been a weight off my shoulders. No way, could I afford the rent at a studio. Hotels or long-term rentals were out of the question… Besides, I’m not planning on being broke that long. Just for a few days, until I get my feet under me. Until I manage to lure in one gazillionaire with the worst attitude ever. I have to get him to... what…fall in love with me?
Get me pregnant with his child? I shake my head. Not that, much as I want one. This is not the right time to bring a baby into this world. Really, I just need to get him to trust me enough so I can get close to him
I’d been stupid to think my charms, such as they are, would work…
I’d danced at that club, hoping to catch his attention. At least, it had worked. Maybe too well…? There had been a strange light in his eyes when he’d directed me on how exactly he wanted me to speak to him... Which is to say, hold my silence. A thrill tickles my spine… It had been hot. The way he’d taken charge, even as everything inside of me had insisted that I stand up to him—not give in, not yet. I had held my own…and that…had seemed to seal the deal… It had been a risk to coerce him to lose control. He'd taken the bait, come for me, and I'd been sure he was going to fuck me right there. The fact that it had taken place before the entire assembled audience… That had only turned me on even more. Damn him, but I'd wanted him to claim me then. Couldn't resist the strength of his body which had covered me, held me down, helpless in his hold.
I’d known he wouldn’t let anything hurt me… No, he is saving that pleasure for himself. I thrust my forefinger into my mouth, chew on my fingernail… My teeth dig into the soft pad of my finger… "Ow." I shake it out.
"Have you tried coating your fingertips with salt?" Amelie flounces into the room… "Or better still, chilies." She holds a tray with two cups of steaming tea. In between them is a green chili.
I stare at it, then fold my arms behind my back. "No way, am I rubbing that on my fingertips. Knowing my luck, I’d probably touch it to my eyes instead."
She places the tray on the center table, then sinks into a sofa. "So…the plan didn’t work?"
I purse my lips, shift my weight between my feet.
"It did work?"
"I… I’m not sure."
She frowns. "Explain."
I twist my fingers together in front of myself, "He, uh, asked me to wait for his message."
She sits up, ”That’s good, right?"
"He hasn’t called."
"He will." She leans forward and picks up her Kindle.
"You sound sure," I huff.
She shoots me a glance. "You don’t sound convinced."
I raise my shoulders.
She holds up her Kindle. "Trust me, I have firsthand knowledge of how to play a man and reel him in."
"Huh?"
"Romance novels, baby.’
"Oh." I blink. "You…you’re joking right?"
Her eyes gleam. "Haven’t you read Fifty Shades of Grey?"
I shake my head.
Her mouth drops open. "No way."
I walk over, sink into the overstuffed armchair next to her.
"You could have fooled me." She studies me from toe to head.
"What?"
She waves her hand in the air, "You’re so graceful... You practically ooze sex appeal."
"I do not." I fold my arms around my waist.
"Sure do. In fact," she scowls, "every movement of yours seems to be choreographed. Even wearing this outfit."
I glance down at my simple knee length sweaterdress; I'd bought it at a charity shop to keep me warm in the London weather.
"You’re so well put together." She says.
I bite my lips. "My ma loved black and white movies from old Hollywood. I watched them all with her. I loved the old-world glamour, how beautiful and powerful the heroines seemed. I guess I internalized their mannerisms—how they walked, talked…flirted," I lower my gaze, "seduced."
"Ah, now that makes sense."
"It does?"
"You have an old-world allure about you." She places her Kindle on the settee next to her. "An air that suggests you are a challenge."
"Does it now?"
"Bet that’s why Saint can’t help but be intrigued."
"Enough to keep me waiting, huh?"
"He
