Текст книги "Indecent Cravings: Part Two"

Автор книги: S. K. Cross

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 6 страниц)

Chapter 2

I’m back on Ocean Court again, trying to figure out where this damned submission school is.

I might be obsessed.

The sun is disappearing behind clouds, thunderheads moving in. I’d better get to the bus stop soon before it downpours.

I spin slowly, examining the four corners of the buildings. Nothing but adobe and brown doors. Is it one of the brown doors?

Today is Thursday, my first day off in six days. I came over here to Ocean Drive to buy a dress I saw in the window of a boutique the other day.

Lorena’s ‘Sunset Chill’ party is this evening and if I’m going to go I need a new dress. Not that I’m seriously considering going . . . oh fuck, I can’t fool you, you know me by now . . . I’m going.

The best part about buying the new dress is that I bought it with my own money. I earned it. Didn’t even touch the debit card. And even better, it’s not Trowbridge family money. It’s all mine.

I gotta admit, something about Lorena and the job offer intrigues me. It couldn’t hurt to just go to a party, right?

I have until eight p.m., so there’s plenty of time to go back home, shower, and then go. But before going back, I thought I’d just come over here to see if I could catch a glimpse of anything Lukas Thorn-related.

But nothing. Oh well. Story of my life.

I turn to walk to the bus stop over on Collins when a voice makes me jump.

“Hello.”

I turn to see one of the most gorgeous girls I’ve ever seen. Stunning blue eyes behind big glasses with thick black frames. Smooth auburn hair. Thick luscious lips. She’s wearing a flowing see-through body veil over an aqua bikini that picks up the blue from her eyes. Firm round breasts and curves in all the right places. A shiny belly button piercing glistens in the dimming sun. And I swear she’s glowing from within. For a split second, I go full lez.

“Are you here about the ad?” she says.

Oh shit. “Um, what ad?”

She cocks her head to the right and squints her eyes. “The ad.”

My left foot is trying to make a break for it, shouting Let’s go! But my right foot argues, saying Well, let’s just play this out. This girl doesn’t look dangerous.

“Well,” I say, “there was an ad.”

The girl beams the warmest, most welcoming smile ever in the history of the world. God, her teeth are whiter than snow.

“Come on in,” she says, motioning toward a door behind her. Is that where she emerged from?

My feet continue their argument.

Left foot: Run! Go! Come on! Ocean Drive is right there! Don’t do it.

Right foot: Aren’t you even at all curious about what’s behind that door?

Left foot: Are you fucking kidding me? You could get raped, killed, murdered.

Right foot: By this girl? Puh-leeze.

Left foot: No, idiot! By the guys with biker tattoos who sent her out here to get you.

Right foot: But isn’t this what we came here for?

Left foot: You know, there’s no talking with you! You always have to get your way, don’t you?

Right foot: Come on, lighten up. You’ve got to take chances in life. Live a little, for Christ’s sake.

Left foot: Cut me off. I’ll make a run for it myself.

Right foot: You’re going in, and that’s that.

Left foot: I’m surrounded by idiots.

I follow the gorgeous girl awkwardly as she presses on something that causes the door to swing open. She steps in and shoots me another one of those welcoming smiles.

I step to the door and look inside.

It’s an office.

Whew.

Just an office like so many other offices.

See? says my right foot. Nothing to worry about.

You’ll see! warns my left foot as I step fully inside and the door mysteriously shuts all by itself behind me.

“I’m Erica,” says the girl, extending her hand.

I take it, an electrical charge passing through us as I touch her. I get a flash of her face looking down at me, my tongue buried in her pussy. Then it’s gone.

I realize I’m holding her hand too long so I let go.

“And your name?” she says.

I laugh. “Oh, right. I’m Abi . . . Jayd.”

“Abijayd?”

“Jayd. Just Jayd.”

“Nice to meet you, Jayd. Have a seat.”

“Thank you.”

Erica sits and types some information into her computer. I drop into the chair facing the desk.

Where am I? I swear it could be any office anywhere.

“Now,” she says, folding her hands on the desk with a big smile, “what brings you in today?”

My heart races. Suddenly, this feels like a job interview. Problem is I have no idea what I’m applying for.

“Um, I thought you could tell me what it was all about,” I say.

“Here’s the deal. If you know what we do here, then you want to be a part of it. If you don’t, then maybe you should just go.”

How do I respond to that? “Well, the thing is–”

“Do you want to be here or not?” Her tone has gone sour, her eyes squinting, her arms folded.

Oddly, this entices me, firing up my inner diva. I respond to challenges.

“I want to be here,” I say. “I do. I think I know what goes on here . . . I think.”

She relaxes, her arms unfold, and she smiles. “Good. Now, I just need to ask you some questions. They’re a little personal, but this is a very personal business and we wish to ensure that our clients are happy.”

Business? Clients?

“Do you have a boyfriend?” she says.

“Not currently, no.”

“Are you seeing anyone casually?”

I bite a nail and cross my legs. “No, I just moved here from . . . far away.”

Erica writes something down with no emotion. What the fuck is she writing? “What was the most sexually adventurous thing you’ve ever done?”

None of your fucking business, bitch. Steady, Abigail, steady. Just go with the flow. “Um, I, uh, gave my boyfriend, um, oral, at the top of the Prudential Center, on the observation deck.”

“Is that high?”

“Yeah, like fifty-five stories I think. Highest public place in Boston.”

She makes a checkmark. What the fuck? Then she looks at me with a more piercing stare. “What was lacking from your previous relationship?”

“Um, nothing. It was great. It was fine.”

She cocks her head to one side, her blue eyes seemingly lit from behind. “Really?”

There is a rumble of thunder outside, then a flash of lightning through the window. My shoulder muscles tense. “Look, I didn’t come here to talk about—”

“It is relevant to what you want to accomplish here. You do understand the nature of this place, don’t you?”

“Well, sure but—”

“And like a guy you meet in a bar who wants to have sex with you. You just wouldn’t go with any random guy. You’d want to get to know him first, right? That’s the point of these questions . . .  . . . to get to know you. Maybe there’s no point in continuing, but we’ll never know unless we talk and find out about each other.”

I take a deep breath. Bitch makes sense, even if her tone has grown condescending and cold. I don’t know if I want to punch her or lick her.

But this is weird. I came here looking for Lukas Thorn. Not to allow some bimbo to interrogate me.

“So,” she says, “back to the question—what was lacking from your previous relationship?”

“Well, nothing, really. It was just, um, very, um, boring.”

Her eyes perk up. “Boring?”

“Yes, I wanted more. I always want more. It’s never enough. He was done, but I wasn’t.”

“What was the furthest you ever went with him?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand the question.”

“How far did you go with him?”

“We had sex.”

“How?”

I squelch my sudden urge to spit on her. “He put his dick in me and fucked me!”

Oops, my tone turned a little sharp there.

She rolls her eyes, shakes her head, squints and makes a note, underlining and circling something. What the fuck?

“Did he tie you up?” she says, almost disinterested now.

“No!”

“Did you do anal?”

“No.”

“Did he dominate you?”

A huge thunderclap shakes the building with another flash of lightning. I can hear the heavy rain pouring down hard on the roof. “No.”

Something wells up inside me. It’s a mish-mosh of anger and fear. It surrounds me and pushes itself to the surface.

Relax, Jayd. This is sexy. It’s kind of like a scene from that kink site you used to watch. The door is right behind you. You can run at any time. Just breathe and relax.

“Have you ever worn a collar?” she says.

“Huh? A collar?” I just read about the significance of collars in Lukas’ book, but for some reason my gut tells me to play dumb.

“You know, a master has his submissive wear a collar.” She seems bored now, like she just wants to get this over with.

I laugh. “Oh, of course. I’ve seen those. Naturally. No, I’ve never worn one of those. Chad . . . my boyfriend . . . was very traditional.”

“Were you punished as a child?”

“Of course. Who wasn’t?”

“How?”

“How what?”

“How were you punished?”

“Well . . . I got yelled at a lot.”

“Were you ever spanked?”

“No, actually, I wasn’t. My dad was . . . is . . . very nice. Tame, in fact. Too tame. My mom is passive aggressive. She manipulates. I wouldn’t call it punishment. She always made me feel bad.”

“Feel bad how?”

“She made me think everything was my fault. Why can’t you be more like Ashley? Why can’t you be more like Addison? What is wrong with you? I grew up thinking there was something wrong with me.”

“Who are Addison and Ashley?”

“My perfect prim and proper older sisters.”

I suddenly realize I’m sharing too much. An alarm bell goes off in my head and I find myself standing up.

“I have to go,” I say. I don’t actually say it, but the words just fall out of my mouth. Dammit, Abigail, don’t run!

“We’re almost done,” says Erica. “It’s really okay.”

I have no clue what’s wrong with me, but all I know is I’ve got to get the fuck out of here. “No, I seriously have to go. Thanks and all. Bye.”

“If you go out that door, you cannot reapply.”

I pause at that, but the urge to leave is overwhelming. I nearly leap out the door into a sea of pounding rain, flashes of lightning exploding all around me.

I feel like I’m underwater as I round the corner to the bus stop. Luckily, mine is right there and I jump on board. Even though I was only exposed to the rain for a few moments, I’m soaked and dripping.

Oh God, that was weird.

Why did I run?

I was curious. I was getting closer to finding Lukas Thorn. Why the fuck did I run?

What’s wrong with me? What makes me think a man like him would be interested in a blonde plain Jane like me anyway?

On the ride back to Karissa’s, my thoughts drift back to the plane. Back to that orgasm in the sky. Back to those eyes behind the Ray-Bans. My breathing goes shallow and my heart beats faster. I uncross and re-cross my legs in the tiny uncomfortable window seat, biting my nail and glancing out at the drenching rain.

I get a flash of a video I saw on one of those kink sites once. It was a girl tied up by ropes with her hands behind her back and a ball gag in her mouth. She’s bouncing up and down on a big black dildo sticking up from the floor. I remember staring transfixed as I watched it moving in and out of her ass as a man pulls on a chain resting between two clamps attached to her nipples.

In my mind, I see Lukas Thorn as the man. I feel my face flush. A droplet of sweat forms on my upper lip.

The old Latina lady sitting next to me turns and gives me a look. She can tell I’m thinking dirty thoughts just like the lady on the plane, can’t she? World is so full of fucking prudes! I turn back to the window, watching the luxury condos give way to low cinderblock houses with tile roofs and iron grates as the rain subsides.

What fascinated me so much about the kinky girl in the video was how much she was enjoying it. I mean, I felt her. She was in some kind of blissful state, her eyes rolling into her head as she grunted with pleasure at being treated like a piece of dirt.

I mean, I’m all for feminist values. Women are equal to men in every way. I want to do great things in life (not that I’ve figured out what they are yet), and nobody should ever tell me I can’t.

So I argued with myself for a long time over what it was about that video that made me so horny. Because that girl was treated like pond scum. But she loved it. And I loved watching it. And secretly . . . deep down . . . I wanted to be her.

What the fuck?

Dammit, I’m a goddamned horny mess again. I should have stayed at the school. Why did I chicken out? Now I can’t go back, according to what Erica said.

As the bus draws near to Karissa’s, I ponder how I’m going to keep my boutique bag with my new dress from getting soaked because I forgot my damned umbrella.

But, lo and behold, the sky miraculously clears as the bus pulls up to the intersection that’s two blocks away from Karissa’s. Florida is weird like that. Back home, when it rains it stays . . . and takes forever to clear up. Here everything happens fast.

Funny thing is that smell that was so pungent when I first arrived has diminished a little. Or is it that I’m just so used to it now that I don’t notice it anymore?

I let myself in, realizing that Karissa and Jaxon are already gone.

So yep, you guessed it, shorts come off. Panties come off. Fingers, clit, folds, and tunnel get all happy to thoughts of the one and only Mister Lukas Thorn.

I close my eyes and imagine him standing above me with a flogger in his hand. I’m wearing nipple clamps and a ball gag in my mouth. He whacks my back with the flogger.

There it is. First orgasm.

Wait . . . here comes another. Oh God!

My head starts to clear when I see him take the Ray-Bans down and stare into my eyes. Then he moves behind me and says, “Come for me, you little fucking whore.”

Oops . . . Make that three orgasms.

Oh God, I’m a mess.

Chapter 3

Lorena’s building is one of the super-tall modern condo skyscrapers over on West Ave. A large circular driveway with a team of valets is out front. Must be nice.

I’m in my new lavender dress, which I gotta admit hides the fifteen pounds I need to lose. Shit, I need to find a Planet Fitness or something and get on a diet, seriously. I put waves in my blonde hair and took extra care with my makeup for the first time since I arrived in Florida.

I wish Karissa wasn’t working so she could have come with me. I hate being here alone, but I have no other friends in Miami. Okay, here I go. I take a deep breath and walk up to the elegant entrance.

I must look good because the security guys just smile and hold the door for me. I breeze past the desk and over to the elevators, admiring the view of Biscayne Bay and the city before I step in.

I take a deep breath and press floor twenty-two. Here we go.

At Unit 2201, I knock. A girl in an outfit that can only be described as a leather bikini with metal rings opens the door and stares at me.

“Hello,” I say.

She just continues to stare at me, saying nothing. Then she starts to close the door.

“Wait!” I say. “Um . . . whistle.”

She smiles and opens the door again. “Name, please.”

“Abig . . . no, um, Jayd,” I say.

She looks at an iPad, scrolls, then touches something. “Come right in,” she says without raising her eyes. “My name is Osira. Is this your first time here?”

What kind of question is that? This isn’t a mall store.

“Yes,” I say.

The apartment–no, wrong word–the cavern–is gorgeous. Shit, it must be the entire floor of the building. Ultra-modern design with lots of sharp angles, beveled glass, and large spherical globes that spin very slowly while changing color. One moment blue, the next indigo, the next violet, and so on. There is a low sexy beat of ambient music that’s loud enough to drown out conversations, but not loud enough that anyone needs to talk loudly.

The fourth wall of the apartment is open space leading out to a dramatic sky behind the spectacular Miami skyline. A long outdoor deck runs the entire length of the apartment. There appears to be no glass anywhere so it feels like we’re neither outside nor inside and yet a little of both.

“Please come with me,” says Osira, leading me to the outdoor deck.

Oh. My. God.

I’ve never seen so many beautiful people gathered in one spot. Gorgeous women. One looks familiar. I think she’s a movie actress. Lots of hot guys. Many older men . . . but really really good-looking older men. George Clooney and Daniel Craig-types. Oh, yeah.

Many younger men with muscles under expensive shirts open to the waist. Ladies of all ages, all stunningly decked out in dresses.

But . . . and this is the weird part . . . surrounding the well-dressed ones . . . there is a subservient group dressed like Osira at the door. Almost nonexistent clothing, with what little they wear either latex or leather with studs.

This group stands and waits along a dim aquamarine-lit wall until someone motions for something.

Oh wait. Oh my God. Some of them have no bottoms on at all. Holy shit, this is a fetish party!

One man in a suit sits on a couch talking with two other people. He’s petting the head of a beautiful purple-haired naked girl lying on the floor. She’s wearing nothing but a collar. Her ass is amazing, on full display as I walk by.

In another area, three ladies chat, their drinks on a board resting on the back of a naked man on his hands and knees. He’s also blindfolded with a ball gag in his mouth and a big tail inserted in his butt, motionless as a piece of furniture.

Most of the staff are girls, but holy shit there’s a black boy, about twenty . . . wearing a black bow tie, white dress shirt, cummerbund, and . . . nothing else.

His cock is huge, slapping both of his legs as he walks from table to table serving drinks. A woman takes her drink with one hand and lovingly pats his member with the other.

I’m aroused and frightened at the same time. I have simultaneous urges to both run away and dive in.

“Jayd!” says a voice I know.

I turn to see my hostess. “Lorena!” Osira bows and returns to her post at the door.

Lorena hugs and kisses me on the cheek like I’ve known her for a thousand years. “So glad you could make it. Let me assign you an attendant. Would you prefer male or female?”

Now, there’s a question I’ve never been asked before. “Attendant?”

“Yes. Some in the community call them slaves, but I insist on the word attendant. Oh, but you do know about attendants, don’t you?”

“Um, sure. I know there’s a thing in BDSM.”

“It’s all consensual. They want to serve. They wish to serve. They volunteer and sign contracts. They get off on pleasing, so don’t feel bad. It’s a craving inside of them. Now, male or female?”

“Um, male,” I say.

Lorena nods to somebody out of sight of me. A man right off the cover of an erotic romance novel appears out of nowhere. He wears a black necktie.

And nothing else.

Holy fuck me! Chiseled pecs, a square chin, black hair, some stubble, and a cock that goes on for days.

I realize my mouth is open. Not to mention my pussy . . . as in open for business. This man is seriously gorgeous.

“Jayd, this is Cock Toy, your attendant for the evening.” She pats him on the cheek. “He is here to serve you in every way. All I ask is that if you want to touch the part of him that he’s named for, please take him into a play pen.”

“Play pen?”

“Yes, those.” She gestures around the room.

I look around. Amongst the sea of couches, there are several spots in the large room with two shoulder-high makeshift walls of purple-beveled glass. Only one is being used at the moment. A man stands with his hands on the top of both walls as a tuft of hair bobs up and down over the top of the walls.

For a split second, I consider taking my “attendant” Cock Toy to one of the empty ones and just sucking him silly.

Easy, Abigail. Control yourself.

“For a drink, dear, may I suggest the Blush of a Rose? It’s made with Belvedere vodka and fresh juniper juice with rose petals from a sweet variety grown in Japan. Our guest bartender tonight is Anatole Ceres from New York City’s restaurant Svangard. It’s his specialty.”

“Sounds, um, amazing.”

Cock Toy bows and walks to the bar. I can’t help but admire the muscles in his butt as he walks. At the bar, he stands next to the black boy with the dangling torpedo.

Oh, I get it. I was hit by a car and died. I’m in heaven, right?

“Lovely playthings, aren’t they?” says Lorena. “Now you see, dear, all that I missed out on.”

“But it’s your party. You control all this, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I don’t have that body of yours. Come sit with me on the balcony.”

The place is so huge, we almost need a bus to get there. But once we do . . .

Holy wow!

The view is stunning. Twenty-two floors up above the Port of Miami, the sun is setting behind the city across Biscayne Bay. Shades of indigo and lavender blend with fiery reds and oranges in a thousand different shades.

I gasp at a hand on my ass. I turn to see it’s Lorena.

“Oh, you’ll do fine,” she says with a smile and a puff on her cigarette-less cigarette holder. “Just fine.”

Before I have time to process that, Cock Toy arrives with my drink and hands it to me while keeping his eyes oddly downward.

“Wall,” says Lorena.

He bows and returns to the wall, assuming a spot in between a tall black girl with a big Afro and a heavily-tattooed short plump girl with short hair.

“I’m not sure I get all this,” I say.

“Primal urges,” she says. “There are two deep social urges within humans. One is to command. The other is to serve. A very small percentage enjoy both, but most who find this lifestyle prefer one over another. I enjoy both.” She raises her glass. “Cheers, dear.”

I take a sip of the drink. Yikes. It’s delicious. Sweet, tart, and smooth all at the same time. “That’s delicious.”

“At three thousand a bottle, it should be.”

“This is an amazing place you have here.”

“I own the building. It was a gift to me from a lover.”

“So, you wanted to talk to me about a job.”

“Yes, Jayd, there are people . . .  . . . very wealthy people . . .  . . . who pay large sums of money to young women like you.”

I gasp. “Oh my God, are you asking me what I think you’re asking me?”

“Don’t act so shocked, dear. You’re much more intuitive than that. You had at least a hunch that was going to be the offer. And yet, that’s not the offer.”

“It’s not?”

“No, dear. I’m not a madam, and I do not run a whorehouse. What I run is far more intelligent, and dare I say humane?”

“What do you run?”

“I’m a matchmaker. I run a submission academy for young women who have run away from their lives.”

I inhale sharply and put my hand up to my mouth. “Did you just say submission academy?”

“Yes, my academy specializes in giving submissive young women the structure they need. They experience fulfillment. Many respond to the BDSM lifestyle, many don’t. My mission is to help them find themselves. Many go on to be famous people. Are you familiar with Carlita Amore, the founder and CEO of Amore Cosmetics?”

“Yes, I have some of her eyeshadow.”

“She started with me. She was a runaway from the streets of Chicago. Addicted to heroin, abusive boyfriend, near death. Then she found my submission academy, where she learned that her natural desire to submit for pleasure doesn’t have to be at the hand of people who wish to destroy her for money, as her pimp boyfriend and dealer were both doing. Under my tutelage, she kicked the needle and the losers. She found herself under the command of a strict but sensitive Dom. By channeling her submissive side into a loving relationship, she found that in the real world she was powerful and dominant. So she used that newly-discovered side of her to build a company from the ground up, a company whose products you actually purchase. How do you like them apples, dear?”

“Wow.”

“So, no, I’m not a madam. But I am a business woman. I take money from billionaires who wish to be paired up with submissive women for a variety of relationships, both monogamous and polyamorous. Both benefit.”

“I’m not sure about all this. How does somebody get strong by being treated like an . . . attendant? I mean, I’m not naïve. I’ve read that in a million places and stuff, but how does it work?”

“Dear, I could go on for days explaining the psychological influences of being human, but that would be boring. Better for you to experience it and see for yourself. All I’m offering you is a path. It may not be the path for you. Many people are repulsed by it, and that’s perfectly fine for them. But others are drawn to it like a gravitational field.”

Lorena takes a fake puff from her cigarette and glances out over the bay. I follow her gaze out to the many boats on the water, serene in the reflected light from the setting sun. I take another sip of my drink.

Holy shit, I think I’m feeling it already. I don’t even taste any alcohol.

“So,” I say, suddenly emboldened, “you want me to work for someone as a submissive.”

She turns back to face me again. “That’s the job, dear. It’s not prostitution. I wouldn’t call it work, either. It’s more a loving relationship. It could be part-time, or full-time. You may find a lifestyle that gives you a lifetime of pleasure.”

“Why me?”

“Because, like I said, I know you, Jayd. I see much of myself in you.” Her gaze drifts to a spot behind me. “Oh, here’s the Director of my submission academy now.”

A shadow blocks some of the light behind me. I turn.

I’m glad I had some of that drink, because I nearly have a heart attack at the sight of Lukas Thorn.

Everything disappears. The sunset, the cavernous apartment, the low hum of the conversations, the music. My entire world centers on the man I’ve been trying to find for two weeks.

Right here.

And not just here, but standing directly in front of me again.

I try not to squeal in delight.

If I thought he was a god among men before, I’m only more convinced now.

He’s in a black flowing shirt, one of many flowing shirts in his collection apparently. Taut thick chest muscles press it outward anyway, sinewy neck muscles leading to broad shoulders. Broader than before. Like he had some added on since the last time I saw him.

But no, that’s ridiculous. I’m just seeing them from a new angle. So close. So close I could almost stick my tongue out and . . .

“Jayden Raye, Jayd for short,” says Lorena, “I’d like you to meet Director Lukas Thorn. Oh, but that’s right. I forgot. You two have already met. I believe Lukas saved your life at Bogart that night a couple of weeks ago.”

I’m not sure if it’s just me or if it’s both Lukas and me, but we just stare at each other. He wears a half-smile, the perfect stubble still in place over the tanned skin and flawless square chin that burned itself into my memory on the plane here.

His hair is especially “just-fucked” tonight, waves of brownish-black darkness with those delightful wispy ends that I just want to bite.

His expression is relaxed but incredulous as he stares into me, his sapphire eyes searing a sensuous pathway into my soul. He looks at me like he knows me, like he’s known me for a thousand years.

Yeah, glad I waited. Fuck Karissa and Jaxon. Fuck Javier. Fuck those shitheads who hit on me. This is what I want! This man right here! Wherever he is, I’m home.

“What the fuck, Lorena?” says Lukas Thorn, not breaking his stare into my eyes.

His words knock me out of my spell. I turn to look at Lorena’s shocked expression.

“Excuse me?” she says.

“This is a joke, Lorena. What are you up to?”

She folds her arms and throws him an evil questioning stare. “I don’t like your tone, Lukas.” Her voice has gone three octaves lower than usual.

He chuckles, then returns his gaze to me. He looks me up and down like he’s buying a horse.

“No thanks, Lorena,” he says as he turns to walk away. “I’m not going to fall for it again.”

At that, he turns and drifts across the room. Everyone notices him, like he’s the center of all magnetism in the universe.

I’m frozen in place, unable to move. I’m not sure what I’m feeling.

Did he just reject me like I think he just did? Like a piece of meat?

“Don’t let him get to you,” Lorena says. “It’s just his nature. He likes you.”

I take another sip of my drink, watching his broad shoulders under that muscular neck as he joins a group of well-dressed women at a tall round table on the other end of the balcony. He motions a naked attendant over. His is flawlessly blonde.

Bitch.

“He likes me?” I say. “That’s not how someone reacts when they like you. Wait, oh wait. Is it him? Is he the one you want to ‘sell’ me to?”

“No, of course not, dear. And there’s no selling. That’s an awful term. He’s just the director of my academy. It is very strange that he reacted that way. Wait, you don’t know him, do you? Did you meet him before the restaurant?”

My head spins. I don’t know how to answer. I don’t want to tell her about the plane. Apparently, she doesn’t know about it. The less people who know, the better.

Suddenly, my inner diva fires up inside. I never know when she’s going to show up. Yeah baby, hello! I down the rest of my drink . . . hoo-hah! . . . and place it on a nearby table.

“If you would excuse me for a moment, Lorena,” I say.

“Of course,” she says.

I march across the room toward that flowing untucked shirt and glistening hair. I plant myself behind him and to the left, making eye contact with the three bitches who are laughing at whatever he’s saying. My heart beats out of my chest as I wait.

He notices and turns around. He rolls his eyes and chuckles. Fucking prick.

“May I see you, please, for a moment?” I say.

He laughs, shakes his head, and turns back to the three girls. “This will just take a second.”

Oh, will it, asshole?

I turn and walk to a quiet nearby spot in front of a low dark couch.

He follows slowly, a drink in his hand. His sapphire eyes pick up the dim light of the room and reflect it back to me in strands of iridescent energy.

“Can I help you?” he says.

His voice is a dark gravelly sheen of resonance, with that edge of evil I remember from high above the clouds. It was only two weeks ago, but it feels like forever since I’ve been pining and searching for this man.

Now that I’ve got him here to this private spot, I realize I have no clue what to say.

He cocks his head, amber drink in his hand, as if to say go on.

“Hi,” I say with a little cough, then clear my throat. “Um, excuse me . . . I mean, hi.”

“Hi,” he says. “There’s a saying, you know. Once is coincidence. Twice is happenstance. Three times is enemy action.”

“Oh,” I say. “Really? I never heard that.” God, that was stupid, Abigail! My inner courageous girl has suddenly vanished into nothingness. “Ha ha.”

Ha ha? I don’t even know what he’s talking about.