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She sings the words as if she’s singing them directly to me.
I sit up straighter, half convinced that she can see me, that she knows exactly who I am and she’s caught on to everything. I reach for my glass, taking a long sip of whiskey and reminding myself that it’s not possible and I’m merely overthinking things.
“Coming to make sure I hold up my end of the deal?” The unwelcome heavy breathing of Freddy interrupts my thoughts as he sidles up next to me. “You’ve got nothing to worry about; she’s getting fired tonight.”
I don’t tell him that’s exactly what I’m doing here. I was actually surprised to see Stella walk out onstage but the second my eyes landed on her, I couldn’t look away. “Any particular reason you decided to wait until after her performance?” I keep my eyes focused on her.
“I think you’re answering that question for me.” He laughs, hitting me with his arm playfully. “I took one look at her in that dress and thought it was worth it.” He laughs even harder, his nicotine breath coming out in a heavy puff.
“I’d like to enjoy the rest of her performance in peace, Freddy.” I hand him my now empty glass as if he’s a waiter. “And I promise you, you’ll never see me darken the doors of this place again.”
He doesn’t leave right away. He stands there for several seconds, I’m guessing contemplating if it’s worth it to lose a hundred grand by running his mouth right now or worse, slamming that whiskey glass into my head. Instead, he turns, waddling away and leaving me to enjoy the final few songs. I close my eyes, sinking back into the worn leather chair, imagining removing that dress from Stella’s body with my teeth.
I know I’m fucked. I’ve convinced myself that I’m allowed these little leeways. That she hasn’t technically accepted my offer so fantasizing about her isn’t something I can’t come back from. I’ve allowed myself to believe that only fantasizing about pleasuring her is fine, that it’s not a line I can’t uncross.
I order another whiskey, then another, downing them in record time as I check the clock. Her set is ending in twenty minutes and I’m almost seeing double. I stare at her, wanting the image of her in that dress burned into my mind. A sudden urge to march down the stairs and pull her from the stage overtakes me. I grip the armrests until my knuckles turn white, the wood creaking beneath my hands as I clench my jaw at the thought of other men seeing her like this. How can a woman I’ve never touched, never held, never kissed have this kind of control over me? The thought of other men wanting her, touching her, fantasizing about her churns my stomach so I stand. I sway, steadying myself on the chair before half stumbling down the back stairway to my waiting car.
“Straight home,” I mumble to Mac before closing my eyes and letting my head fall back against the headrest.
I don’t know what time it is when I hear a pounding at my front door. My eyes fly open, the sound of my record player still turning even though it’s hit the end of the songs. I blink a few times, trying to recall the journey from my car to my office. I run my hands through my hair, reaching for my water and taking a drink before standing up to check if I actually heard what I thought I heard.
I’m halfway down the main stairs when I hear it again. “Fuck,” I groan, the pounding reverberating through my still whiskey-laden brain. I glance at my watch, it’s half past midnight. Oliver would already be in bed. I reach for the door, pulling it open to see Stella, her high heels in one hand, her purse in the other. I stare in confusion, then surprise when my brain registers that she is, in fact, standing on my doorstep.
“Stella?” Her name sounds gruff and raspy, my whiskey-soaked voice deeper than usual.
“Rough night?” She gives me a curious look, noticing my slept-in suit pants and shirt that I didn’t change out of.
“You could say that.”
“Can I come in?” Her head is cocked slightly, an unreadable expression on her face.
“Sure.” I step aside, motioning for her to come inside and then closing the door behind us. “What, uh, what brings you by?” I run my hands over my face, trying to sober up before turning around to face her.
“Why me?”
I pause for a second, curious why this is coming up… then I remember, she was supposed to get fired tonight, hence why I tried to drink myself into an early grave apparently. “I told you,” I say with a charming smile, “why not you?”
“Yeah,” she says confidently, her arms crossed casually over her chest. “I don’t buy that.”
I freeze, studying her expression. Does she know it was me? Watching her from behind the spotlight all these months. Getting her fired. I step closer to her, now having to look down to meet her gaze. “What’s that mean, Miss Porter?”
“It sounds like the answer you rehearsed, the answer you thought I’d believe or that would convince me to say yes to your proposition.” She emphasizes the last word.
“What do you want me to say? I told you why I made you the offer; you let me know it was rude and insensitive which I see now, and I thought you could use a little extra money. Simple as that.” I shrug, maybe to make it seem more believable or to cast an aura of innocence on my part.
“And let’s not forget that other little reason,” she says in a lower, more sultry voice, her hand coming out to rest gently against my chest, “because I’m a woman you don’t want to fu?—”
“That’s enough, Miss Porter.” I cover her hand with mine, wrapping my fingers around hers. “Is that why you came? For your pound of flesh now that you’ve rejected my offer?” I step closer, my chest pressing softly against hers. I look down her body, letting my eyes settle on her cleavage that’s spilling out of her dress. Clearly the whiskey is still raging through me because I decide to call her bluff. I look back into her eyes. She’s not relenting, but then I see it, a tiny crack in her façade, and I decide to push her. “Tell me, Stella.” I lean into her, my lips hovering over hers. “Would you let me?”
Her throat constricts as she swallows down her nervousness, her arms slowly coming to rest at her sides again before answering. “Let you what?”
I chuckle, lifting my hand to rest against her hip. I don’t have to say for her to know. I resist the urge to reach my hand around her, grabbing a handful of her ass. Instead, I slowly slide it up her body, over her stomach. Just before I reach her breast, I remove my hand, settling it softly at the base of her throat so that I can tilt her chin upward to look at me.
What the fuck are you doing?
The words bang against my head over and over in rhythm with my heartbeat. I tell myself to stop but I don’t want to. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, her eyes fluttering, and I fully expect her to say yes, or maybe even please. My cock stiffens at the imagery of her begging me to fuck her from her knees. I feel my own eyes grow heavy as I sway toward her. I’m seconds away from telling her in graphic detail just exactly what I mean.
“I-I-I’ll marry you.”
