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I stare at his hand, unease tensing my body. My stomach quivers and the thought of food makes me nauseous.
I really don’t know the man sitting across from me at all… or what he is capable of.
Gualtiero wanted to take me to his office after lunch, but what was I going to do there? Stare at the walls?
So, I said I wanted to go shopping instead. He looked surprised and somewhat suspicious, undoubtedly remembering me telling him how much I dislike the activity most females delight in.
But after my newfound realization that I need to get fit and remembering a closet filled with designer clothes, none of which I can exercise in, the need to go shopping became obvious.
Gualtiero handed me his black credit card and told me to go wild.
Of course, before he left the car, he reminded me not to try anything foolish. And how could I? Given I have an entourage of five?
Now the car is loaded with my purchases—running shoes, leggings, shorts, t-shirts, tank tops, and sports bras, which are purposefully anything but sexy.
And to defy Gualtiero’s wishes further, I also bought a pair of jeans, tracksuit pants, and three baggy-looking, floppy shirts. Let’s see how long I’ll be the owner of those.
Across the street, I spot a lingerie boutique. Right… I almost forgot. I need less skimpy sleepwear.
None of my escorts bat an eyelash when I walk toward it.
Everywhere we go, it’s the same procedure. One goon stays back with the cars. Two station themselves on each side of the shop entrance, while Alonso waits with me outside. Meanwhile, Oriana walks in first and scopes out the place before I’m allowed to enter.
She checks every fitting room for potential exits and threats and decides which one I can use. All the while ignoring me the best she can. She’s on a real power trip and annoying the hell out of me.
At the lingerie store, the change rooms have a small row of windows running high up to let in natural light. No way could a person fit through those, unless they were toddler size. And you’d need a ladder.
The existence of the windows is enough for Oriana to insist she needs to be present while I try on pajamas.
Seriously?!
Maybe Gualtiero is rubbing off on me because I really want to throttle her. I swear she’s only doing this to piss me off.
Well, two can play that game. She’s really asking for it this time.
So beside the pajamas, I pick out some skimpy lingerie. If she’s insisting to be in the cubicle with me, I will shove my scantily glad derriere in her face.
See how she’ll like that. Not very much, if I had to guess.
She comes across as strait-laced and somewhat asexual. She probably wears boy-short panties underneath her suit.
The change room attendant does a double take when she sees us disappear together into the cubicle. I’d love to be in a fly on the wall when she tells her colleagues about this later on.
A diabolical idea pops into my head that has to be inspired by Rhia. She’d be so proud of me.
Turning to Oriana I say, “You know Oriana, you’re not exactly unattractive.”
Equal amounts surprised and suspicious, she looks at me with narrowed eyes.
Before she has a chance to reply, there’s a knock on the change room door.
“How are you getting on? Can I help with anything?” the attendant’s nervous voice calls out. She clearly doesn’t want any funny play happening in here on her watch.
With a devilish grin, I drop to my knees and sensually trace my fingers up and down the curves of Oriana’s inner thighs. Good thing she always stands with her feet spread, imitating the guys’ menacing stance, which gives me plenty of access.
Oriana freezes. I think she even stops breathing.
Brilliant.
