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His words send a chill down my spine, and I’m beginning to believe that my father is no match for Xavier.
We enter the Louis Vuitton store, and even though I grew up with money, I never shopped at these types of places. Maybe it was because I didn't want to stand out more than I already did by flaunting my father’s wealth, or maybe it was from always being asked by my father to explain my credit card purchases if they were too extravagant. At any rate, my escape is going to have to wait a few minutes while I check out these shoes and handbags.
A short, stout man with thick glasses, gelled-brown hair, and wearing a suit probably worth more than the shoes he’s selling, waddles over. “Hello, sir,” he says, shaking Xavier’s hand.
“Get her whatever she wants,” he replies.
“Yes, sir.” The man smiles at me, assessing just how much he can convince me to want. “I’m Harold. Let me know if anything catches your eye.”
Oh, it all catches my eye, little guy.I glance over to Xavier, and an easy smile lights his face. My lips betray me and smile back.
This is so not the time to be enamored with shoes and handbags. Or Xavier. But honestly, there is no way out of here, so I might as well look. And maybe I deserve a pair or hundred for all of this. So, I spend the next hour trying on almost every shoe in the store.
“Those,” Xavier says, stepping up beside me. He wets his lips, eye fucking the black, strappy stilettos on my feet.
“You like these?”
“I fucking love them,” he answers in a husky voice that does nothing to ease the ache intensifying between my thighs. His phone rings, interrupting our shoe moment, and I close my eyes and count to calm myself while he steps away and speaks in clipped tones to whoever is on the other end.
“We’re done,” he announces. “Something has come up.”
Harold quickly rings the purchases, and in fifteen minutes, we’re on our way back to Xavier’s house. Thankfully, he's occupied the entire ride back with whatever is so important on his phone, and I stare at nothing out the window, getting my head back together.
“Everything ok?” I ask as he puts his phone away.
“Yeah, just need to handle a few things.”
“Things about my father?”
“No. Just business stuff.”
I let his answer roll off my shoulders. Maybe it is all just business and nothing to do with my father. You can’t have everything Xavier does without working hard.
“We’re leaving in a few hours,” he informs me as the car pulls into the driveway. He opens the door. “Wear the fuck me shoes.”
My first fullon attempt at escaping failed miserably, but tonight, I’ll be smarter.
“You look nice,” Xavier says to me in the back of the luxury sedan which takes us to our next ‘event.’
Nice is not what his hooded eyes say as they skim over the tiny material of my red cocktail dress. My wardrobe usually consists of dresses that rest a little bit above the knee, and this dress hits mid thigh, right where Xavier’s eyes rest.
“I like you in red. Makes your hair look more wild.” His voice is low and husky, and I give a little tug at the bodice which barely contains my breasts before they jump into his sexy mouth.
“I’ve always had a bit of a wild streak.”
He cocks a brow at me. “I’ve known you your whole life, and I’ll say that isn’t accurate.”
“Not my whole life Xavier,” I throw back at him. “We don't really know each other anymore.”
“Yes, you keep reminding me.” He turns to glance out the window as the driver pulls up to a long line at an art gallery. “Tell me something I don't know then.”
I'm not sure if he means that metaphorically, but I decide to go with literal. “My friend, Delilah, found a private investor for my cards.” He looks back at me, and I sigh. “I could've been the next Hallmark if you didn't ruin it.”
“Why can't you still do it?”
“Come on, Xavier,” I say, “you know the best way to control someone is through their bank account.”
He studies me so intently, I feel stripped bare, all my faults on display. “Maybe you need to put up as much fight as you do with me. Tell your father to fuck off.”
