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I feel like an asshole for thinking about Ariana inappropriately. She’s a good girl, and I’m obviously not about to pursue her. But there is no reason why we can’t have a dinner together and celebrate with her friends. I’m not a total fucking stick in the mud; I still know how to have a good time.
All thoughts of reason go out the window when I see her.
Well, I’ll be damned if I can’t still be shocked at forty-eight years old.
I stand as the three talk to the maître d and then he heads my way with them in tow.
They each look pretty in their own way; the tall Australian showing her most valuable assets in a figure hugging bodycon dress, Imogen in a strapless blue tube dress with a long train, and Ariana... there are no words for her.
She wears a sparkly gold wraparound dress, with one shoulder clipped with a bronze jewel.
It hugs her curves in all the right places.
Her light hair is swept to one side, tumbling down past her ample cleavage, where I avert my eyes.
Fuck.
I paste a smile on my face as they approach.
“Good evening, ladies,” I say.
They all chime a good evening back.
I kiss them all on each side of their cheeks lightly, like any well-bred gentleman should.
When I get to Ariana, I whisper happy birthday in her ear, and motion to sit next to me. I hold out her chair as the maître d does the same for her friends.
I bought each of them a red rose, and they seem thrilled by that little touch. I motion for the waiter to bring some champagne, then settle back into my chair.
Ariana has more makeup on than I’ve ever seen her wear. She’s done something to her eyes; they’re lined with dark liner, and she wears a bronze-colored shadow that matches her cute dress.
Cute? No. She’s a fucking bombshell.
My body’s reaction to her is completely not of this world, and I can’t say that I’m in any kind of control of where my dirty mind goes. I cross one leg over the other.
“Mr. B, this is so sweet of you!” Charlize smells her rose and grins up at me.
Mr. B?
So that’s what they call me behind my back? I guess it’s better thanasshole.
“You each look absolutely beautiful,” I say with sincerity. “Thank you for joining me when I’m sure you had better things to be doing.”
I fucking hope not, because being surrounded by beautiful women, all almost half my age no less, is a bit of an ego boost.
“On the contrary,” Ariana says, fidgeting a little as my gaze falls on her. I try not to let my gaze linger on her very fine rack. “We’re honored, really, and for the room and everything...” she trails off.
“Yeah, cheers for the suite,” Imogen pipes up as the waiter approaches. “Really, five-star living is the only way to go, but we are now ruined for any other hotel in the future.”
I smile into my fist as I clear my throat. “It’s nothing, and you’re very welcome. I couldn’t bear the thought of you sharing a poky little room, and with it being Ariana’s birthday and all, it was the least I could do.”
And to make up for that piss-ant of a son who I fucking know has done something bad to her.I’ll ring his little neck when I get hold of him. He still hasn’t returned my texts.
The waiter fills each of the girl’s champagne flutes, and I use the opportunity to check in with Ariana. She seems quiet.
“Are you all right?” I whisper near her ear.
She glances at me with big blue eyes, and I see a little sadness in there.
