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“We won’t mesh.” Luxury looks me over, subconsciously darting her nervous, pink tongue over plush lips.
I step closer to her. “I’m confident we will come together under a certain agreement.”
Bollocks. My domineering causes Luxury to lengthen her spine. Or she could’ve become taut because of her employee, who seems rather chummy and has come outside toprunethe flowers. Luxury glares at the nosey woman, folding her arms. “Well, Dr. Finch, I would rather consume an entire bottle of rubbing alcohol and chase it down with bullets than be told what to do.”
Good ol’ bullet reference. I will bless your forehead with my cum for that one.
Eyes dark with desire, I pitch a brow. “Are you done judging me, Luxury.”
“Well, yes, and I was merely saying why dinner would be a disaster.”
Her lanky friend takes Luxury’s shoulders from behind, kneading them, and gives me a wink. “Lux’s free tomorrow night.”
“No.” Luxury jerks a shoulder.
“Great,” I reply, “I’ll have a driver pick you up at seven.”
“She’ll be ready,” the taller one adds.
“Aliyah, bye!” Luxury grits out. Grumbling, the other woman strolls into the shop.
“Dr. Finch, I never said ye—please stop.” Her lips pinch.
“Stop what?” I cut in, aware of precisely what she means. Luxury’s rattled by my stare.
My presence.
Me.
Luxury’s instincts warn that a predator is not only nearby but prepared to devour her in one succulent bite.
With a grin as sharp as a razor’s edge, I add, “What do you mean?”
“Doesn’t matter. I didn’tsay yes.” Luxury scoffs. “You’re insistent.IfI were to take you up on your offer and score afreemeal, theoretically speaking, where are you taking me?”
“Delacroix.”
“I’ll pass.” Luxury chuckles, embarrassment creasing her brow. “Isn’t that a hotel?”
7
LUXURY
Day Five
How did I get myself into this? A date at ahotel. Only God knows how long I’ve been celibate.
Dr. Finch is older, commanding. His dreadfully sexy, unnerving stare can read me from cover to cover.
As I stand in my bedroom wrapped in a sheen of dew after my shower, I inspect myself in the mirror. What was Victor seeing? Through his eyes I was...beautiful?
“Whatever, girl, he wants ass.”
Iwanta candle-lit dinner at the prime steakhouse in Hotel Delacroix. Not to sound entitled, but I’ve drowned in him during each encounter. Because of my unease, I deserve a juicy piece of meat, bone included. Shit, I was honest about my intentions too.
“You won’t be teaching me a lesson, baby,” I murmur, placing a blue mini dress back into its glossy black box. I discard Victor’s callous request to “wear this” with his measured signature on the bed. While fanning a green tea mask on my face, I consider the designer heels, which were miraculously my size. A bike courier delivered both items. After realizing there would be no way I’m six inches taller, not ever, I put them back. Six inches is lethal. In the end, I settle for a simple black cocktail dress, the hem of which grazes my mid-thigh, and my best pair of kitten heels.
There’s a nagging at the pit of my stomach.He didn’t even ask for my cellphone number. This is too overwhelming.Apparently, Victor has all my information, including my home address. All I know is we’re meeting at the Hotel Delacroix, and the information I gathered from a quick Google search after coming home from our awkward first encounter.That was so not a meet-cute.
