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“Do you genuinely believe that alcohol is the solution?”I question.Even though it’s like the pot calling the kettle black, I’m more concerned about her well-being than my own.
“Save me the speech, Kingsley.How would you like this splashed about the news, huh?You have no idea what I have to put up with from the media.One minute, they’re romantically linking me with a singer I’ve met once, or they’re hating on a dress I wore to the Grammys.Now this?This article portrays me like I am weak and fragile from my kidnapping.”
Mariel puts a full tumbler of amber liquid in front of her.
“I’m not drinking alone.Get him a glass too,” she orders before I can even object.
She glances in my direction, then quickly moves to fulfill her request.
“You’re off duty now,” she declares with a tight sigh.I watch, both impressed and taken aback while she downs the entire glass in one gulp.“I mean, do they think the readers would be more interested in my album hitting number one in five countries?No, that doesn’t make headlines.”
She slams down the empty glass.
“Here you go, sir.”Mariel hands me my drink and wisely chooses that moment to leave.
“Just ignore it,” I suggest, attempting to quell her fiery disposition.
She puffs out her cheeks, then looks over her shoulder.“Mariel, keep them coming,” she demands.
She turns to find me shaking my head.“We have plenty of time to sober up on this long-haul flight.Or are you scared of something?”she presses, a challenging glint in her eyes that makes my skin crawl with heat.
“I fear nothing,” I reply, downing the drink in a single gulp.
Her blue eyes lower to my Adam’s apple, and as I swallow, I silently acknowledge my acceptance of her challenge.I know I shouldn’t, but I also know my limits.My years of training won’t deter me from a little challenge.
“You shouldn’t read that stuff about you,” I say.“Especially if it’s click-bait rubbish anyway.”
“But it’s like telling a child Santa’s real and leaving it at that.The kid always wants to know more, the what, how, why… that’s how I am.When something’s written about me, I need to know.”
“Why?”I ask, genuinely curious.“Why does it matter?”
“Don’t you care about what people think of you?”she counters.
“No,” I reply bluntly.“Couldn’t give a fuck, Miss Slater.”
She shakes her head, “Public opinion can make or break a career,” she reasons, snatching another glass of scotch from Mariel’s tray and knocking it back.
“Slow down, Miss Slater,” I caution her, observing this petite woman consuming more alcohol than her frame can likely handle.
“Everyone usually calls me Viki or Miss Slate,” she declares, finishing off her drink.
“Well, I’m not everyone.I prefer to call you by your legal name.”I’m quick with my reply when another glass of scotch is placed in front of me.
As she licks the last bit of scotch off her lip, I find myself momentarily distracted by the action.
“Are you married, Kingsley?”she questions further, her curiosity evident.
I shake my head.
“Gay?”
I nearly choke on my scotch.This woman certainly has balls.“Excuse me?”I question in case I heard her incorrectly.
“Are you gay or something?”she prods, a teasing smile playing on her lips.
“No, Miss Slater, I’m not gay,” I respond, my fingers curling tightly around my tumbler.
She shrugs her shoulder, “You’re old enough to be married or with a partner…”
