Prologue
1078 Words
Prologue
ANDREW
PRESENT DAY
“You’re kidding me, right?” The buxom redhead stares up at me, hazel eyes wide, and I remove my leather belt, letting it fall.
I shake my head. “I never kid about contracts.”
“You want me to sign an NDA—an entire non-disclosure agreement…to give you a blow-job?”
I shrug out of my buttoned shirt, letting that fall, too. “Well, technically, the wording in the contract mentions o******x, but if blow-job is the word you prefer, then yes. That’s exactly what I want you to do.”
I let the fabric hit the floor, standing in only my slacks.
Crossing the hotel suite that I’ve purchased for the night, I grab for the bottle of vodka at the wet bar, pouring a generous finger or two for my disbelieving guest.
As for me, I grab for the candy bar on the far side, unwrapping it. I turn to face her.
I point. “If you look through pages six and nine, you’ll see that it’s all very standard.”
Redhead blinks. “I’m a waitress.”
“A non-disclosure agreement virgin, then?” I sigh, sinking my teeth into the chocolate, realizing that tonight’s going to be harder than I thought.
Damn.
I glance at the clock on the wall, noting that it’s too late to pick up another woman. I blow out a breath, turning to her.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle, then.”
I start walking towards her, vodka in one hand, candy in the other. “I’ll even walk you through it.”
“Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.”
The woman I picked up at the bar lowers the papers in her hand to her rounded, jean-covered hips. She perches a hand there, too. “And what if I find this all weird?”
I keep walking. “You wouldn’t be the first.”
I extend the vodka and she takes it, her long, red-painted fingertips brushing mine. She smiles.
The same smile that every woman in the past few years has given me when they realize that there’s a procedure for me taking them to bed.
A procedure I don’t like. But a procedure I need.
Ever since I was old enough to realize I wanted to take control of my own life. Apart from my family's.
And speaking of lives… I can see that Red’s is flashing in front of her own hazel eyes as her heavy gaze sweeps me from head to toe.
It’s not hard to know what she’s thinking.
It’s what every woman I’ve taken to bed in the last four years has been thinking.
Is this guy nuts?
Is he f*****g serious about me signing this?
Is he worth it?
I’d like to save her the time and just say “yes” to all three. But the truth is always darker than that.
If there’s one thing I can confirm: It’s that I’m worth it.
Outside of the bar room, the bedroom is my most successful workplace…
And I take my “work” very seriously.
I watch Red as she comes to a decision, her golden-green eyes clouding. “Need a hand?”
She shakes her head. “No need for your help. I’ve got it.”
She saunters over to the table in the middle of the room, leaning over it in her low-cut top, shooting a quick look in my direction. Pen in hand, she flicks to the last page, signing it with her eyes on me the entire time.
And I watch her.
She folds the papers back, straightening. “You know, you look really familiar.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes travel the large suite. “Are you an actor?”
“At work? Often.”
She grins. “A professional athlete, then?”
“Compared to some of my friends in our weekly pick-up game.”
I finish the candy bar, crumpling the wrapper in my hands and shooting it into the wastebasket. When I make the shot, I raise an eyebrow, and Red drops the pen, strolling my way.
She stops a foot before making contact.
Ah yes, here it goes. The dance.
The one where the woman I invite back to my suite tries to figure me out.
Red’s got this look in her eyes that says that’s exactly what she wants to do, and I can’t blame her. I am a little strange.
“Maybe,” she coos as she comes towards me, hands out, “you’re an eccentric billionaire leading a double life. Maybe you’re this heir to this huge fortune. Some strange kind of tycoon. And playing the role of a bartender to pick up women is your way of playing a fun little game to avoid your stuffy billionaire life.” She grins. “Am I close, Mr. NDA?”
I don’t answer her. Only a few know the truth and she will not be one of them.
Instead, I kiss the top of her forehead, smoothing back the small hairs. She takes it as a sign of what I want…
And she’s right.
Miss Guesses-A-Little-Too-Correctly begins kneeling, almost making it to her knees before my cell phone starts blaring, the message alert bleating as a slew of them come onto my phone.
I slip it out of my slacks, staring at the screen.
Her again.
The woman was put on this earth to be a c**k-block, I am sure of it.
Nancy’s nickname flashes onto the screen, staying there.
Hell-beast: I want to talk to you.
And before I start, I just want to say that I am sorry. Actually, sorry for calling you a promiscuous oaf tonight.
Text bubbles appear.
And a childish buffoon.
More bubbles appear.
And an oversexed infant.
I sigh, finally responding, the mood waning as she takes my attention from the woman at my knees. I type back.
Me: And I think you’re forgetting the part where you called me a debauched toddler. But trust me. You’re forgiven…for now. I’m kinda in the middle of something.
Hell-beast: I need you to come back to the bar. It’s important.
Me: This is not a good time
And even though I’m standing in the middle of a grand suite—a suite that my family’s money paid for, I feel like I’m missing out on something—something I can’t really place.
My boss at the bar never apologizes to me.
I don’t think she’s actually ever apologized to me…
Ever.
A chill runs down my spine and it has nothing to do with Red, whose nails are currently circling there.
I ignore the woman at my feet, focusing on the phone, my fingers moving fast over the screen.
Me: What is it, Nancy? Spit it out. You can tell me through text
I wait for text bubbles that don’t come. My phone rings instead and a stab of cold sticks into my body, and nothing, not even an NDA matters right now, as I listen to my boss’s voice telling me that my sister came to see me at the bar tonight to let me know my Ma passed away this morning.
- Writer
