| Chapter Eight |

2397 Words

As much as I begged for it not to, Friday came quickly. Lyle's hand gripped mine like a vise. His whole posture changed as we walked side by side into his father's club. He was intimidatingly enticing in his royal blue suit. The club was entirely what I expected, sleek, modern and of course expensive. The music rippled through the large room as the waves of people danced like they wanted to forget the world. "Come." Lyle commanded tugging my hand. I had no choice other than to follow. There was what seemed like a million people at the bar. When Lyle walked over to the side placing my body in front of his with his hands on either side of my hips the bar man appeared in front of us straight away. "Two scotch." "Of course Mr Armel." The bartender replied instantly. I frowned swiveling

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