Mirage - Alice Tribue Page 0,5
businessman. Short blond hair, stunning blue eyes, and the body of a swimmer. I have to admit, he looked dazzling in what I would guess was head-to-toe Hugo Boss. After their second go on the dance floor, I gave up hope of her coming back to me. I run my hand through my newly dyed caramel-colored hair that now matches my eyes—a nice change from my usual blond locks—and take one last glimpse in the mirror. Pretty good… I wouldn’t say that I was drop-dead gorgeous or anything, but I’m certainly not hard to look at.
I decide to leave behind the quiet of the bathroom and head back to the party. One last trip around the perimeter, a few more hands to shake, a few more fake smiles, the necessary good-byes, and I can get the fuck out of here in twenty minutes tops. But if I’m going to make it through, then I’m going to need something a little bit stronger than champagne. On that thought, I head to the bar in the rear because it looks less crowded.
“Martini, please?” I place my drink order and turn to scan the crowd. I know exactly who I’m looking for, though, for the love of God, I don’t know why. I don’t know him, he is nothing to me, but my curiosity has gotten the better of me. The most pressing question at the forefront of my mind? Is he here alone, and if he is, does he have somebody at home waiting for him?
“Victoria,” I hear just as arms slide around my waist from behind. I inwardly cringe at the contact but turn around with a smile on my face nonetheless.
“Bradley.” I place a chaste kiss on his cheek and, with a swiftness even I’m impressed with, break away from his hold. “How are you? I had no idea you’d be here tonight.”
“I’m good, really good. I was dreading coming to this thing. Once you’ve seen one charity event, you’ve seen them all, right? Then I spotted you, and now, I’m thanking my lucky stars.”
“Oh stop, flattery will get you nowhere.”
“There’s only one place I want to be right now, and I’ve been trying to get you to agree for years.”
Bradley Carson is your classic rich kid from the Upper West Side with all of Daddy’s money to play with and too much time on his hands. He’s likely never known a hard day's work in his life. He’s had everything handed to him and feels entitled to it. When all is said and done, he’ll have fucked his way through half of Manhattan, and when Daddy’s gone, he’ll carry on the legacy by taking over his company. Hopefully, he’ll have learned enough before then not to run it into the ground. He’s also one of my many clients in attendance here this evening. Not everyone knows what I do but, those who do, handle that knowledge with the utmost discretion. Not only do I have signed NDAs from all of them, but the biggest insurance policy I have is that if I’m found out, they’ll be found out, too. Nobody wants to be uncovered as the kind of person who would pay for sex or, worse, pay a small fortune for it—my services are far from cheap.
“You know better. I don’t operate that way.”
“How do you operate then, huh? What would it take to get you to break your own rules for once?” he asks, grabbing hold of my waist again and jerking me over to him. His face is inches from mine, too close for comfort, and I try not to gag at the pungent smell of alcohol permeating from his pores. He’s obviously wasted and that only makes him more of an arrogant douchebag.
“Let me go, Bradley,” I demand in a firm voice, but he’s having none of it.
“God, Vic, if you’d just let loose for a minute, I could show you how fucking good it would be between us.”
Why he thinks I would actually want to be with someone like him is beyond me. First off, he has a girlfriend. Clearly not one he loves, but she exists nonetheless. And second, he’s one of my clients, one of my most active clients, meaning he spends a small fortune on what I have to offer. Which is great for my business but it certainly doesn’t make me want to cozy up to him and warm his bed.
See, there are two types of clients that I deal with.