she’s as big a knockout as I do. And who wouldn’t? She’s a bombshell, this girl. A bodacious siren plucked straight out of a Fellini flick. Thick, dark hair. Full, tempting lips in the perfect shape of a bow. Eyes that blaze with confidence. Sass. Charisma. Her skin is olive. Her limbs long. And those curves! Jesus Christ. They’re enough to make a careful man do some seriously reckless shit.
When she left the lecture hall with CeeCee without saying a word to me, despite all the winks and smiles and heated smolders we’d exchanged for a full hour, I was shocked. Also, impressed. But, mostly, intrigued. Was she a wannabe pop star playing a master game of chess by ditching me—gambling I’d track her down through CeeCee? Or had I pegged the girl all wrong, and she was merely CeeCee’s new personal assistant or niece?
The latter scenario seemed like a long shot, given the nature of the event and the girl’s pop-star good looks—not to mention her brazen flirting with me. Nobody her age would ever flirt that aggressively with me, just because. They always want something. But I had to know for sure. Hence, my decision to do the very thing she was most likely counting on: I resolved to call CeeCee tomorrow to track the bombshell down, even if it turned out she was a music student wannabe pop star who was decidedly off-limits to me.
It’s funny. Dumbshit guys at parties always assume I fuck aspiring artists, the same way I snack on kale chips. All the time. Without a second thought. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. In actuality, I don’t touch anyone who’s hoping to further her career by fucking or blowing me, no matter how attractive she might be. It’s the same whether she’s an aspiring artist, an artist I’ve already signed, or one of my employees. They’re all off-limits to me. No exceptions.
See, what I’ve learned, after a few unfortunate missteps early on, is that even the hottest sex isn’t worth risking the possible fall-out—the risk that the same woman who throws herself at me on Tuesday will claim I’ve used my power and influence inappropriately with her on Wednesday, once it’s clear I’m not going to give her what she wants.
I mean, sure, I’ll fuck models or actresses who want to use me indirectly to boost their clout or Instagram following or finagle an introduction to a powerful friend. That’s the way of the world. But fucking a woman who thinks giving me a BJ will directly advance her career—whether that’s getting her signed to my label, or assigned to a headlining slot on a tour, or getting a promotion at one of my companies? Nope. I won’t touch that woman with a ten-foot pole. Ever.
Well, until today, apparently, when I saw this bartender and immediately started flirting with her, without knowing for sure if she was free and clear or not. And then, to top off my recklessness, started telling myself all sorts of things I never tell myself. Stuff like, Rules are made to be broken. And, Maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I fucked a wannabe, just once... All the same things I’m telling myself now, yet again, as I watch this siren mesmerize that pack of fraternity boys into handing over all their cash.
Holy shit, she’s mouth-watering. If I were casting her in a music video, I’d make it a tribute to old, black-and-white Italian flicks. The video would take place on a vineyard. She’d be The Vineyard Owner’s Daughter in a peasant dress with a low neckline. The sultry virgin bursting out of her dress, who comes out of her villa with a jug of water and a basket of grapes, just as a group of soldiers shows up demanding lodging...
“Can I get you something?”
I peel my eyes off the siren to find a male bartender standing before me, his eyes narrowed. He looks like a younger version of Henn. A wouldn’t-hurt-a-fly kind of guy with a goatee, the same as my sweet best friend—although, unlike Henny, this dude has forearm tattoos. Clearly, the ink is his attempt at “edging up” his classic nerd-vibe. It’s not a bad look for him, actually.
“I’ll wait to order from her,” I say, motioning to the object of my lust at the other end of the bar. “We met today on-campus. I’d like to say hello.”
The guy flashes me a look of disdain that says, You