time.
“Uh-huh. I think you should note that happy hour is not a challenge.”
“You know the only thing I like better than daytime drinking is cheap daytime drinking.” I explain.
“You have money to burn.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s the principle.”
She sighs and heads for the bar. “I give up.” I don’t know why she ever tries in the first place.
I look over the magazine article again, focusing on the picture of Rhett and I. Damn, that man is fine. And I am totally working the pyjamas and heels.
“Ah, fuck.” I say, flopping back on the sofa. I’m too drunk for this shit.
I read over the message which is inviting me to the annual Primrose Charity Gala, which raises money for orphans. Touching isn’t it? These functions are just business shit. Though, with the amount of unnecessary money that gets thrown around, they might as well all just come armed with a ruler so they can start the dick measuring from the off.
“What?” Milly’s lying on the rug next to the sofa.
I thrust my phone in her face. “My dad emailed and said he demands my presence. Demands .”
She squints at the screen. “The Primrose Gala.” She laughs. “Is that the one we crashed last year?”
“Yep. But you know what ‘demands’ means.”
She grins. “Oh, you have to go or they’ll cut you off.” She says, sitting up. “Sucks to be you, doll.”
Yes, yes, it fucking does. I’d rather gouge out my own eyes than attend that shit, but I don’t like to poke the bear too much with the ‘we will cut you off’ thing.
“When is it?”
“Um…” I read the invite again. “Ah, shit, this was sent two days ago. It’s tonight.” Fuck me. I am not going to this shower of shit on my own, they can go fuck themselves.
I pick up my phone and call Felix. He picks up on the second ring.
“B, how are you?”
“I’m good, drunk, but good. I need a favour—”
“I’m out of blow until tonight.” He interrupts.
“Okay, firstly, what kind of dealer are you? You never. Ever. Run out of blow. Secondly, I’m not after any. I need Rhett’s number.” He sighs. “Look, I just need to ask him for a favour.”
“A favour? That’s what you’re calling it nowadays?” He laughs.
“Shush, just help me out.”
“You and Rhett Torres. There’s a combination that screams trouble.” He sighs.
I grin. “Exactly.”
I’m standing in my underwear putting my makeup on when there’s a knock on my bedroom door.
“Come in!” I shout over the music.
I’m fully expecting it to be Milly, so when all six and a half foot of Rhett suddenly takes up my bathroom doorway, I get a bit flustered.
“You’re early.” I watch in the mirror as a slow smile pulls at his lips, his eyes dragging over every inch of my body. Damn him. My skin bursts into goose bumps whilst over-heating at the same time.
“I see I can add creeper to your list of flaws.” I mumble.
“I prefer the term appreciative.” He smiles and I’m pretty sure I just felt an ovary twinge. “And as for flaws…perfection is so boring.” Uh, he looks pretty fucking perfect to me. He makes that tuxedo look good, really fucking good. Let’s just say it’s clinging to all the right places.
“Well, thanks for coming. I appreciate it.” Oh, god. What if he thinks this is a date? I mean, we fucked, and it was good, but damn I hate those needy, clingy bitches that fuck a guy and think they’re dating or some shit. “But I need to put it out there that this is not a date.” I blurt.
He smiles. “ Duchess …”
“And if anyone asks, we’re acquaintances…”
“Duchess…”
“I mean, neither confirm or deny, allow them to speculate. But you know better. You’re hot and everything, but I don’t really date, it’s bad for my reputation…”
“Blake!”
I stop. “What?”
He holds out a small piece of paper. “I was already going.” I skim over the invitation with his name written in perfect calligraphy. “It’s not a date.”
“Uh-huh. I think you should note that happy hour is not a challenge.”
“You know the only thing I like better than daytime drinking is cheap daytime drinking.” I explain.
“You have money to burn.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s the principle.”
She sighs and heads for the bar. “I give up.” I don’t know why she ever tries in the first place.
I look over the magazine article again, focusing on the picture of Rhett and I. Damn, that man is fine. And I am totally working the pyjamas and heels.
“Ah, fuck.” I say, flopping back on the sofa. I’m too drunk for this shit.
I read over the message which is inviting me to the annual Primrose Charity Gala, which raises money for orphans. Touching isn’t it? These functions are just business shit. Though, with the amount of unnecessary money that gets thrown around, they might as well all just come armed with a ruler so they can start the dick measuring from the off.
“What?” Milly’s lying on the rug next to the sofa.
I thrust my phone in her face. “My dad emailed and said he demands my presence. Demands .”
She squints at the screen. “The Primrose Gala.” She laughs. “Is that the one we crashed last year?”
“Yep. But you know what ‘demands’ means.”
She grins. “Oh, you have to go or they’ll cut you off.” She says, sitting up. “Sucks to be you, doll.”
Yes, yes, it fucking does. I’d rather gouge out my own eyes than attend that shit, but I don’t like to poke the bear too much with the ‘we will cut you off’ thing.
“When is it?”
“Um…” I read the invite again. “Ah, shit, this was sent two days ago. It’s tonight.” Fuck me. I am not going to this shower of shit on my own, they can go fuck themselves.
I pick up my phone and call Felix. He picks up on the second ring.
“B, how are you?”
“I’m good, drunk, but good. I need a favour—”
“I’m out of blow until tonight.” He interrupts.
“Okay, firstly, what kind of dealer are you? You never. Ever. Run out of blow. Secondly, I’m not after any. I need Rhett’s number.” He sighs. “Look, I just need to ask him for a favour.”
“A favour? That’s what you’re calling it nowadays?” He laughs.
“Shush, just help me out.”
“You and Rhett Torres. There’s a combination that screams trouble.” He sighs.
I grin. “Exactly.”
I’m standing in my underwear putting my makeup on when there’s a knock on my bedroom door.
“Come in!” I shout over the music.
I’m fully expecting it to be Milly, so when all six and a half foot of Rhett suddenly takes up my bathroom doorway, I get a bit flustered.
“You’re early.” I watch in the mirror as a slow smile pulls at his lips, his eyes dragging over every inch of my body. Damn him. My skin bursts into goose bumps whilst over-heating at the same time.
“I see I can add creeper to your list of flaws.” I mumble.
“I prefer the term appreciative.” He smiles and I’m pretty sure I just felt an ovary twinge. “And as for flaws…perfection is so boring.” Uh, he looks pretty fucking perfect to me. He makes that tuxedo look good, really fucking good. Let’s just say it’s clinging to all the right places.
“Well, thanks for coming. I appreciate it.” Oh, god. What if he thinks this is a date? I mean, we fucked, and it was good, but damn I hate those needy, clingy bitches that fuck a guy and think they’re dating or some shit. “But I need to put it out there that this is not a date.” I blurt.
He smiles. “ Duchess …”
“And if anyone asks, we’re acquaintances…”
“Duchess…”
“I mean, neither confirm or deny, allow them to speculate. But you know better. You’re hot and everything, but I don’t really date, it’s bad for my reputation…”
“Blake!”
I stop. “What?”
He holds out a small piece of paper. “I was already going.” I skim over the invitation with his name written in perfect calligraphy. “It’s not a date.”
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