Play
Page 10
Well, here goes nothing.
I open the doors to Vivo and step inside its lush yet rustic interior. It’s a small restaurant that only seats about 50 people nightly, with the exception of the private dining hall near the rear, where yours truly and the rest of the lot will be situated. It’s a clean restaurant, with minimal lines. The walls are black and the entire bar is made of pine and stretches out the length of the restaurant, with seating adjacent to it, lining the other wall. The kitchen is somewhere in the basement, where the top chef conjures up his latest creations. It’s loud and bustling in here, sounding more like a lounge than a fine dining experience but as it should; this dining experience isn’t only on the top of every New Yorker’s list, but every tourist’s, every critic’s – everyone’s.
And who gets a reservation for 10 without having to suck anyone’s dick for it? Why, none other than yours truly, of course?
Let’s not talk about the fact that I bribed the manager with $10,000 to land the booking. Secrets.
The hostess at the front entrance is the first to greet me. Blonde, beautiful, legs for days and if I can’t get Jane Smith to satiate me, well, I think I may have just met her replacement.
“You must be Mr. Rose,” she says with a luring tone.
“And you must be coming home with me tonight,” I tease.
“Follow me,” she smirks and leads the way, guiding me to the private table in the restaurant.
I can feel my personal phone vibrate in my pocket, interrupting this albeit small, yet rather promising interaction with legs for days. Not to mention, robbing me of the opportunity to see what other assets legs for days is hiding beneath her tiny onyx cocktail dress.
Death by boner. It’s happening, people.
I awaken the device in my grasp. It’s a text notification from none other than the devil incarnate herself. She sure is a little bugger when it comes to timing.
I swipe the notification, bringing it to the messages screen and I stop dead in my tracks. I’m fairly certain I also forget how to breathe, momentarily.
This is the pièce de résistance. This is the final nail in my coffin.
There, in all of her glory splayed on my mobile screen, is Jane Smith, in her most revealing and heart-stopping photograph yet.
It’s a photo of her, lying nude on a bed, basked in natural light. Her legs are spread and her fingers perfectly placed between her legs, just offering the slightest suggestion of the moist folds that linger beneath.
I’m so overcome by the photo; it takes me a while to read the caption beneath it.
To unfinished business. xx
“There he is. The man of the hour.”
I can hear the voices but my jaw is still dangling on the floor. I can even feel my mouth begin to salivate, like a wolf hungry for a warm slab of meat. Now, I’ve been fortunate enough to be the recipient of a many nude photographs. However, none have ever generated such a strong physical reaction before.
I think I’m officially dead.
“Oscar! Oscar!”
I feel a massive swat on my shoulder and I immediately darken the screen, like it’s a reflex. I look over to my left and see Brady, looking irritated.
“You’re here. Finally.” He grits through his teeth, briefly tightening the grasp he has on my shoulder as well.
“Right, yes, sorry. I’m…” I stuff the phone back into my pocket and glance up at the group settled around the table and my heart skips a beat.
We lock eyes immediately.
I may not remember her name but fuck, do I ever remember the way her open hand felt when it connected with my face.
“Oscar, what a pleasure it is to see you again.”
The hot yet frigid blonde that I had alone in that ritzy hotel room just two nights prior is sitting at the table for this celebratory dinner.
And I just have such a bad feeling about this.
“Hello,” I begin and watch as she rises from the table with every intention of coming over to greet me.
I can feel myself wince a little and I try to quash my body’s natural reaction to see her again of guarding my face with my hands.
“Wait, how do you two know each other?” Michael interjects, catching wind of this interaction from the opposite side of the room.
“We…um…” I couldn’t even find the right words even if there were presented on a silver platter right in front of my fucking face.
“We go way back,” she interrupts me, bringing me in for an embrace. She delicately kisses both of my cheeks and then locks in her position, standing directly in front of me. “Don’t we, Oscar?”
She fires me this scorching gaze and I’m pretty sure it is going to take a lot more than any of the alcohol in this restaurant to make me forget it.
“Well, this is perfect then!” Michael exclaims. “My new agent and Tabitha, my best publicist, already best friends. Funny how life works, isn’t it?”
Great. So the frigid blonde, Tabitha, who hates my guts, is Michael’s publicist. Oh, fuck me.
“Sorry, I’m late!” A voice calls out from behind us and I turn around, anything to take me out of this terribly awkward situation.
We also lock eyes immediately.
“Alexis, my baby girl!” Michael calls out and greets the woman who tied me up in my bed last night. “Come, I have someone I want you to meet.”
I can feel my heart sink to my feet and my complexion go stark white.
“Oscar and Tabitha, I’d like you to meet my daughter, Alexis Jane Nichols.”
Just when I couldn’t possibly fathom how this celebratory dinner from hell could get any worse, the girl, the only girl I have met in the past 10 years that has been worth chasing, is now the untouchable daughter of my top client.
Meet Jane Smith. Birth name: Alexis Jane Nichols.
“Brilliant,” I clap my hands together, trying to show some semblance of enthusiasm, even though I’m pretty sure I’m dead on the inside.
Just fucking brilliant.
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about the author
Melissa Young is a contemporary romance writer living in Vancouver, Canada. When she is not busy finding the next inspiration for her steamy books, she can be found hanging out with her hubby and fur babies. Melissa is a Netflix and couch addict, always on the hunt for new shows and has a strong penchant for craft cocktails.