Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“I’m auditioning for a lingerie model role and want to walk in your brand. You know… to showcase it.”
One thing I have always liked about Daphne is that she isn’t someone who takes. She never really asks for too much, and, to be honest, she sucked at being an escort. She’s too soft and became too attached to the clients. She’s also too kind, but that’s what made her appealing to most. She would reel them in with her sincerity of companionship but was well-equipped and open-minded to the different forms of pleasure.
Nothing like Honey, who reeks of innocence. She seems like the type who only wants a ring on her finger and would perform marital duties in the same position every fucking time. And I don’t know why that pisses me off. I have nothing to do with her, and yet I’ve become obsessed. I never thought she’d come to New York and work in one of my stores.
I’m not even sure she knows I own the store.
“I want you to know how much I appreciate you.” Daphne reaches over and touches my leg. “You have this hard exterior, and I get it. You hang with the mafia, and you’ve done bad shit. You probably still do. But you also care for those you consider close to you.”
I say nothing, perplexed as to why she’s bringing this up—most likely because I haven’t called on her as of late—but I know she doesn’t really care about me. Although, I know she does in her own way. But it doesn’t impact me.
“I know you only give me a small part of you and never let anyone in, but I thank you for allowing me to even be here.”
I curl her hair around my knuckles and yank her head back. She waits almost expectantly. But as I look at her, her open mouth and the way her tongue flicks over her lips in anticipation of what she knows I can offer her, I feel…
… nothing.
Fuck!
“Noted,” is all I say before letting her go and striding for the door.
She seems almost confused but says nothing as she follows me, updating me on her personal endeavors as a model, as if nothing has changed between us. But truthfully, she doesn’t do it for me anymore, and that’s a concern in and of itself. And I wonder if it has to do with the sweet little mafia daughter I’m about to corner.
By the time we arrive at the store it is dark. The lights are on, and a few customers are browsing before closing time.
Daphne gets out of the car without another word from me.
I don’t bother telling her the only reason she’s here right now is because I can fuck her and trust she won’t run her mouth. I don’t see Daphne as anything more than someone I use to meet my needs. And that’s not meant to be cruel. It’s just how it is, and she knows it. I’ve never given her reason to think otherwise.
Daphne doesn’t wait for me before she heads into the store, and I already know my innocent Miss Ricci is in there because her bodyguard, Marco, stands outside, casually smoking a cigar as he thumbs through his phone. That’s definitely a problem. She already sticks out too much. But I doubt Mr. Ricci will let his baby daughter go anywhere unprotected.
I pull open the door and instantly spot Honey, who stands behind the counter with her back to me, reaching for something on the wall. Her hair is down and longer than I remember. She’s wearing a tight black shirt that clings to all the right places.
Daphne is handed a flute of champagne by our greeter who can’t make eye contact with me. She offers me one, but I’m quick to deny it as I watch Daphne walk over to Honey and ask for her help. She smiles, bright and welcoming, as Daphne points to a piece she likes in the size she needs. Honey steps out from behind the counter and rises on her tippytoes to grab the item, but she fails. She huffs and tries again. I step up behind her and reach above her head, grabbing the bra she’s after and handing it to her.
Her back is to me, so she doesn’t know it’s me, that is, until she turns around and her eyes go wide.
“Hello, Honey.” I smile as she quickly cradles the bra to her chest.
Daphne looks between us, and as if suddenly jolted out of her shock, Honey smiles tightly and hands Daphne the bra for her to try on. Daphne walks to the changing rooms, but not without looking over her shoulder suspiciously one more time.
“You’re here,” Honey says, confused. And I like the hot flush that runs across her cheeks. It’s different from how most people look at me—like I’m a prize of sorts. They either stare or avert their gaze. But not this woman, who is so confident in herself and yet has such a peculiar innocence about her that she sometimes looks like a lost doe. I lean in close to her ear, inhaling her scent—definitely smells like bad choices.