I finish applying lipstick to my lips, place it back in my purse, and then run my fingers through my long, blonde hair, messing it up as I go. The straight hair trend shits me to tears; give me messy, wild hair any day over that perfect, boring look. Stepping back from the mirror, I assess my outfit for tonight; skintight black leather pants, heels, and a slinky red sleeveless top. I’ve finished it off with an assortment of bracelets and my silver Tiffany heart tag necklace. Yeah, I grin, tonight I’m going to score.
“Presley, babe, you made it.”
I divert my attention from the mirror to the voice behind me. Shit, I’d forgotten she’d be here tonight. Jade Garcia. Supermodel. Shallow bitch from hell. God, give me strength.
Before I can reply, her food deprived friend interrupts. “You’re the photographer from today’s shoot, aren’t you?”
Full points to the vapid supermodel wannabe. I bite my tongue on so many witty remarks and instead, simply reply, “Yes.” Well, okay, perhaps they weren’t witty, so much as catty. I can be one of the cattiest bitches you’ll ever meet. That could be why I don’t have a lot of friends. That and the fact that I truly dislike most people I meet.
Jade starts gushing to her friend. “Presley is one of the best photographers I’ve ever worked with. They had to pay a small fortune to get her to work on this shoot.”
I tune her out; I’ve heard it all before, and I’m over it. I’m also over working with models and clients with no imagination. This shoot bored me to fucking tears, and I won’t be in a hurry to work with them again.
“I’ve got to meet another friend, Jade. I’ll see you around,” I say as I begin to make my way out of the ladies’ room.
She raises her eyebrows. “A Valentine’s date?”
“God, no!”
“You don’t like Valentine’s Day?”
“What’s there to like? A commercialised day that puts pressure on people to buy shit that supposedly proves how much they love their partner. I’ve never celebrated it and don’t ever plan to,” I reply, noting her stunned expression.
“Wow. I’ve never met a woman who doesn’t love Valentine’s Day.” Her previous awe of me has been replaced with disdain. If I’d known it would be this easy to change her opinion of me, I would have shared my thoughts earlier.
I shrug. “Well, now you have. Love’s an everyday experience; it’s something shown in the mundane things you do for your partner. It’s not found in a fucking overpriced bunch of flowers picked up on the way home from work because you know if you don’t get them that day, of all days, your life won’t be worth living.”
Jade’s eyes are glazing over; I probably lost her at mundane.
“I’ll catch you later,” I say as I push open the door and exit the room, not waiting for her response. With a bit of luck, I’ll never have to see her again.
The cool air of the club hits my face and I welcome it after the heated stuffiness of the crowded ladies’ room. It’s Friday night and pumping in here. Everyone is celebrating the end of the work week. I’m celebrating the beginning of my holidays. Three months of no work. Three months of doing whatever the hell I want. Bliss.
I make my way to the bar and order a bourbon and Coke. After slamming it down in two gulps, I motion to the bartender to pour me another.
“Hard day, sweetheart?”
Turning to see who is speaking to me, I am momentarily speechless while I take in piercing blue eyes and gorgeous features. Whoever this man is, he has the ability to turn me on just by being near me because I am turned way the fuck on right now. As electricity sparks through me, I imagine running my hands through his dark hair and laying kisses along that chiseled jaw. Need and desire swirl together and I decide that he will be mine tonight.
“Hard week, more like it,” I answer him just as the bartender brings me another drink. Before I can get cash out of my purse to pay for the drink, the guy lifts his chin at the bartender, who nods and walks away without taking payment. I’m still trying to find cash in my purse and the guy puts his hand over mine, stilling it.
“Why was your week so bad?” he asks, his hand still on mine.
I move my hand away. “Thanks for the drink.”
He flashes me a smile that shoots more electricity through me. “You’re very welcome. Now tell me about your week.”
I sigh. “I’d rather not talk about it. Let’s just say that dealing with pretentious, self-centred people for twelve hours a day, five days in a row, is enough to make me consider moving in with the Amish and adopting their way of life.”
He chuckles. “I hear you. It sounds like we’ve been dealing with similar people all week.”
I cock my eyebrow. “Oh, no. I fucking win this one, dude. I’ve been working with models who couldn’t work out their left from their right half the time.”
He nods, another smile forms on his face that would melt my panties if they weren’t already melted. “You win. I could think of nothing worse than working with models.”
My gaze sweeps over him, taking in his jeans and black t-shirt that both hug his body. He’s rocking muscles I am fighting not to drool over; muscles I need to hold my hand
s back from because all they want to do is touch. Those muscles are covered in tats, and I squint to try and read what one of them says. It looks like a quote written in cursive on his forearm, but I struggle to work out what it says.