Violent Tendencies

“I... ah... wanted to discuss business?” I saturate my tone with uncertainty.

“You called the right place. Where shall we have this discussion?”

“I usually have them in my client’s cars…”

“I’ll meet you at the corner of Elmer and Delia.” He cuts me off. “Same car as earlier.”

Before I can even open my mouth to confirm, I hear the dial tone in my ear and growl at his confident manner. I can’t wait to see him scared and begging me for mercy.

I make the choice to dress in my appropriate business attire and I straighten out my long wavy blonde hair, letting it hang loose down my back. I line my big baby blues in kohl, making them pop even more, and then I brush some blush onto my freckled cheeks, giving my pale skin some color.

I squeeze my girls into a leather crop top, grinning when their fullness nearly pops me in the chin, and then I pair it with a leather mini, the bottoms of my ass cheeks peeking out. My best fucking business suit.

I finish it off with a pair of thigh high heels because, duh, Pretty Woman, and pull my trench over the top. I give myself a once over in the mirror and chuckle at my appearance, thank God for the genes that make me look at least five years younger than my twenty-five. I know Mr. Walton likes them young.

I’m ready to get this shit started and I can feel my skin crawling with the need for blood.