King of Hearts
Page 8
Alexis,
I have lunch meetings all this week, so my swanky bathroom is free and at your disposal should you wish to avail of it. Just clean up the crumbs when you’re done.
Mr King
I was positively gleeful that he was giving me permission to use his bathroom as my own personal dining area and took full advantage of the offer. Besides, it was nice to have a little sanctuary away from my co-workers. I was fond of Eleanor, and Gillian was nice enough, despite her habit of flirting with any and every man who came into the office. But still, I cherished my hour in King’s bathroom. It was my thinking time to eat and relax without the constant need to be conversational.
I had a swing in my step as I walked home from the tube station Friday evening. Karla and I were going to our ska night, and I couldn’t wait to get dolled up and hit the town. After a week stuck in the office, I was more than ready to let my hair down. Maybe I’d even meet a man. Since my breakup with Stu was only a couple of months in my rearview mirror, I hadn’t really given much thought to dipping my toes back in the dating pool. But now that I had this new job, I also had a newfound boost of confidence. Yeah, I could definitely pull tonight if I put my mind to it.
I ate a quick dinner that Karla threw together for us, then hopped in the shower. Fresh and clean and wrapped in a towel, I stood by my closet and took inventory of my clothes, trying to decide what to wear. My wardrobe was a bit of a mishmash of styles; I liked to wear eye-catching patterns. In the end, I chose a pair of slinky leopard-print leggings, a black halter top that cupped my tits nicely, a chunky gold necklace, big hoop earrings, and a pair of stripy green and black wedge heels.
Shut up, I looked fabulous.
Standing by my full-length mirror, I began straightening my wavy hair and took in my appearance. The mismatched patterns were purposeful. Besides, you had to dress funky for a ska night. It was expected.
“Great outfit,” said Karla as she came into my room. “And those pants make your arse look fantastic.”
“Why, thanks,” I said, grinning and switching off the hair straightener. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
Karla wore a tight red pencil skirt and a stripy black and white top. She had the pale skin, red hair, and blue eyes of someone with a definite hint of Irish in their lineage. I, on the other hand, inherited my looks from my already mentioned crazy Greek mother (crazy in the best way) and had dark brown hair, almost black eyes, and an olive complexion. I also had an ample chest and a definite arse going on.
After I applied a bit of makeup, we shared a quick glass of wine before heading out. The Silver Bullet was totes hipster and always putting on random themed nights. At twenty-seven, and Karla being twenty-eight, we were probably a little old to be coming here. But whatever. The day I stopped going dancing would be the day they put me in my grave.
The ska night was in full swing when we walked in to the upbeat saxophone stylings of “One Step Beyond” by Madness. I didn’t even bother going to the bar first to get a drink. Instead, I grabbed Karla’s hand and led her to the dance floor, where we proceeded to bop and jump up and down like a pair of overenthusiastic toddlers.
I was lost in ska heaven when I felt a pair of arms go around my waist. Turning, I found my friend Bradley grinning down at me, wearing a wife-beater vest and a pair of canary-yellow jeans. Bradley was my brother from another mother who loved the cock. And yeah, camp as a row of tents. He’d gone to school with both Karla and me, and now worked as a pretty successful fashion photographer.
“Lexie! I haven’t seen you in ages,” he shouted in my ear. “What have you been up to?”
Fluttering my eyelashes, I replied jokingly, “Oh, you know, the usual. Leo Di Caprio offered to whisk me away for a dirty weekend and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
He let out a yip of laughter and took my hand in his, leading me towards the bar. Karla followed, and Bradley turned to give her a quick hug and a kiss hello. He called to the barman, ordering a round of shots before turning back to me.
“I’m glad I bumped into you,” he said. “I’ve actually been meaning to give you a call, because I have a proposition.”
I grinned and knocked back the shot; it burned good as it went down. I liked Bradley’s propositions. They were almost always guaranteed to have “fun” stamped all over them.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yesss,” he said. I could tell from the sparkle in his eyes that he was more than a little tipsy. “I’ve just started working for Baha. You ever heard of them?”
“Can’t say that I have,” I replied as Karla’s elbow knocked against mine while she drank her shot.
“Wellll, they’re a really popular fashion label, and I’m going to be working with them on an upcoming shoot for their plus-size range. They’re looking for some new faces, and I immediately thought of you.”
I sputtered a laugh. “Me? What, like, you want me to model?”
Bradley whacked me playfully on the arm. “No, I want you to make the tea. Of course, I want you to model. You’ll be perfect.”
I pretended to play it cool and joked, “Oh, well, I’d say yes and all, but if I showed up, they’d probably tell me to take my Kate Moss–lookin’ self back from whence I came.”
“Ha! Good one,” Bradley deadpanned. “Are you up for it or what?”
“Eh, yes, I’m up for it. When, where, and can I keep the clothes after? But, more importantly, how much will I be getting paid?”
I have lunch meetings all this week, so my swanky bathroom is free and at your disposal should you wish to avail of it. Just clean up the crumbs when you’re done.
Mr King
I was positively gleeful that he was giving me permission to use his bathroom as my own personal dining area and took full advantage of the offer. Besides, it was nice to have a little sanctuary away from my co-workers. I was fond of Eleanor, and Gillian was nice enough, despite her habit of flirting with any and every man who came into the office. But still, I cherished my hour in King’s bathroom. It was my thinking time to eat and relax without the constant need to be conversational.
I had a swing in my step as I walked home from the tube station Friday evening. Karla and I were going to our ska night, and I couldn’t wait to get dolled up and hit the town. After a week stuck in the office, I was more than ready to let my hair down. Maybe I’d even meet a man. Since my breakup with Stu was only a couple of months in my rearview mirror, I hadn’t really given much thought to dipping my toes back in the dating pool. But now that I had this new job, I also had a newfound boost of confidence. Yeah, I could definitely pull tonight if I put my mind to it.
I ate a quick dinner that Karla threw together for us, then hopped in the shower. Fresh and clean and wrapped in a towel, I stood by my closet and took inventory of my clothes, trying to decide what to wear. My wardrobe was a bit of a mishmash of styles; I liked to wear eye-catching patterns. In the end, I chose a pair of slinky leopard-print leggings, a black halter top that cupped my tits nicely, a chunky gold necklace, big hoop earrings, and a pair of stripy green and black wedge heels.
Shut up, I looked fabulous.
Standing by my full-length mirror, I began straightening my wavy hair and took in my appearance. The mismatched patterns were purposeful. Besides, you had to dress funky for a ska night. It was expected.
“Great outfit,” said Karla as she came into my room. “And those pants make your arse look fantastic.”
“Why, thanks,” I said, grinning and switching off the hair straightener. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
Karla wore a tight red pencil skirt and a stripy black and white top. She had the pale skin, red hair, and blue eyes of someone with a definite hint of Irish in their lineage. I, on the other hand, inherited my looks from my already mentioned crazy Greek mother (crazy in the best way) and had dark brown hair, almost black eyes, and an olive complexion. I also had an ample chest and a definite arse going on.
After I applied a bit of makeup, we shared a quick glass of wine before heading out. The Silver Bullet was totes hipster and always putting on random themed nights. At twenty-seven, and Karla being twenty-eight, we were probably a little old to be coming here. But whatever. The day I stopped going dancing would be the day they put me in my grave.
The ska night was in full swing when we walked in to the upbeat saxophone stylings of “One Step Beyond” by Madness. I didn’t even bother going to the bar first to get a drink. Instead, I grabbed Karla’s hand and led her to the dance floor, where we proceeded to bop and jump up and down like a pair of overenthusiastic toddlers.
I was lost in ska heaven when I felt a pair of arms go around my waist. Turning, I found my friend Bradley grinning down at me, wearing a wife-beater vest and a pair of canary-yellow jeans. Bradley was my brother from another mother who loved the cock. And yeah, camp as a row of tents. He’d gone to school with both Karla and me, and now worked as a pretty successful fashion photographer.
“Lexie! I haven’t seen you in ages,” he shouted in my ear. “What have you been up to?”
Fluttering my eyelashes, I replied jokingly, “Oh, you know, the usual. Leo Di Caprio offered to whisk me away for a dirty weekend and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
He let out a yip of laughter and took my hand in his, leading me towards the bar. Karla followed, and Bradley turned to give her a quick hug and a kiss hello. He called to the barman, ordering a round of shots before turning back to me.
“I’m glad I bumped into you,” he said. “I’ve actually been meaning to give you a call, because I have a proposition.”
I grinned and knocked back the shot; it burned good as it went down. I liked Bradley’s propositions. They were almost always guaranteed to have “fun” stamped all over them.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yesss,” he said. I could tell from the sparkle in his eyes that he was more than a little tipsy. “I’ve just started working for Baha. You ever heard of them?”
“Can’t say that I have,” I replied as Karla’s elbow knocked against mine while she drank her shot.
“Wellll, they’re a really popular fashion label, and I’m going to be working with them on an upcoming shoot for their plus-size range. They’re looking for some new faces, and I immediately thought of you.”
I sputtered a laugh. “Me? What, like, you want me to model?”
Bradley whacked me playfully on the arm. “No, I want you to make the tea. Of course, I want you to model. You’ll be perfect.”
I pretended to play it cool and joked, “Oh, well, I’d say yes and all, but if I showed up, they’d probably tell me to take my Kate Moss–lookin’ self back from whence I came.”
“Ha! Good one,” Bradley deadpanned. “Are you up for it or what?”
“Eh, yes, I’m up for it. When, where, and can I keep the clothes after? But, more importantly, how much will I be getting paid?”
