Page 11 of Risk
A one-way ticket off this planet would be nice. Sudden exhaustion has me glancing up slowly. “Old Fashioned, please.”
Today was absolute shit. First, my meetings were rough, then dinner alone, then rejected by the most gorgeous woman in the universe, and now I’m roped into attending a gala I have zero interest in.
“I’m telling you it was her,” says someone behind me. “Had to be.”
“No way,” argues another person.
“She was talking about putting peanut butter on her feet for a grand!”
My ears perk up.
“So? That proves nothing.”
“It proves she’s in the business.”
“No, it doesn’t. You’re delusional. That woman looked too old to be Daisy Ren.”
“Anyone can look young in bunny ears, wigs, and makeup. I swear to you, that’s her. They have the same big eyes.”
I glance over my shoulder to see two young men staring at a cell phone as they debate.
“Her tits look the same. That’s about it.”
“Same pretty mouth, too. Daisy’s stunning. That woman was her. No way it wasn’t.”
Now they have my full attention.
“You’re just crushing so hard you see her everywhere you go. Time to touch grass, man.” The waiter pats the other guy on the shoulder. Then he looks at me and blanches as if they’ve just been caught watching porn in church. “Come on, table five needs a fresh bottle of champagne and thirteen needs appetizers brought out.”
They split off just in time for my drink to show up.
One sip.
Two sips.
Three sips and I’m looking up Daisy Ren on my cell.
Annnnd spit that third sip out in a spectacular spray of smoked citrus rind and top shelf bourbon.
Hello, Leah.
I can see why they were arguing. The woman staring back at me online has purple contacts, pink hair with matching bunny ears, and a corset that lifts her ample tits nearly up to her chin. She looks barely legal. But there’s no mistaking her mischievous smile. It’s the same one Leah gave her friends earlier during dinner.
It’s the same one she gave me when she turned me down.
Fuck me running, this woman is hot in every way. From the over-sized T-shirt this morning, to the knockout cocktail dress tonight, to this crazy fetish outfit on her profile pic—there’s no denying she’s a smoke show. The longer I stare at her big doe eyes, the harder my cock gets. Bet the lip gloss on her pouty mouth is fruity flavored and would leave a nice pink ring around the base of my dick as she sucked me off.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m halfway out the door, stuffing my phone in my pocket.
The valet still has my car parked out front, and I stuff another fifty in his hand as I snatch the keys from him.
“Have a great night, Sir!”
I plan on it.
The drive home takes me ages instead of the normal fifteen minutes. I barrel into my condo, rip off my suit jacket, loosen my tie, and drop down at my desk so I can see my beautiful creature on the biggest screen I have.
Signing in with a fake name, I pay the top tier price on her site without batting an eye. She’s not charging enough for the privilege of looking at her photos, let alone have a live chat.