Page 25 of Mine To Possess
“Whatever you’re having will be fine.”
“Champagne is good,” I say to James.
He nods respectfully and turns away. As he waves down a waitress, I lead Amelia away from the railing and we take our seats on a nest of black leather sofas.
A waitress carrying a bottle of fizz and an ice bucket arrives with impressive speed. She uncorks the bottle, fills the glasses and leaves.
Amelia lifts her glass. “Here’s to you. May you always be the richest man in the club.”
“May you always be the most beautiful woman in the club.”
Her eyes widen and confused color rushes into her cheeks.
Quickly she turns her head and looks out over the railings to the people on the dance floor below. She sways slightly, bobbing her head in time with the beat.
“I always envied people who managed to find a spot in a club where they can dance without other people’s elbows in their ribs.”
“That’s the worst and best thing about clubs. The crowds. Without them there’s no atmosphere, with them you must put up with elbows in your ribs.”
“Yes, exactly.” She glances at the VIP dance floor. “But it’s amazing being up here. You get all of the atmosphere and none of the elbows or the showers of sweat.”
“So, you like dancing…”
She swivels her head around. “Of course. Don’t you?”
I shake my head. “I’m not much of a dancer.”
“That’s a shame.”
We sip our drinks and chat. She tells me about some of the crazy shit her friends have done on nights out and I find myself regarding her with real curiosity, wondering about her life before I found her.
Eventually, Amelia excuses herself to go to the bathroom, and I watch her walk away, her hips swaying, her ass perfect in her dress. I notice the curves of her hips and I imagine myself running my hands all over her body. I want to touch her everywhere, taste her. I look away as she disappears through the door. God, she’s gotten so far into my head so quickly. It’s not just about the way she looks either. I’m really enjoying spending time with her.
Amelia comes back from the bathroom, her face flushed with excitement.
“Holy shit,” she exclaims as she sits back down. “You should see those bathrooms. They’re completely done up in glossy black marble and shiny chrome.”
“I have. I approved their designs.”
“I appreciate having doors that actually lock, soft toilet paper in each stall and thick hand towels, but the best part is what it doesn’t have: an inch of liquid on the floor that you just pray is only water as you wade through it.” She grins infectiously. “Heck, there’s even free hand cream and perfume... I could really get used to this.”
“Welcome to the VIP life,” I murmur, staring at her. The women I date inevitably try to impress me with their sophistication or attempt to project a blasé attitude towards wealth as if they have seen it all. Not her. She just blurts it all out.
She holds out her glass and I refill it.
“To how the other side lives,” she announces, then takes a drink, which somehow goes the wrong way and causes her to choke and splutter. “I guess you can take the girl out of the trailer park, but apparently, you can’t take the trailer park out of the girl,” she mumbles, embarrassed.
The change in her is instant and remarkable. Suddenly, she looks like a scolded kid. Miserably, she dabs at her red face with a napkin.
“Relax. It’s ok,” I say gently.
She puts the balled-up napkin on the table and bends her head with shame. “Thanks for being so kind to me. I’m afraid I just keep making a terrible fool of myself.”
Her sense of disgrace is so disproportionate to her ‘crime’ that it startles me. My instinctive reaction is to want to hold and protect her, but obviously I don’t. “It’s not the end of the world, Amelia. Look, what can I say to make it better?”
She lifts her head slowly. “There is something you can say.”
“What is it?”