Page 31 of Hate to Love You
But as the club starts its first round of drunk “purging,” at around 11:40pm, I find myself inundated with more and more men propositioning me for sex. And while brushing off drunk men with subtle insults is one of my favorite things, and wouldn’t normally bother me, it does start distracting me from my end goal.
Slowly, I find myself moving away from the sidewalk, eventually edging so far back that I’m leaning my back against the nearest tree, the bark rubbing against my skin with each shake of my body.
11:45 p.m.
A black Range Rover crawls to a stop in front of the entrance, my eyes are drawn to a singular rose thrown haphazardly on the dash.
Leave it to me to notice the flower before the mark.
I pull my lip between my teeth, hoping that my mark, Igor, has finally arrived.
Only the rich think they are entitled enough to demand someone park their car.
Despite being informed multiple times that The Studio does not have a valet, there’s always a few who still insist on parking in front, throwing the keys to the nearest bouncer.
Might be funny if they mistook an eager patron for staff and someone actually drove off with it one day. Though it’s not like it would phase them, they’d probably just buy another one.
That’s what my in-laws used to do anyway.
Pulling my phone from my clutch, I pretend to read a text, tapping the phone a few times for good measure.
After a few seconds the driver’s side door flies open, a man with a crinkled suit emerges. From the back I can tell he’s older, with slicked back salt and pepper hair barely hiding the fact he’s balding in places.
He stands there, staring at the line of anxious women, some of whom are now pointing and whispering to themselves. It’s obvious they know who he is, and that his money is drawing their attention…not his looks.
Standing here watching him ogling the girls in line, is making my skin crawl. It feels almost predatory, like a lion perusing the herd, or a man at a meat market picking out his ribeye. While it’s clear that the man has money and power, it also feels as if he’s dangerous, his threat lying just beneath the expensive custom suit, embedded in the surface of his skin.
His fingers click together as a man runs to his side.
“Igor?” the man asks, his eyes trained on my mark.
There he is, in all his glory.
A hell of a lot older than his mistress, Igor Ivanov looks to be in his forties.
His head jerks toward the line, “That one, big tits, red hair, gray dress toward the back.”
The man next to him nods, twisting on his heel and immediately making his way over to the woman, his expression and demeanor softening.
The eyes of the lucky girl widen as she stares at Igor, her red curls bouncing in excitement as she nods, taking his minion’s hand and stepping out of line with him.
“Let’s go get our dicks wet boys!” Igor calls out to the remaining four men in the vehicle, who instantly pile out, forming around him like a shield. My head tilts as I inspect the young well-built men, dressed in their black suits, white shirts and black ties, the uniform of bodyguards.
Igor turns to the tallest guy, throwing his keys at him.
“Park it.”
There it is.
With a nod to Teddy, the entourage walks through the double doors, ignoring the complaints from the line.
Time to shine.
I shake out my arms and stalk forward, popping my hip as I walk, weaponizing my voluptuous curves on the one person who can let me in.
“Teddy!” I exclaim, my voice higher than normal.
“Abby, baby! I thought you weren’t going to come over tonight?!” He steps forward, putting his hands on my shoulders. “Why would you stand out there so long?”