8. For the Paparazzi

Paul - RBO party

Boring people with heads filled with possibilities to make more money, as their pockets are already overflowing. The only interesting thing around here is the incredible champagne. The drinking practice from the parties I’ve been to is keeping the three glasses I already hurled down my throat from having any impact on me.

Looking at the last drop of the sparkling liquid on the bottom of my crystal glass, I circle my hand and play with it. It's the most interesting thing here so far. People around me talk, but their words are muffled in a cacophony of tedious affairs.

Lilac scent. My head swivels. I follow the enticing hourglass curves as she walks through the door. Her silhouette is stunning, accentuated by the light from the chandeliers. It's as though the room has suddenly sprung to life. It's strange, however, how she casts away her sight when others glance at her as if she doesn't belong here.

She looks around, seeming even more bored than me. When her turquoise eyes set upon mine, I gulp. My heart stops pumping blood in my body when she strolls toward me. Everything around us blurs. There’s only her here.

She becomes more determined when she sees me, and the energy she exudes changes. Her confident stride draws me in; her chin is held high and straight. She doesn't wear earrings, necklaces, or bracelets like the other ladies. She doesn't need jewelry to look like a queen.

A smile stretches over my face. I thought I'd have to force it, but it comes naturally as I gaze at her. Tonight, I have to wear the expression of a man in love, or else Cristian might kill me, or at least bore me to death. As hard as that can be – I hope it's not impossible – I have to draw a line somewhere. My stock market value can drop rather than look pathetic and desperate, even more so when there is a harem of other women that would readily be in her place. Why is this stupid smile here to stay?

When Laura arrives at my side, I whisper. “Just look nice and smile. Oh, and don’t talk.”

She doesn’t reply, and the corners of her red lips rise in a forced smile.

I return my full attention to the man in front of me. Darius Popovici is one of the wealthiest men in sports. After an average career as a football player, he bought a small team, and now that team has made it into the big league. Cash has overflown his accounts.

On today's agenda, I plan to discuss sponsoring his team to display my logo on their jerseys. But after minutes that seemed like hours, I’m now fed up with the only topic he knows.

“Tell me, Paul, which team do you think will win the Champions League this year?”

Without hesitation, I deliver my truthful answer. "Football is not arousing my interest. A horde of monkeys pursuing a ball."

Darius almost chokes to death. Not my fault. He shouldn't ask a question unless he is prepared to receive an honest reply.

Laura takes the initiative before he can say anything. "I, on the other hand, am a huge football fan. I've seen every game your squad has played this season and must commend your selections. You sold the offensive midfielder just before his contract ended and purchased the new one for a fraction of his market value. You're a great businessman, and your management strategy is spot on."

Darius chuckles, his cheeks getting a pinkish note as he winks at Laura. Now I’m the one unprepared for what happened here.

“She’s a keeper.” Darius gives me a friendly pat as if we are best friends. Which we aren’t.

A hand holding two glasses comes between us. It’s Bogdan, a new board member, who I still struggle to grasp his intentions.

"Who is the lovely lady?" He offers me a drink and extends the hand holding the other toward Laura.

"Laura Nedelcu," she responds, taking the offer. Then she places the glass on the table next to us. "Excuse me. I’m going to freshen up a bit."

Laura takes a few steps before turning around and coming back at a fast pace. She trips as if she has suddenly forgotten how to walk. I don’t mind the feel of her breasts over my arm when she plunges toward me, spilling the contents of my glass all over my shirt.

I lean down, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. Her lilac scent hits my senses when I whisper, "Do you have rotten feet? Didn't you drink enough blood at lunch?"

She smiles and raises on her toes to kiss me on the cheek. "Even if my eyeballs would fall, I can't miss this pile of shit in my way."

My arm wraps around her slender waist, pressing her chest against mine. "You sure know how to make a man wanna kill you."

"Hey! A girl does what she needs to do to get what she wants." She chuckles and wipes away the lipstick off my cheek.

The flash of a camera blinks nearby. Oh, photographers. Such a great moment for them to drop in. I’ll give them more to be off the hook for a while. My hand crawls downward, strolling over the perfect curve of her rump. I squeeze it hard, and her muscles buckle, becoming hard as a rock. The growl of my wolf accompanies her yelp. But I don’t stop there.

My mouth rests over her ear as if I were kissing her while placing my other hand on her nape. "This is only for the paparazzi. My wolf would prefer to rip you to shreds."

Her hands wrap over my shoulders, tugging me closer. “Good,” she whispers with a moan as if that would give her great pleasure.

Her cold touch is eerie but extremely delightful, perfectly fitting against my heated body. The coolness of her skin soothes mine. It’s not chilly or unpleasant. Her touch is a drop of cold water on a torrid day when even the asphalt melts away. I barely hold inside a deep sigh of surrender.

Hitting on ladies was previously second nature to me, but this time there's a rush in my veins that I've never felt before. No, this isn't me anymore. Some cling to the silver lining of happily ever after, while others get intoxicated on its pursuit, wobbling as they look for solutions to issues they don't yet have. The quest is one's soul's damnation. Making trouble in order to get what you don't actually need.

Two hours later, people start to leave. I escort Laura outside. We gaze at each other once we're out in the cold night. She shined brightly throughout the event, knowing just what to say and when to say it. She is quite impressive, but I'm not going to sing her praises.

"You're terrible at following instructions. You spoke more than I did." I put my hands into my pockets. "Allow me to drive you home."

“You don’t have to do that. I know the way.” She leans down and takes off her high-heels. “Oh, better,” she mutters more for herself, then she winks and turns around. Her bare feet make no sound on the asphalt. “One more thing.” She stops and peeks at me over her shoulder. “Take care of Bogdan. He’s the one trying to kill you.”

I remain there on the street, watching her hips sway as she goes away. How does she know this?