Page 1 of Game Changer

1

William

“If you askme to go home with you, I will.”

I shift my gaze to the right so it lands on the woman who just uttered those words to me. She’s cute. Blonde hair, blue eyes, and full lips covered in a pink shimmery gloss are what I notice first.

The tight black dress she’s wearing fits the occasion. I’m at a fundraiser because I do my part to contribute when needed. Tonight, it’s a gala to benefit an off-Broadway theatre organization. The host is a man I did business with two years ago. The woman he married last month is a fan of the arts, so he took on the role of raising money even though he can cut a check for millions, and it wouldn’t leave a dent in his bank account.

“What do you say, handsome?” The woman next to me trails a finger up the sleeve of my tuxedo jacket.

I say no.

It’s not because she’s not desirable. The woman is attractive, but there’s a tan line wrapped around the ring finger of her left hand. She’s either married and looking to score some tall, dark-haired, chiseled-jaw handsomeness on the side, or she’s recently divorced. She could be a widow, but I doubt like hell she’s in mourning.

She saddles up closer to me at this makeshift bar in the corner of the ballroom at one of Manhattan’s most luxurious hotels.

“Do you have a roommate?” Her finger reaches the top of the collar of my white button-down shirt. “I can get us a room here if that’s the case.”

I turn to give her my full attention because women deserve that.

Her gaze skims over my face.

I’m better looking than most men in this room. That’s not my ego talking. I know I was blessed when it comes to good bone structure.

I’m gifted in other ways, but she won’t enjoy that tonight.

“I’m flattered.” I flash her a smile to lessen the blow of the next words out of my mouth. “I’m not interested.”

I could have played it kinder and told her I’m tired or in a committed relationship.

Both the former and the latter are lies.

I don’t see the point in lying to a woman who is putting herself out there. She’s being straight with me by telling me she wants me. I’m being clear with her by explaining she’s not what I’m looking for.

“What do you mean you’re not interested?” She arches her back to bring her ample tits into the conversation.

My gaze drops to the low cut neckline of her dress becausebreasts…but I shift back to eye contact immediately. “I’m not interested in fucking you tonight.”

“Ohhhh,” she drags that one-syllable word out. “You’re busy tonight, so another night works better? I’m free tomorrow.”

She’s making this harder than it needs to be, and I’m not talking about my dick. It’s still taking it easy. Nothing about her is getting a rise out of me.

“I’ll never be interested.”

Her eyes widen in shock. “Why not?”

I imagine men would come running if she snapped her fingers, but I’m not one of them. “I know what I’m looking for, and you’re not it.”

“I could be,” she says hopefully. “I’m not interested in more than one night.”

I have enough experience with women to know that there’s a good chance she’s not being completely honest. The tan line on her ring finger suggests she was interested in more than a one-night stand at some point in her life; some recent point in her life.

If I take her to bed, she’ll want more.

Again, my ego is not driving this train, but women love good sex. They dream about great sex, and when they get phenomenal sex, they latch on.

I’m a notch above phenomenal.

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