Page 97 of Filthy Elites

“You sure?” I love her for her loyalty, I really do, but Alyssa has no reason to stick around when it comes to my boss.

“Yeah,” I assure her. “I’m sure he probably just wants to ask about shift changes or something. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay…” she agrees, though her tone lets me know she is less than convinced. Thankfully, however, she heads off, tossing a look back as she crosses the street and heads back towards the direction of Havers.

I suck in a breath and turn to face my doom. Watching him stride towards me meaningfully has all manner of thoughts sticking to my brain—such as the way his legs eat up the distance. Or the way his button-down shirt stretches tight over the muscles of his chest. My eyes attach themselves to the dark shadows of inked imagery peeking out from beneath the fabric.

Maybe that’s what I find so attractive about him, I think. The man’s practically a walking piece of art, and art, after all, is practically my life.

I’m addicted—pure and hardcore. Art is my drug. It would be all too easy to switch my addiction to a man like Viks.

“Haley.” The way he says my name as he approaches, stopping just before me, sends chills down my spine, and I’m proud of the way my back straightens and I tip my chin up leisurely as if I feel nothing other than obligation to respond to him. Not sexual attraction. Not fierce, intense need. Nothing. It’s a lie—to myself and to him, hopefully.

“Mr. Vikson.”

He smirks. “Mitchell, Haley,” he replies. “I’m hardly much older than you.”

“Fine.” I lick my lips. “What can I do for you…” I can’t bring myself to say his name. It’s too intimate. Too personal. I chicken out and end up with, “Viks?”

He snorts but doesn’t comment as he pushes his hands into his suit pants, drawing the material tight over his hard thighs. I swallow reflexively. “Have you had lunch?” he inquires.

My brain short circuits. “W-what?”

“Lunch,” he repeats. “I’m asking if you’ve eaten yet today.”

I want to lie. I really do, but when he stares down at me like that with those deep, probing eyes, I almost wonder if he’s already caught onto me. “No,” I finally say, “I haven’t.”

“Wonderful,” he says, gesturing back to the parking lot behind us. “I’d like for you to join me. My car’s just—”

“I don’t think I should,” I interrupt him, looking away. “It’s not—”

“Haley,” he cuts me off and my attention returns to his face at the hardness in his tone, “it wasn’t a request.” My heartbeat rises to the command in his tone and I take a step back. "Don’t.” That single word is a warning and hidden within it is a whole breadth of meaning—meaning that I haven’t yet unraveled. “I have something very important I need to ask you,” he says. “I understand you don’t like me, but I do ask that you come with me. I will use my status as your boss if I have to.”

Of course he would. I grit my teeth and stomp forward, pushing past him. “If that’s the case,” I snap as I go, heading towards the parking lot, “I’d prefer it if you just start out with your demands rather than trying to play the gentleman.”

Mitchell Vikson is the type of man who will use every weapon in his arsenal. I don’t know why I ever expected any different.

FOUR

Viks

Some women are easily overlooked.Some attract attention wherever they go. And some … some are sneaky. You don’t realize they’ve captured you until you find yourself doing anything and everything to be in their presence, to makethemnoticeyou. Even if it means you’re annoying the hell out of them to the point that they can’t withhold their hatred of you. Doesn’t fucking matter—you’re still on their mind and you’ll take what you can get.

I should have noticed long ago that Haley Montgomery was the last type of woman, and I’ve done exactly that. Maybe it was unintentional at first, but now it’s my one source of pure, unadulterated amusement. Winding her up and watching her go. Clearly, I’ve made her hate me. It’s obvious in the way she keeps herself to the other side of my truck, practically plastering her body against the passenger side door as far away from me as physically possible without actually launching her body from the speeding vehicle. I’m not wholly unconvinced, either, that she won’t do exactly that if I do or say something to push her over the edge. She strikes me as the reckless type and that, too, is attractive.

“No need to be frightened, Haley,” I say, resisting the urge to smile at her antics. “I don’t bite.”

“I’m fine,” she lies, and I force myself not to chuckle at the obvious deception. She’s not very good at hiding her emotions; that’s for sure, and in my world, where no one ever says what they actually mean, it’s refreshing. She’s an honest diamond, shining like a star in the sea of muck and garbage. But her trying to escape me only makes me want to pull this truck over, lock the doors, drag her onto my lap, and…

“You’d be much more comfortable if you adjusted yourself and actually sat on the seat rather than the door handle,” I comment lightly, distracting myself from my own unnecessary thoughts.

She shoots me a dark glare before shifting over ever so slightly. “What's this about, anyway?” she asks. “Why did you have to drag me away from my classes for lunch?”

I roll my eyes. Does she truly think I wouldn’t have checked up on her schedule before I asked her out? I’m not so inconsiderate. “You didn’t have any more classes today,” I tell her factually. “And you’ll know soon enough.”

“I’d rather know now,” she shoots back, wielding her rebellious attitude like a sword directed at me. While other waitresses at Club Outsider practically run the second I step through the door, she was the first to ever look me in the eye and challenge me. It’s why I’ve requested her each and every time I come—that and knowing the fact that I drive her crazy. I do so love to see the wild expressions of irritation flit across her beautiful face and know that she’ll be cursing at me for the rest of the night. Cursing or not, at least she’s thinking about me. That’s fucked up and I know it. I just can’t help it, and I’m not sure I want to.

I steer the vehicle through Eastpoint traffic until we make it to a restaurant off the main strip. Her eyes widen at the name hanging above the door as I stop in front of the valet stand and step out. I round the SUV, putting a hand up and glaring at the young man who approaches to open her door. He winces and steps back as I reach for it, popping it open and holding my hand out to help her down from the jacked-up seats.

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