Page 5 of Intoxicated
Chapter 3
DREW
I’m far from the only man who’s attempted my line of work. Ruining a woman’s mascara because she’s ruined a hundred men’s lives is my specialty. Yet I’m one of the only guys who has survived this business for more than a few months.
You wanna know why?
Because I know genuine interest when I see it. I also know when a woman intends to play me like a fiddle.
Most women don’t do it on purpose, of course. Only the ones who have perverted their morals to the point of no return. The ones who see every guy as either a mark, a threat, or completely inconsequential.
The light sparking behind Cher’s devilishly brown eyes tells me I’ve ascended from inconsequential. That means I’m on her radar. It’s time to play this as carefully as I play a game of chess against my assistant. The guy is a worthy opponent. He knows how to strike my king when I least expect it, always keeping me on my toes and teaching me how to think far,farahead. Don’t tell Brent this, but it’s definitely the reason I’ve kept him on after a slew of call-outs at the expense of my business. (The guy had eloped with some jock he met in a nightclub. That same night. Don’t ask me how they’re still married four years later. Also, don’t ask me how embarrassing their Christmas cards are.)
Now that I have Cher’s attentions, however, I need to ensure I elevate tomark.Or, at least, she needs to think I’m a potential mark. Why do you think I dressed like this tonight? Everything I’ve researched about Cher suggests she’s a woman with delicate, refined tastes. She goes after men with serious means. She’s as likely to corner a freshly minted multimillionaire (easy pickings for someone as delicious as her, but they don’t usually have money for long,) as she is to go after her billionaire boss with a death wish. I’ve got being hot on my side. I know how to dress myself in the brands that mean something to her. Never mind the fact I genuinely afford them. I come from both moneyandhave my own successful business that caters to men either as rich or richer than my family. Everything I do around her is 100% natural.
I merely have an ulterior motive that’snotsex, all right?
Well, maybe a little bit of my motive is sex. Like I said, this is a black widow on my hands. Women like Cher don’t leave so much devastation in their wake without having both the looksandthe skills to back up the résumé. The only reason I’m looking at her without pitching a tent in my pants is because I’ve read about her torrid history. I’ve seen the embarrassing video my client sent me, ensuring I got the full scope of her wretched nature. She’s the kind of woman I’d hit and quit if the opportunity presented itself, but I don’t want anything to do with her beyond that.
Except, you know, to make money off her misery.
“I know that guy,” I say, splaying open my legs as I slump over in the stool I now occupy. My torso and arms say I’m keeping a respectful distance. My knee, which threatens to bump into her thigh every two seconds, says otherwise. Some part of me needs her thinking about sex the whole time I’m sitting here, laying on the charm and drawing her into a web so much like the ones she weaves every day. “You don’t want to get involved with that guy.”
Cher sits up, checking her posture and her appearance. It’s a subtle move women make when I start to flirt with them. Cute, when it’s an innocent lady who simply strikes my fancy. Absolutely unnerving when I have a jerk on my hands.
A jerk with fantastic side-boob, I might add. Is she using tape to keep them looking that perky? That’s totally tape – but I bet they look as amazing without the tape.
“You know him, huh?” Cher has lost the girl-next-door air she adopted when talking to another man. She’s sizing me up right now, isn’t she? Debating what kind of woman I want for the night. Appearances aren’t the only thing she has going for her. If she decides she wants my money, she’ll have to play Perfect Girlfriend. I won’t ever see the real her. I’ll see a façade. A mirror reflecting my innermost fantasies back at me, until she decides it’s time to move on. The only thing I haven’t figured out about Cher Lieberman is why she’s so keen to break up when her rich marks propose to her. Is it because they’re not richenoughfor her to go through with it? Does she have some insufferable code? Does she get cold feet once she faces a man hopelessly in love with her? In love enough that he flies to Berlin to get his grandmother’s engagement ring to bring back to a woman who doesn’t really deserve it? “Do you know what you coming up here to tell me that tellsme?”
I’m slightly taken aback by her direct approach, but I attempt to not let it show. Curiosity is okay. I must look perpetually interested, after all. Yet Cher can’t know that she’s surprised me enough to sit back in mild wonder.
“What does that tell you?” I ask, smirk compensating for my brash response.
“Either you hate the man and can’t stand the thought of him nailing a girl like me,” she plucks a tiny plastic straw from a bin and stirs the ice in her glass. The remnants of whiskey swirl with ice water. “Or you find him appalling and think it’s your duty to warn me.”
Think fast, Drew. You may have to change course, but that doesn’t mean you drop your lead. Youknowwhat she’s doing. She’s judging you as much as you judge her. You’re playing each other, but that’s your advantage, Drew.Youknow you’re both playing each other. She doesn’t.
So act like you’ve got this. Go with your gut, you suave bastard.
“I don’t know anything about his ethics or what kind of lover he is.” My legs open wider. Man-spread is on my side as I “absentmindedly” rub my knee against hers. She doesn’t recoil from me. That’s a good sign. “All I know is what I hear in my line of work. The guy likes to throw his money around. A little too much, if you know what I mean.”
Cher studies me, her mind working overtime to ascertain how much truth I tell her. Do I really know him? Is this so I can get under her skirt? How hotwouldI look on top of her, anyway? I dunno, Cher, you tell me. That’s the look you’ve got in your eye before you shake it out, sigh, and say, “Good to know he’s a total waste of time. You know, if I were a gold digger.”
Subtle sarcasm. The real me likes it. The me working her over likes it more. Funny girls – the blacker the humor the better – are easy to seduce. “Didn’t mean to imply that.” I prop my chin up on my hand. Here’s to myfantasticprofile. Almost as good as her side-boob. “I don’t like it when a lovely lady wastes her time on a man who can’t keep funds in his account. Every woman deserves to be treated with financial respect.”
Your average woman would roll her eyes. Yet Cher is far fromaverage.Her intense fixation on money, money, money means she merely snorts and says, “Thanks for watching out for me, kind stranger. I’ll keep that in mind when he inevitably calls me tomorrow.”
