Page 5 of The Bad Girl
Chapter 2
Nadine
Sitting adjacent from Grady at a high top table in a rundown bar, I check my phone for the third time, anxious to get a text from Maxwell.
Today, in a show of defiance, I left three minutes early. This may not be a big deal in some lines of work, but I work for the CEO of a billion-dollar corporation. Men like him don’t get that many zeros in their bank account by hiring insubordinate employees.
Fortunately for me—or rather, unfortunately—I don’t have to worry about showing poor manners as Grady’s hardly notices my social faux pas. Why? Because he’s too busy checking out every long leg and low-cut shirt walking through the double doors into the bar.
His gaze finds its way back to me, or rather my boobs which are dangerously close to spilling out over my own low-cut shirt.
It’s not like me to serve up a heaping helping of tits, especially on a first date, but Maxwell is a cutthroat businessman, and one of the reasons he’s been so successful is because he has a good understanding of people, so if he says I need to be more exciting, it’s time for a makeover.
I pounded on the door of a stripper that lives three apartments down from me and begged for something more risqué to wear. She was delighted to dress me up like I was one of her underlings, and now I’m in thigh-high boots, fishnets, a too-small skirt, and a shirt that reveals entirely too much of my ample assets. Then she did my makeup, and holy hell—it looks like: Extreme Makeover: Hooker Edition.
I feel Grady’s hand on my thigh, just above my knee. He leans towards me, leering. “You got me standin’ at attention, babydoll. Why don’t we head on to the back and take care of this?” His hand grabs his bulging groin.
He can’t be serious.
As I sit there in shocked silence, his hand creeps further up my thigh until it’s at the hem of my skirt, squirming to get underneath.
I regain my senses, slap his hand away, and he has the audacity to look at me as though I’m the one being rude.
“I think I’d rather go in the back with Mr. Rogers or any one of the men that go to Bunco at my grandma’s church,” I say a little too loud, and everyone’s head turns towards our table.
Grady’s mouth gapes open in disbelief as I rummage through my purse to grab a ten and slap it onto the table.
“God, how many crazy nutcases is Tinder going to match me with?” Grady shouts.
“Nutcases? What do you call staring at every pair of tits that walks through the door, then turning to your date and asking to go in the back for a knob-job?”
“Goddamn, you’re jealous already? I barely know you! And look at how you’re dressed! Don’t act like knob-job wasn’t written on the menu!”
“Are you fucking—”
A hand grabs me by the forearm, and I turn to see a big, beefy guy standing over me in a security shirt.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” he says, pulling me from my stool.
“Me? You’re going to have to askmeto leave?” I shout, and suddenly I’m being dragged to the front door.
“Good riddance!” Grady yells from the table as the doors open, and I’m thrown out onto the sidewalk.”
My knee connects with the concrete, sending shooting pain up my leg because my pride can’t be the only thing wounded.
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck fuck!” I sit back, pulling my skirt over my ass as two black shoes stop directly in front of me.
“Wow, Nadine, you’ve really taken this too far,” a familiar voice says.
I look up to see the cold, critical gaze of my boss, Maxwell Stryder, staring down at me in disapproval.
Fuck!
?
Maxwell
Nadine blinks her long lashes up at me, her lower lip quivering.
