Page 32 of His Temptation
Just the way those words sounded coming from his mouth … dirty and filled with promises.
“Jeez. He’s being a little touchy. I was just joking.” Galvin inserts himself into my space. “How do you work for that man?”
“He’s actually a great boss,” I find myself saying despite all the times I’ve wanted to physically assault Lincoln.
“I don’t believe that. He must pay you a pretty penny for you to lie.”
Ugh, this man. I guess it’s my fun that’s being ruined as well. I grab my stuff and rip my towel from my chair. “I should get back to my room. I wanted to relax a bit before this evening.”
When I get back to my room, I slam the door and rip off my swimsuit.
“What a dick!” I exclaim to myself. “He somehow managed to ruin the one time I was able to try and unwind.”
I stomp into the bathroom and turn on the shower to let it warm up. It just goes to show that some people aren’t meant to live that kind of life. One where there’s time to relax and have fun. I don’t know what I was thinking that I could fit something like that into my schedule and not have the universe throw it back in my face.
After my shower, I wrap myself in my towel and fall into the bed. At least I can get some kind of rest before I have to get ready for tonight. Unfortunately, tonight is the gala, so I have to look even fancier than I managed to get away with last night.
Lincoln’s shopper helped me buy some makeup and hair products. Otherwise, I’d be clueless as to what to do with my hair or makeup. She even texted me some tutorial videos that broke it all down into easy steps. Like how to blow-dry your hair to add volume.
Who knew women were out there worried about how much volume was in their hair? Here I’ve been, worried about how much money was in my bank account and if I could afford rent and food.
After I wake up from a much-needed nap, I race over to the bathroom to make sure my towel-wrapped hair is still wet. Luckily, I have long, thick hair, so it’s still wet enough to work on blow-drying it correctly. I think. I hope.
When I look in the mirror for the final result, even I’m surprised by the woman staring back at me. She is nothing like the woman who stood in the coffee shop a couple of months ago with holes in the soles of her shoes and no trace of makeup.
This woman is standing in a long red ball gown that has black lace over it. Her breasts are on display, and her hair is voluminous, just like the video promised. She has on darker eye makeup with red lipstick that makes her look like someone who can walk into a room and command attention.
But the truth is, I don’t feel like that woman. How could I? A woman like that wouldn’t be a virgin. She would know what to do in the bedroom. She would know how to seduce a man.
Still, the makeover did its job. I look like someone who belongs, and that’s all that matters.
Since I’m running late, I text Mr. Monroe—or Lincoln—to tell him to go ahead without me and that I’ll meet him there.
As I walk into the grand ballroom, nerves settle in the pit of my stomach, reminding me I don’t belong here. These people are all wealthy—most come from money, I assume.
My world is miles apart from theirs. They don’t sit around and wonder how they are going to feed their family. No, they worry about which part of Italy they are going to vacation in this summer. I’m sure if they knew, only two months ago, I was making thirty-cent ramen for dinner just to get by, they’d be turning their heads at me.
Before I even try to find Lincoln, I go to the bar to get a glass of white wine. I need something to ease the nerves, but I also can’t risk having purple teeth in front of these people. After I get my glass, I lean against a marble column that looks like it was taken straight out of Italy and transported here. I take a couple of sips of my wine and look out at the people in the ballroom.
I notice that most of the women on the arms of the rich men here are rail thin. I make a point to stand up straight and suck in mystomach. I’ve gained a couple of pounds since getting this job. I can’t help it. I can finally afford to eat good food.
Then a weird feeling floods my body, like I’m being watched. Goosebumps break out all over my skin. My eyes search the sea of others until they land on familiar ones. They hold mine with such intensity that I have to look away for a moment and work up the courage to meet them again.
As I close the distance between us, he watches me. I realize my body knew exactly whose eyes were on me. It was reacting to this desire that I feel is growing all-consuming. Whoever he was talking with has left, leaving me and him alone.
The warmth of his hand finds my hip as he leans in. I’m not sure if he’s going to give me a hug, but I remain frozen, not able to move a muscle as I smell his cologne. I’m dizzy from the effects it’s having on me. Then I feel the slightest brush of soft lips on my cheek.
My eyes close of their own accord as I lean into him. Never in my life has my heartbeat this erratically in my chest. Blood rushes to my face, threatening to betray my attempt at being professional.
He pulls away and looks down at me. “You look … stunning.”
It was just a touch, a fleeting moment, but it leaves me feeling things I’ve never felt before.
“Thank you,” I manage to whisper back.
His hand moves to the small of my back. A back that is completely revealed due to how low-cut the dress is. I feel the second he realizes his hand is on my skin because he fumbles over his steps before he composes himself.
This night feels dangerous. Like a promise that our working relationship is about to become complicated.
