Page 32 of Beyond the Spotlight Discreet Version
Hot British Guy
That’s exactly what I want
Me
I bought lingerie too
I didn’t, but I want to see his response.
Me
Shall I model that for you, too, sir?
Hot British Guy
...
Before he can make more demands that I’d surely give in to, I send another text.
Me
I’m afraid you have a very important job to do, and I can’t distract you by sending Sexy Savvy Selfies, which is in clear violation of the boundaries of our working relationship, therefore, I decline your order to model my clothes. #boundaries
I know I’m teasing him, but he started it. I’m the innocent one here, I swear.
Okay, maybe not since, technically, I called him sugar daddy.
He replies with an eye roll emoji.
Hot British Guy
See you tonight at dinner, Savannah
I fall back onto the bed on top of my clothes, clutching the phone to my chest like I’m some high school girl with a crush. Thirty-five years old and I’ve never had a man make me act so giddy. I told him I want to remain professional, but every day, every flirty text, I’m considering amending the boundaries or dropping them altogether.
When Reynold walks into the Penthouse hours later, just after seven, he’s sweaty, and there’s a bruise forming under his eye. He also has minor cuts on his lip, eyebrow, and cheek.
I stand from the stool at the bar in the kitchen. “What the hell happened?”
“Savvy, you owe me a dollar,” Addy says, not looking up from the picture book she’s reading. She’s propped up on her knees, arms folded on the counter, hovered over the book.
“Hell isn’t a bad word,” I say.
“My teacher said it was when I said it.”
“Why did you say… nevermind.” I turn back to Reynold.
“Mylan happened.” He opens the fridge and grabs a bottled water. He unscrews the lid and pours the cool liquid down his throat. “You know how he’s a terrible dancer?”
I nod.
“He’s bad at fight choreography too. I’m sure you know that the fights in movies aren’t real. We’re not supposed to make actual contact, but Mylan slipped up twice and punched me.”
I cover my mouth with my palm.
“It’s not funny.”
I clear my throat. “Right. Of course.”
