Page 1 of Organized Chaos
Chapter 1
Karens ignore trigger warnings, only to later complain about said warnings. Don't be a Karen. This book contains dubious sexual scenes and mental health issues. It’s an age-gap romance with an underaged teenager. Depending on your comfort zone, the content might disturb you. This trope is ONLY intended for open-minded readers interested in exploring their fantasies in the realm of fiction while exercising the good judgment to differentiate it from real-life situations.
"Hello there," saidthe semi-corporate asshole.
He looked like one of those fresh out of college investment banker dicks. We all knew his type. Cocky. Self-assured. A ‘Suit.’ Chasing meaningless skirts. He was staring at the girl in front of him, presuming to have found his calling for the night.
The girl made quite the impression with her entrance, the way she glided inside the hotel bar. The place was filled with men traveling due to a convention, and the savages eyed her hungrily.
At the time, both Farah and Tasha were hitting on me, though they were barking up the wrong tree. Neither would be on my radar even if I were in a social mood, and I was far from jovial. My only date for the night—a bottle of Jack.
However, the effect of lonely souls must have been contagious because, despite my best efforts, I was inexplicably drawn to her as well.
She was an all-American beauty. Small frame with curves, legs elongated for miles by her heels. The golden skin suited her, complimenting locks of blonde hair. My mouth went dry every time she flipped the long strands over her shoulders.
Yes, the girl was easy on the eyes. However, beautiful women paraded the city of Nice. Factually speaking, she wasn’t even all that remarkably pretty. I didn’t understand the fuss, but the night suddenly seemed young and full of possibilities.
She was on the other side of the circular lobby bar as I dodged Farah and Tasha for a better look. The geometric shape of the structure allowed me to watch as the events unfolded.
"May I buy you a drink?" the cocky, self-assured asshole asked smoothly. I didn’t care for the familiarity he sported—or the greedy eyes lapping at her figure—but clenched my teeth to stop myself from reacting prematurely. Irrational anger would only paint me as a psychopath.
Once the bartender sat down my whiskey, I grabbed the tumbler and scooted closer, taking a large gulp during my migration. Piercing blues locked intently with mine as she looked over to glance at me.
She is attracted to me.
The girl’s smile didn't reach her eyes as she acknowledged the man’s request. "I'm alright. Thank you."
That was the signal to take a hint. The song and dance set by the rules of society were straightforward. If a man offered to buy a drink and the girl rejected said drink, he had to politely move on to the next unsuspecting prey.
Not this man. "Oh, come on. Just one drink."
My fingers inadvertently twitched, lava churning inside my stomach. The fucker was blatantly hitting on her, and there was not a thing I could do to stop it. The impulse to remove her out of his sight was so immensely heart-pounding that I considered throat punching myself, hoping the pain would distract me from the ridiculous whim.
I reprimanded myself. Hitting on random women—or hitting people on their behalf—wasn’t my style.
She let the man down gently once more, eyes drifting back to mine. "I really appreciate it, but I'm waiting for someone."
The man's face fell, and mine went into overdrive.
Did she just like the attention?
She had eye-fucked me while this douchebag hit on her. All the while, she was waiting for someone else entirely?
I hated women with such complexes.
"What idiot keeps a woman like you waiting?"
For the oddest of reasons, one I couldn't explain with a gun to my head, I burst out, "Guess that'd be me." I towered over the creep in two long strides, setting my glass down on the bar counter.
"Umm... hey, man," he fumbled awkwardly. "I didn't realize she was here with someone." He gathered himself and swiftly disappeared without a backward glance.
And that's why sheep shouldn't target a lioness.
Tilting my head, I eyed the lioness in question. I only arrived in France twelve hours ago. The last thing I expected was this... distraction. Though one sheep was out of the picture, there was another in the mix—the fucker she was waiting to meet.
However, she blew me away by snatching the question right out of my lips. "Finally! I’ve been waiting for you to come over. What took you so long?"
This trip had taken an interesting turn.
