Page 3 of Torrid Passion
“And what do you do?”
“I’m a socialite, Lochlan.”
I didn’t know that was a profession.
“And you do that full-time?” I joke.
She swats my arm. “There you go again being funny.”
“I try my best.”
“Well, Lochlan…”She really likes my name.“Mr. Wheeler and Dealer––”
“Next!” the redhead behind the counter yells.
“I think it’s your turn,” I tell Chelsea when she’s still staring at me.
“I guess it is. Coffee first, as they say.”
“Always,” I smile.
The way she sashays provocatively to the counter gives me a good eyeful of the incredible virtues of Lagree.
Bless her toned ass.
A few minutes later, I’m still waiting in line when Chelsea strides my way, extra-large cup of coffee in hand, and the only way to describe how she blatantly checks me out, is maneater. She stops near me, leans in and whispers, “I’ll wait for you outside, Lochlan.”
I just smile.
With that, she makes her way to the door and gives me one last look before exiting.
I shake my head, amused.
I’ve never met anyone who could flirt this hard this early in the morning.
After placing my order, I do a mental countdown until I’m holding my cup of coffee in my hands. The only reason I don’t take a sip immediately after paying is because I don’t want to lose my tongue.
When I step outside, there’s no trace of Chelsea anywhere.
Oh, well. I guess she didn’t wait for me after all.
I take a long sip of my coffee and do a silent prayer as the hot liquid travels down my pipes.Finally.I take another long sip before I cross the street. I’m just about to take a step forward, when a car horn blares. I halt just in the nick of time and turn my head to see Chelsea waving frantically at me. The roof is pulled down.
Wow, Chelsea has money.
My silver Lexus LC 500H set me back by a shit ton of money—worth every penny—but I wasn’t willing to put more on a car. Chelsea’s wheels cost a cool three hundred thousand dollars for the base model. Her pimped out version must cost a cool half a million. No joke. I know because I test drove it. This is top of the line in sports cars. I should be impressed, but this is Hollywood after all.
“You thought I had forgotten all about you?” she asks when she parks her luxury vehicle right in front of me.
“I figured you had someplace to be.”
“I’m in no rush,” she says with a noncommittal one-shoulder shrug.
“I wish I was in your shoes, but I have a very busy day ahead.”
“I get it,” she smiles. “Before you go, I have a proposition for you, Lochlan.”
“You do?”
