Heather led me in the opposite direction. “Come on girl, I think we’ll be needing a drink. A big one.”
We entered an open floor plan kitchen; white cabinets spanned an entire wall, each with a unique black scrollwork handle, as if each one was individually made. An obscenely long counter stretched in front of the cabinetry and top notch appliances. Ten stools with rounded tops sat in a perfect line under the black granite slab counter. I pulled one out and sat, tugging down the itty bitty shorts as much as possible to make sure portions of my ass weren’t hanging over the bull-nosed edge of the stool. Not a good look for anybody.
“Do you like pomegranate?” Heather pulled out two crystal martini glasses.
I nodded. “Very much.”
She proceeded to pull out a giant bottle of Grey Goose Vodka, a metal shaker, and the juice.
“So what does Anton have planned for me?” I asked while she dropped the cubes into the shaker, then with a heavy hand, poured the vodka, adding just a splash of the pomegranate concentrate.
Heather smirked and smiled. “You mean aside from fucking you?” The statement was more an accusation than a question. I balked, unable to believe the audacity of what she just said.
“Don’t act all coy. I saw the way the two of you were eye-fucking each other in the studio earlier. I give it until evening before he has you laid out underneath him.”
She pushed the martini filled to the brim with burgundy liquid over to me. “Bottoms up?” She said and took a healthy swig.
I did the same needing the liquid courage to set her straight. “You really don’t think that highly of me, do you?” The words came out as venomous as a rattle snake’s bite.
Her eyebrows scrunched together. “Don’t you fuck all your clients? You are an escort.” That one word carried an enormous amount of scorn.
On that note, I smacked the glass down, red liquid sloshing all over the counter. “I fuck who I want, when I want to. It’s not part of my contract. I’m an escort not a whore.” I blew out a harsh breath and continued. “I offer companionship or fill a need, but that need doesn’t necessarily include fucking my clients.” My tone was rife with indignation although, technically, I had fucked some of my clients, but not all of them.
I say who and I say when. Period.
Thoughts of the man who wanted to push the physical who and the when onto me, creeped their sinister way into my subconscious. If I could, I’d bat the disgusting reminders back with a sledgehammer. lock them in a very dark closet, and throw away the key. You will not control me.
Instead of letting Heather speak, revenge scaled along my chest and up through my throat, fueled by my lingering fear of what had recently occurred with Aaron. “Now I know why you don’t have any friends. You’re judgmental, pissy, and downright rude!”
Heather backed up a few steps until she hit the opposite counter where the stainless steel, double-wide Sub Zero fridge shook. If I hadn’t been paying close attention I wouldn’t have recognized the shimmery blue of her eyes. She cleared her throat, raised a delicate, long-fingered hand to her chest and spoke. “I’m sorry, Mia. That was rude of me.”
“Damn right it was rude!” My mouth hurt from clenching my teeth. I sucked back the rest of my drink allowing the fiery burn to disguise the acid burn building in the pit of my stomach.
She licked her lips and her eyes moved from side to side. “Again, please, I’m sorry. I didn’t hire you to be his bedmate; he has plenty of those. You’re going to be the main woman in the new video. A woman he wants, a seductress that he can’t have.”
A seductress. Now there’s something I hadn’t been. It sounded so ridiculous, especially in light of the heated conversation we just had, that I tipped my head back and laughed. A full-bellied, snorting, hiccoughing guffaw, that rose in volume and hysterics.
Heather’s eyebrows drew up toward her hairline. “Um, okay...well, no more ‘tini’s for you!” She winked, effectively lightening the situation.
I placed my elbow on the counter and my chin into my hand. “Today has been odd. Hell, the past month was nuts. This just tops the crazy cake I call my life.” I shook my head and ran my fingers through my hair. It was getting really long. Maybe I could swindle some time away from the Latin Lov-ah to score a haircut.
Regardless of what she’d said, Heather made us both another drink. “Can we call a truce? I really don’t want you hating me, and I did misunderstand the meaning of what you do.” Her blue eyes seemed round and big on her pretty face, innocent even.