Chapter 3: Love at First Fight

Content in this chapter may not be suitable for under 16 years.

Chapter 3. Love at first fight

The room stills. Faces blur into an intertwining wave of multi-colour, and the romantic composition of the room, majestic lighting and extravagant interior disappear somewhere beyond my peripheral vision before fading into total darkness. I stand alone, except for the one exception to my dreamy reverie - him.

A single beam of brilliant light falls down upon him from above, illuminating the dark haired angel who stands before me. Time has stilled, yet my heart is thudding deep within my chest; a reminder that I'm still alive and this heavenly sight is real and not some vision that my subconscious has conjured up.  

I've never seen such perfection before. His hair is a deep onyx in colour, as dark as a moonless night, gelled into messy points that glisten like a million stars where the light catches the tips.  

His eyes are an enigmatic, obscured dark green, as deep as the endless cosmos yet upon closer observation, contradicting and almost transparent like water, whenever the light reflects in them. His skin is as white as snow, and for reasons unbeknown to me I find myself wanting to reach out and touch the smooth satin surface of his face, running the tips of my fingers across his chiselled cheekbones to his plump and inviting lips that thin out to a perfect dimple in each corner, offsetting the flawless composition of his porcelain skin perfectly.

His succulent lips gradually part, moving in a provocative motion as though he is speaking to someone obscured from my sight. I briefly imagine what it would feel like to have the soft rosy surface of his lips, stroking against my naked skin, lightly kissing randomly over sensitive parts of my heated body, electrifying my senses. I can't see the other person he is speaking with, for he steals the limelight and everyone else is cast beyond the depths of his endless shadow. 

His smile is misplaced somehow, as though he is uncomfortable with the current company he keeps, yet it is clear he is too polite to refuse the unwanted attention, and endures it just for the sake of being civil. His body shifts slightly to the side, and when the light touches the surface of his tight black singlet, his toned chest becomes visible underneath. He is slender, yet rippled to perfection. His form is more like that of a martial arts frame than of a bulky body builder. Regardless, he is the essence of perfection, the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.

Suddenly without warning, his body stiffens and his smile drops. His eyes widen with apprehension but his expression remains cautionary, almost like he is concentrating hard on something. Unexpectedly his head swoops in my direction, redirecting his burning gaze upon me.

As his piercing stare locks onto mine, I am made breathless in an instant. All the oxygen has been sucked out of the room and I struggle for air. Tilting his head marginally, his long dark lashes blink once in slow motion, causing my insides to explode into a raging inferno.

How can it be that he sees me standing here in the darkness, in a room filled with women far more beautiful than I? I am nothing in comparison to his perfection and yet, his intense, penetrating stare stays on me.

My heart beats erratically, as though it's purposely trying to escape the confines of my chest which holds it captive, preventing it from leaping across the room and into the endless wonder of his arms…  

THUD - I struggle to breathe. My blood courses fiercely through my veins, the heat is stifling and it feels like I've directly inhaled vapours of scorching hot lava, leaving me gasping and dry mouthed. His presence is too overwhelming to bear and my knees begin to tremble under the weight of his dominant stare. I can feel myself relinquishing control to him and I am powerless to fight back.

THUD �" His eyes burn like wild fire around the edges, and suddenly I am scared and frightened and exhilarated by him all at once. My body is frozen, immobilized by the overwhelming fear that's building within me with demanding velocity. My head is screaming out for me to run, but my heart renders me helpless under the power of his hungry sinful stare. He is the beautiful and mighty hunter, and I am nothing in comparison but his feeble and pathetic prey.

THUD �" His glower is deep and infinite. Like the endless cosmos, it carries on forever and I am eternally lost within his infinite wonderland. The light from above him reflects off their glassy surface, and in an instant I'm floating mindlessly amongst the million twinkling stars which lay just beyond the complexity of his deep green eyes. He exhales a long heady breath and I greedily inhale the cool, sweetly invigorating air as it travels across the vast space between us. The fragrant taste of him on my tongue is intoxicatingly mouth-watering. My head is spinning mindlessly out of control as his boundless universe swells inside of me. I'm no longer scared of him now that we are one, lost together beyond the complexity of his sparkling eyes.

The warning in my head, which moments ago had screamed out in protest to protect me, has all but calmed to a distant murmur.  I remain insignificantly nothing in contrast to his glorious loveliness. His gravitational pull lures me to glower mindlessly at him and with his wordless command he forbids me to look away and miss a single second of his controlling, mysterious existence.     

THUD �" Someone, please, save me from this Godly creature that stands before me for I do not have the willpower in me to refuse his charismatic allure. My body is heavy under the weight of his penetrating magnetic stare, which compels me to want to do things; dark, unimaginable things - giving into my deepest desires. I am forced to fight hard; the obsession, the inexcusable urge to rip my clothes off and feel his hard chest pushed against me. I struggle against the thoughts creeping into my awareness of his hands authoritatively grasping at my thighs, pulling me closer to him. Deeper and deeper, I'm falling. Inside I long for his affirmative caress. I want to scream aloud in excitement, as his dark presence descends upon me. Who needs drugs with an addiction like this? He is pure ecstasy and I'm melting under his dominant touch.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes…YEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSS!”

 

“I’m sorry dear, did you say something?”

Like someone administering an instant shot of adrenaline direct to the heart, I have been ripped unwillingly from my fantasy. Once again I'm back in the ballroom standing next to the elderly gentleman from earlier.

Or could it have been just moments ago? How long have I been fantasizing for? Bewildered and slightly confused, I struggle to comprehend how the best orgasm of my entire life wasn’t even real. How is that even possible?

“Are you alright? Do you need to sit down? I can fetch you some water.” The old man half-heartedly puts out his arm to support my weary frame, but I sense he's more worried that I'll faint on him and crush his frail body under my deadweight. He pauses, his eyes cautiously covering my face for any sign of an imminent collapse. I shift away from him, allowing him to breathe easy again.

“No, no. I’m fine” I lie. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath to help clear my mind of the haziness and attempt to gather my thoughts. I try hard to focus my efforts on recovery, but I'm finding it difficult to achieve due to the uncomfortable, sticky wet pool that has already begun to cool down and drown my underwear. That was one mind-blowingly impressive orgasm!

“Are you sure you’re alright? You look a little flushed.” Although his words seem considerate, his face is filled with a contradicting expression, revealing the true intent behind his phony gesture. His nose has mildly crinkled in the middle and his eyebrows are slanted somewhat in disgust. His mouth is slightly turned down at the corners, disclosing a hidden grimace. He is clearly ashamed to be seen in my company.

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine” I object. Why can't he just shut his trap for a minute and give me some breathing space? He obviously isn't comfortable being in my presence; that much I can tell from his undeniable uneasiness.

I decide not to bother with this blithering idiot anymore. I'm just wasting valuable time on the arrogant phony anyway who isn't interested for my well-being in the slightest. 

I have to get out of here -

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to powder my nose” I lie again, but I needn't bother playing along with his game. His face relaxes from relief and he is quick to answer.

“Of course, it's been lovely meeting you.” Waving his hand and nodding like a bobble-head, his excitement at my departure is evident in his eager smile. 

“You too -”  I lie again; three times a charm, but he's already turned to walk away in the opposite direction before I've had a chance to finish a proper goodbye. 'Moron!' 

I'm finally alone, yet, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched closely. I know exactly who my perpetrator is, yet I dare not look in his direction for fear that I shall be lost forever in the depths of his compellingly wicked eyes without so much as a blithering idiot to rescue me again. I try to ignore the urge to peek, by focusing my thoughts on less important things, like how shiny the white marble floor looks…and umm…

'Don't you dare look at him,' I scold myself, but right on cue, I curiously take a half peek in his direction, avoiding eye contact, to see the position of his body shifting with my every move, as I descend across the floor.    

'S**t, he's watching me. Play it cool Sarah. Don't do anything stupid to embarrass yourself. Just get to the nearest bathroom as soon as possible and clean yourself up.' I try and distract myself so that I can't be tempted to look into his eyes again.

I can’t believe I've cum in my panties. How embarrassing! You would think I was a teenager again, not a mature-age woman. What am I going to change into now? I didn't think to bring a spare pair of panties with me. After all, this kind of thing doesn’t happen to me every day. Creaming myself in public that is, without actually socialising with a man prior.

I case the room frantically for any sign of the stick-lady emblem which indicates the location of the bathroom. My eyes light up when I find it, and I practically jog across the dance floor, disregarding my safety while running in high stilettos across a slippery hard surface, not stopping for anyone who may get in my way!

I burst through the large timber doors of the brightly lit room expecting to see the usual white tiled interior of a communal bathroom, its layout simple and directive during moments such as these. To my horror, there is a distinct lack of communal equipment present as my eyes frantically scour the room.

The soft cream carpet sinks underfoot, causing me to almost lose balance. I scan the painted magnolia room for any sign of the non-existent cubicles. There is nothing here, only a couple of sleek white armchairs and a hardwood coffee table. 'What kind of hellish trick is this?'

An older lady in her fifties, wearing a white tailored dress suit and curly black hair which sits in line with the bottom of her earlobes, is reading from a fashion magazine. She looks up at my dramatic entrance, shooting a weary glance in my direction, before continuing with her reading. Her subtle warning is a reminder of the etiquette expected of me, being in a place of such stylish decorum and class. I take a few deep breaths to calm myself and casually examine the room for another door. The cool wetness between my legs is becoming more uncomfortable by the second and on the verge of spilling out over the thin elastic lining. I have to find the bathroom quick, before it's too late and the stream of white murky liquid has its chance to descend down my leg, and threaten my dignity!

There are a couple of rubber plants in bulky red pots in the far left corner, and a large rectangular mirror that’s boarded by an antique gold frame which hangs in the very centre of the longest wall. A pretty elongated glossy white cabinet stands underneath, but no toilet.

I conclude that this must be the powder room, which can only mean the bathroom is somewhere nearby.

It's out of the corner of my eye, in the reflection of the mirror, that I see part of the wall adjacent suddenly open. I failed to notice before, the ivory ring that's affixed to the wall. My eyes accidently overlooking the camouflaged petition during my moment of panic.

This place is a cruel maze. I wonder if anybody else has ever pissed themselves before they discovered the hidden door?  

I quickly dismiss the embarrassing thought, and rush to get the door before it closes shut behind the young and slender Italian woman with long sleek black hair that runs all the way down to her bootilicious arse. I briefly pause in jealous awe at her perfect figure which is hugged in all the right places by the satin cobalt blue floor length gown. I look down at the ground and blush, feeling unworthy to be standing in the presence of such a gorgeous woman. My assessment of this town has me convinced that every female must be sleeping with her plastic surgeon. They have to be. How else could they afford to look so perfectly glamorous? Honestly, it's downright sickening! I can see that my credit card is going to receive a hammering just trying to keep up with the Botox bills!       

On a down note, I remember why I'm here, as the first stream of cool liquid drips down my inner thigh. Crap. I scurry to the bathroom, trying my best to retain my excitement at finally seeing the glossy varnished oak wood doors.

I clean myself quickly and decide reluctantly to free-ball it, throwing away the expensive Chanel black lace G-string I had treated myself to as a well-done for receiving the promotion. ‘Wow’ I think reluctantly to myself, as I toss the tiny piece of fancy fabric in the trash, ‘$150 down the tube’.

I choose to test out the fancy powder room while I'm here. Whilst re-applying my lipstick in the mirror, I fail to realise that my thoughts start to drift to my potential client Darius, the man who resembles a God. I find myself slipping once more, mindlessly into my imaginary world of erotic make-believe.

'NO, YOU HAVE TO STOP THIS!' I argue with my reflection, before I become completely lost in my creative, provocative scenario. 'You're a professional now and within the next few hours there is a high possibility that he may be your very first client. You can't be falling in love…'(did I just think that?)…I shake my head hastily to clear my mind. Once I've subdued the brief thought, I'm able to compose myself better and correct my statement. 'You have to stop thinking wicked thoughts of Darius. You can't go around wanting to hump,' - yes, that sounds more reasonable than my first mindless slip-up, which of course is a lie! I barely know the man. It's not possible for me to… I gulp, the lump that promptly blocks my throat - 'love' I think the word with nauseating implication, 'every man that you happen to take a fancy to.' Phew, I take a deep sigh of relief and wonder why it was so hard to resolve the unexplainable slip up.   

'You're Sarah Montgomery Flash manager and music…'

'I mean, music manager who flashes…'

"NO" I scream aloud, frustrated at myself and my inability to express my thoughts clearly. "Pull yourself together, Sarah…"

“YOU’RE A BLOODY PROFESSIONAL!” 

I hit out at the mirror, at the angry face staring back at me, before storming out of the room and slamming the door firmly shut behind me. What a way to win an argument!

 

Back in the ballroom, I am determined that my professionalism will squash any thoughts of weakness I may experience in regards to him. I'm trying hard not to think about his obvious manhood or the impression of authority that radiates from his sensually hard body in waves, commanding my fullest attention, before I have the chance to meet him officially. After all, for practicality purposes, I have no more underwear left to ruin.

With my new falsely unyielding confidence, I present like a determined lioness stalking her prey, except, that my target has disappeared.

"Oh s**t. This can't be happening." I begin to panic; my eyes search the room hysterically for any trace of the spikey hair.

"S**t, s**t, s**t, s**t s**t…." I whisper incoherently so that no one around can hear my foul mouth. This is bad. This is very, very bad. His absence means that someone else has reached him first whilst I was busy worrying about my $150 knickers. F**k, I want to kick myself - 'Who gives a s**t about the stupid knickers when my job is in serious jeopardy!'

My eyes widen and scan over the wave of faces in the crowd. I'm able to spot all the record label representatives a mile away - they all wear the same anxious expression on their face as mine.

There's only one thing for it. I think a different approach is in order. I need to find him soon before it's too late and I'm demoted to the position of a 'f**k-wit' all because I can't keep my sex drive in check. If he is with someone else, there is no being candid about it - I have to be a b***h and move in for the kill on their turf, without looking rude or obnoxious in front of Darius.

This is going to be tricky, especially knowing that my other competition is just waiting in the wings for their given chance to pounce.

Bunch of bloody animals!

But I'm different to them - of course! My job depends on it. For me this is personal and not just business. Not sealing this deal means I lose my job. Losing my job means going back home to Australia. Going back home means I'm a failure. No way! I'm going to get him even if I have to maul every last one of these son of b*****s in the process. 

I'm the deadliest predator of them all. Look out anyone who dares get in my way!

After weaving my way through enemy lines, my heart suddenly skips a beat when the crowd thins to reveal the sexy man-God standing over by the bar. He is talking to a handsome gentleman in his mid-thirties with thick brown hair, slicked smoothly back and dressed in a purple pinstripe suit sporting square edged glasses.

Crap! I know that man. His name is Roger Blightly and he's a manager at Gor-Dee records. His boss is Philip Gordon, who once attended the same college as Steve. They used to be best friends that shared a mutual goal of owning a joint company, that is, until s****y Pamela Johnson came on the scene. Pamela was Steve’s ‘on again - off again’ girlfriend who broke his heart by sleeping with Phil. They have been enemies ever since.

I was first introduced to Phil and Roger at the Sydney World Arts Music festival. Steve asked me if I could pretend to be his girlfriend/co-worker as a favour. The illusion seemed to be working rather well until Phil dropped the ‘P’ bombshell. Poor Steve; he was an intoxicated mess that night. I stayed by his side while he revealed to me the dark secrets of his past. Before that evening, I had thought Steve to be a bit of a male chauvinistic pig. But apparently he used to be rather sweet and considerate before. I guess that clarifies the theory that there really is a money-hungry b***h learking in the past of every bigoted man, not including the nice ladies, of course.

There is no way I'm going to let Roger sign the client. Not only is my future in grave peril but Steve’s dignity depends on it! F**k Pamela Johnson and f**k Phil Gordon and his wacked company of evil goblins. I make a bee-line for the pair. 

“Hi” I push my way to stand in between the two gentlemen, taking no prisoners!

“I’m -”

“Sarah Montgomery of Flash Enterprise's. Yes, I know who you are.” Darius replies.

Woah, I'm momentarily taken by surprise. The bewildered look plastered across my face; eyes wide, mouth open, eyebrows raised, must say it all. How on earth could this man-God possibly know who I am?   

He leans towards me so that our faces are side-by-side, and my heart picks up a beat, threatening to undo my channelled confidence I evoked earlier. I can feel the cool breeze of his whispering breath close to my ear, causing the fine hairs on my neck to stand to attention. My knees begin to quiver. I'm unprepared for this, for him, and the way he has this supernatural ability to completely take my breath away.

He whispers softly to me, I can almost feel his lips on me. My head begins to swirl irrepressibly with no means of slowing and I find my body slowly swaying into his gravitational pull whilst my heart thrashes erratically in my chest. I find it difficult to breathe as I'm once again, lured into his unescapable trap.

“It say’s so on the name badge your wearing.” His voice is low and endearing.

It takes me a moment to grasp the concept of what he's telling me. Finally, my head catches up. “Oh right. Sorry, I completely forgot I put that on earlier, how silly of me.”

I laugh awkwardly at my dim-witted mistake - well, if you can call it a laugh. I sound more like a hyena with a hint of hysteria, followed by a short snort. Once I realise my laugh is completely off key, I try dismally to end it prematurely. I blush, aware of the reddening in my cheeks from embarrassment. Geeze, I must seem like a complete loser. Why do I lose all my confidence around him? 

He is kindly gracious by not making a big deal of it. Only a slight smirk enters into the corner of his mouth before he purposely takes a step back, creating some distance between us.

“It’s OK �" we all act like an idiot sometimes” Right, I forgot Phil’s pit-bull was here.

I turn unwillingly to address him, my back to Darius so that he is unable see the daggers I'm shooting at Roger with my evil stare.

“Roger”, I answer, through gritted teeth.

“Sarah”, his reply is somewhat amused but still with a hint of sarcasm. Oh yes, he's playing this game of pleasantries too. Our unwanted meeting is going to be difficult.

 “Do you two know each other?” The man-God asks in his husky purr, and I can't help but spin my head to meet with his curious, all-consuming eyes.

“Yes” We both echo each-others words, except that my reply isn't as confident as Rogers because I'm being entranced by Darius' powers of hypnotic possession.

Roger, not wanting to speak to him through my head, moves to slide in between us so that he can speak with him directly and partially block me out. I am grateful, rather than annoyed by the brief intrusion, which allows us to break eye contact. I blink a few times, not quite believing the invisible control he holds over me.

“Sarah works for an old friend of my boss”.

“An old friend?” I scoff. Okay, my best option here would be to shut my mouth, but there is no way I'm going to allow Roger to give me secret digs in light of our company. Besides, he didn't have to live through the night I had to comfort a very distraught Steve. He was in such a state that after it, I even contemplated getting therapy!

“I wouldn’t necessarily call Phil that. Not after what he did to him.”

“Oh, has Steve got his girlfriend doing his dirty work now?” He laughs half-heartedly towards Darius, perhaps hoping that he will join in with his pathetic attempt of mockery on my behalf. But, he doesn't. Instead Darius is inquisitively staring at me…not just a quick glance either…but purposefully glowering past Rogers shoulder. His eyes penetrate right through me, burning a hole in my skull and piercing out through the other side. I pretend that I haven't noticed, but it's very hard to be rational when I'm being commanded to look. Normal people turn away once they've realised the other person has seen them staring, but not him, his eyes don't move an inch from mine.

He smiles shyly, without so much as a faint blush, and flutters his soft long lashes. Oh why does my first potential client have to be seductive and sexy as hell, without even trying?  

“No I’m not…” I shake my head in denial, embarrassed by my cracking voice as I attempt to answer Roger. But my vocal cords climb an octave, causing me to blush and Darius to smile wider, revealing a set of perfectly polished teeth. He gasps in response to my reaction when my mouth pops open in light of his striking magnificence. I can't help looking like an idiot - I am totally smitten with him and he knows it!

I'm ashamed by Roger's indecent announcement, even though it's quite natural to have sex, mortified by the idea that Darius may think I'm easy.

I clear my throat and try to gain some control over my emotions, but it's very hard while staring directly into those emerald eyes. “I’m not his girlfriend.” I whisper. 

“Really?" The acidic tone of my arch nemesis snarls in front of me, yet he doesn't bother to turn in my direction. I'm obviously nothing to him. Darius is the one he is interested in. Even though he has rendered me speechless, it still doesn't stop him from belittling me further and I know he is trying all the tricks in the book to eliminate me, his competition.

"Do you f**k everyone you work with? Maybe you should come and work for us at Gor-Dee records. There's a lot of potential for you there”. Roger spits the words, the venom audible through his gritted teeth, and I wish I could punch him in the back of the head after catching a slight sideways glimpse of the snicker plastered across his face when he turns marginally in my direction.

I'm at a loss. I don't know how to dig myself out of this hole I'm drowning in. I want to burst out crying, even though I haven't done so in years. Oh why do I have to lose my nerve right now? Right when I need my wits about me?

I panic, looking to Darius for any sign that proves he's as disgusted with me, as I am right now. Yet, it is clear for anyone to see that he's not. In fact, I think Darius is fascinated by me? His expression is one of intrigue rather than revulsion, and I can't possibly understand why. He is the sexiest guy on the planet and can have any woman of his choosing. Why would he even consider someone like me? Yet, here I stand, bewildered before him as he continues to smile coyly at me.   

I'm so angry at Roger. How dare he speak to me like that! Blood begins to rush to my head and I'm seeing red. All etiquette out the window, there is no way I'm going to let him get away with this!

I muster up all the fight I have inside, my belly is roaring and ready to explode. But before I get the chance to retaliate, an angelic voice prematurely interrupts my bout.

“Now, now, children, can't we at least keep things civil? After all, we are all adults here, are we not?” Great - Now Darius thinks I'm a child. I shy away from his comment, feeling extremely stupid and ashamed with myself.

Roger, on the other hand, merely disregards the comment, like water off a ducks back. His ego is far too tenacious to feel any ounce of humiliation.

Darius winks and shoots me a quick, reassuring smile, too fast for Roger to see, which makes me feel a little better.

“Besides you’re not here to squabble and settle old disputes are you?” He raises an eyebrow, straight faced and unimpressed at Roger.

Roger shuns his remark, shrugging his shoulders indifferently. I know it can't have escaped his attention, the ogling eyes that Darius has been giving me. His hostile body language reveals that he knows he has lost, especially when he's purposely being so blasé towards him. Instantly, Roger drops the polite charade and pouts, but does not reply.

“Look, it was nice meeting you Roger. You’re ideas are quite diverse.” Roger tries to interrupt, but is stopped short by the hand raised in his face to silence him.

“You have given me much to think about. I have your business card. I won’t be making any rash decisions tonight.” Darius promptly ends the conversation between them. Inside my heart is doing summersaults and my inner child pokes her tongue out and sticks her middle finger up. Ha! Take that Roger, you stuck up wanker.  

I'm wrong about Roger. His ego isn't so hardened that he can't express emotion. To my immense amusement, his cheeks turn a bright red and I can almost picture smoke, like a whistling kettle, steaming from his ears.  He's positively furious, and the pulsating vein in his head is throbbing impressively.

“Until we meet again then” He hisses, knowing full well that's not going to be the case, and like the immature child he is, he punches both fists tightly to his side and storms off in the other direction, but not before turning back to give me a dirty look on the sly.

All amusement aside, I realise that I'm finally alone with him. My tummy breaks out into a million butterflies and I bite nervously on my bottom lip.

“I don’t believe we have had a proper introduction." He smiles wickedly, his eyes pierce through my stare. His confidence is unwavering. He knows he has me right where he wants me. "I’m Darius De’Valie” his dark voice is as smooth as silk, composed and cocky. His lips curl back to reveal the full extent of his dazzling white smile and the cheeky boyish charm that exudes is breathtaking.

“S-S-Sarah M-Montgomery” I manage to stutter, putting out my hand for him to shake as a welcoming gesture, but he quickly glances at it, a flicker of sadness on his face that vanishes within seconds. He turns away and I'm disappointed that the thought of touching me depresses him.  

“Would you like a drink?” he speaks into thin air, but I don't respond right away. I'm feeling far too dejected to talk. He tilts his head and eyes me cautiously. Then, like a light bulb going off in his head, understanding washes over his face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you by not shaking your hand. It's just I have this thing…" he pauses, as though he's unsure of what to say next.

"Bacteria. Silly really, I know. But if it makes you feel better, I probably would have enjoyed your handshake immensely." The grin that follows his bizarre confession is contagious and I'm instantly happier by the knowledge that he consciously likes my hand shake, even if he does have an obsessive compulsive disorder regarding hygiene.    

“Aren’t I supposed to be buying you a drink?” I pull back my shoulders and push out my breasts as far as they will go, making sure also to apply the full extent of my sexy voice.

“No, I thought it was always the man's job, besides, I don’t drink.”

In my mind I hear the abrupt halt of a scratched record as my attempt of flirting is undone. 

“What? Not at all?” The expression of shock in my voice makes him halter. His expression waivers and an edge of frustration pulls down at his eyebrows. His lips purse tightly together, but there is no sign of wrinkling around the edge of his mouth.

“You seem surprised?" Looking straight through me, I am instantly aware that I've said something to offend him.

"Is it because I seem 'the type'?” His head slants to the side, mockingly.

“No -" I defend myself, surprised at the sudden bitter edge. I'm terrified by this Darius. For reasons unbeknown to me, alarm bells are ringing loudly in my head, screaming at me to run. My body is frozen with fear, but I couldn't leave even if I wanted to. Which I don't - this emotion is absolutely absurd and irrational. He was right, after all. I did presume the worst. Just because he's into rock music and wears black gothic attire, doesn't automatically make him dependant on alcohol. I'm embarrassed and ashamed for stereotyping him, and decide that the truth is best.

"Well yes…a little. You don’t drink and your music preference is classical. You surprise me, I mean for a rock star, that is.”

A noise that seems to mimic a chuckle growls from deep within his chest.

“Not that that’s a bad thing" I intercede, worried that I've just dug my hole deeper.

"it’s just -” I panic, and try desperately to find the right words, but struggle hopelessly.

Suddenly he erupts into fits of laughter and I'm relieved to be off the hook, if not a little confused.

“What’s so funny?” I wonder, and the thought occurs to me that he's laughing at me because he thinks I'm a bimbo.  

Darius composes himself to represent a proper gentleman. "It is you who surprises me.”

I'm not sure where he's going with this and remain dubious “Come again?”

“When I first saw you, I thought to myself �" ‘here is a girl, who always gets exactly what she wants. A b***h in high heels, Flash’s most deadliest weapon. Sent to fool me into signing my freedom away, as if I'm that gullible!”

He laughs again, but this time there is a dark edge to it.  I'm not amused, even if he is right!

“Umm?” I stand motionless from shock. “How exactly do I surprise you? And �" did you just call me a b***h?”

“Yes!" He quickly interrupts before I can protest further. "Don’t tell me that I've hurt your feelings?" He slants his head and pouts his lips, mockingly. His eyes have a wicked gleam in them.

"Come, come now. Let's not be coy about it. Did you, or did you not sleep with your boss to get your job?”

“That is - none of your business?” I gasp and my mouth falls open. I may have slept with Steve, yes, but I'm not a s**t. He is the only man I've slept with to gain an advantage…the only one! I can't believe that Darius - a man I have only just met - is speaking to me so rudely.

“Really," he continues, unmoving and undeterred by my stunned expression.

"A woman who is so quick to jump on the defence obviously has something to hide. Do you honestly take me for a fool Sarah Montgomery? �" Just because I prefer to dress in black, wear my hair spiked and have pale skin, you automatically cast me into a stereotype. Isn't that a bit hypocritical of you?”

Oh - Presuming that he drinks alcohol isn't even in the same league as him comparing me to a s**t! Job, or no job, I'm not going to stand by and let him speak to me like this!

“Actually I wasn’t criticising you’re appearance �" as a matter of fact, there is nothing wrong with the way you look; but it's your attitude that stinks.”

He begins to clap loudly at my observation of him, causing me to startle. His arrogant reaction to my innocent assumption is making me angry. He's antagonising me, and I don't like it!

“And there it is, ladies and gentlemen” he continues, as though he's addressing the room, but he doesn't turn his malevolent stare away from mine, to include others in the conversation. “A b***h in high heels �" be careful, she’s a vixen in Prada.”

Oh no, he didn't just offend my favourite shoe designer too?

“There Jimmy Choo’s actually!”

“I stand corrected”. He places one hand on his chest as though he is making an apologetic bow, but his face bears the look of distain.

I'm so angry. No wonder Steve gave me this particular client to work with. He knows exactly what he's like and I bet he never expected me to succeed at signing him to the label either.

My heart sinks as I realise the truth. I've been set up to fail.  What a fool I am! It all makes perfect sense now. He wants to put an end to our un-healthy relationship and this was just his easy way out. Sending me half way across the world, just so he doesn't have to do it in person!

What an arsehole! What an idiot I've been! Well, he's succeeded at killing two birds with one stone. I've failed in signing Darius De'Valie and by doing so have given him the excuse he needs to move on without any strings attached.

“Fine” Clenching my fists together, I hug my arms tightly over my chest to try and prevent the pain from seeping out, and escaping to create an emotional scene. I don't want to give Darius the satisfaction of seeing me upset. I can at least leave here with my dignity intact. “You’re right," I muster the words without crying, "except you’ve got one thing wrong. I’m not so much a b***h, as I am a fool.”

My voice cracks when the realisation that I've been played is finalised into words. Treacherous tears begin to well in my eyes and attempt to breakthrough and ruin everything.

I've been tricked. By the time I return home to Australia Steve will already have left for the Bad Boyz concert; another packaged product of the hit factory, and my position at the company already filled by someone younger with perkier breasts and a tighter arse. I have to phone Steve, and fast.

“I've gotta go -” I spin quick on heal, not bothering with the pleasantry of a formal goodbye, and leave with haste as the first tear rolls down my cheek. I stride faster for the door, weaving my way between the whispering onlookers, staring and pointing at the pathetic girl whose crying like a baby.

I push through the exit door of the ballroom before grabbing the cell out of my clutch and dialling Steve's number, leaving behind me the whispers and gathering crowd.

“Steve” I try my best to compose myself out of professionalism, my voice is a little shaky.

He is blunt. “Have you sealed the deal?”

“No…But” I want answers for the real reason I'm here. I want to hear the truth from his mouth - that this has all been a set-up to get me out and someone in who wears shorter skirts and has bigger tits? I want to hear the truth as to why my career is ending.  

I'm fiercely interrupted. “Well don’t bother calling me again! The fault is mine Sarah; I should never have employed you in the first place. You are clearly too inexperienced for such a position. Consider this your official termination. Sorry Sarah, it’s nothing personal, it’s just business.”

"BULL-S**T" I scream aloud to the disapproving tisks and tuts that surrounded me as I descend down the hallway and enter into the lobby.

The phone line goes dead on the other end before I can really argue. Urgh, he's such a chicken s**t that he can't even tell me the truth.  

My heart leaps into my throat. So it's all been for nothing? The only reason Steve wanted me, was to get into my knickers and now that he is finished with me, he kicks me to the curb like a piece of trash.

Tears stream down my cheeks with no means of stopping. My career is officially over before it has even had a chance to begin.

I make a beeline for the exit. All I want now is the hotel mini fridge and a date with my old friends Mr Jonny Walker and Mr Jack Daniels, to drown my sorrows.

“Wait” A voice calls from behind me.

I hope it isn’t Darius, ready to gloat some more. I halt, but don't turn around.

“You forgot your jacket.” The young teenage cloak room attendant rushes to me and hands me my forgotten coat.

“Thanks.” I sob, taking it from him.

“Are you alright mam? Do you need transportation home?“ The young guy looks awkward, like what he really wants to do is to run away in the opposite direction, as far away as is humanly possible from me, the blubbering mess. But it's his job to be nice, and so he stays out of necessity rather than sympathy. 

“No,” I try my hardest to wear a smile and put him out of his misery. “I’m going to walk back to my hotel.”

“As long as you’re alright?” Relief washes over his pimply face and he relaxes immediately - unafraid to be open now about asking me, now that he knows of my intentions, which don't include burdening him. Yet, there is still a flicker of caution that remains in his eyes.

“I will be," placing the jacket over my shoulders I continue to make my way for the exit door.

The thought of slurping down some good hard liquor is looking even more appealing now - I will worry about the toxic ramifications of my self-induced hangover in the morning.

The cool wind whips stray pieces of hair around my face. I look up at the starless night, hidden under a cover of smog and pollution.

It's a long walk back to my hotel and the thought of the hike home causes my feet to prematurely ache. I take off my Jimmy Choo’s, carrying one in each hand, as I descend bare foot along the cool sidewalk and into the crisp, dark, Los Angeles night.

****

“I’ll have another one. In fact, make that a double”.

I fail to make it back to my hotel, instead, stumbling upon a little seedy bar purely by accident, when I took a wrong turn down one of the many side streets. There aren't a lot of people in this grimy hole, just lost chumps who, by stories shared over shots of Bourbon and Whiskey, reveal their defeats. LA, it seems, isn’t the place where dreams come true after all, but a city of false hope that houses dreamers and failures, and now I'm the newest tenant to add to the long list. Lucky me!

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” A familiar voice carries over my shoulder. I turn to greet him despondently. He's the last person I want to see.

“Oh, it’s you." My words are slurred and I accidently spill the remainder of my whiskey on the floor when I swing in his direction. Even though his face is blurred, I can recognise those probing eyes anywhere. It's impossible for them not to pierce through the drunken haze. "What do you want?" I sneer, "Have you come to gloat? Do you like verbally toying with my emotions? Is that how you get your kicks?”

Darius is standing silent in front of me. When he doesn't respond right away, I attempt to focus my efforts on examining his face. Through the cloudiness I can just make out that his expression is apologetic, and what looks like pain, is etched on his stony, beautiful face.

“I see -" He assesses my drunken state with caution.

"I’m very sorry if I hurt your feelings earlier. I’m not used to socializing with pretty women” he pauses, looking away bashfully, although his cheeks don't blush an embarrassing rose, like mine would have.

He clears his throat and proceeds to correct himself, “Not that I don’t get a lot of interest. it’s just that people usually only want to be nice to me if they can get something out of it, and I genuinely like to keep myself to myself.”

I look at him �" I look at the two of him; my sight is somewhat distorted. I measure his sincerity. The apology seems genuine enough.

“That’s okay." I huff in defeat. There is no point being angry with him. Darius wasn't to know how much of a jerk my ex-boss is.

I look at his wounded face and wonder why he's feeling guilty? Perhaps he blames himself for me getting so drunk?

He looks even more handsome, if that’s at all possible, while I'm inebriated. Oh why does he have to be so perfect? His skin, his eyes, his mouth, his hair, his body…they are all lovely and flawless. I sluggishly stop my eyes from moving down any further past his waistline, towards the notably bulky package in my peripheral vision. 

I sigh, taking a swig of my glass which contains only a dribble of alcohol in the bottom. Looking straight ahead as I speak, as to avoid eye contact, "I can see why women fall at your feet, with your perfect lips and perfect body. God’s gift to women -"

I sneak a peek at him when he doesn't answer right away. He is facing forward with both hands extended out in front of him, leaning on the bar top. I sneakily dare to take advantage of this distraction to take a quick glimpse down. F**k, he's well endowed. For the life of me I can't imagine why he would have a problem socialising with women. S**t!

He turns unexpectedly to see me looking at the bulge in his trousers. His brow creases and his controlling eyes burn into mine. Embarrassed, I immediately turn away. Suddenly my skin feels like it's on fire, like I'm burning from the inside out.

With his domineering eyes obscured from view, I am able to get a grip on myself. So what if he caught me perving on him, I can't be the only girl to have done that to him before, not when he's so exquisitely divine. I remember then, the first moment I saw that stare and the effect he had on me and my body, and smile.  It must be Dutch courage because suddenly I'm bravely unashamed to confess everything to him!

"You sure made me cum in my panties. HAH �" I can’t believe I just said that - Did I just say that?” I half fall off my bar stall as I attempt to sit down, missing the seat entirely. Thankfully my elbow is still on the bar which allows me to recover quickly.

“I umm, I believe you did!” An awkward grin appears on his usually placid face. He quickly peers around to see if anyone else is paying attention. 

“Oops.” I start laughing like a school girl, as I follow his stare and realise that EVERYONE is listening intently to our inappropriate conversation.

I snort a couple of times, which shocks me into reducing my laughter, until I am able to stop completely. An awkward silence fills the air.

“Hey, because of you I lost my job!” I unenthusiastically accuse him, only because I'm attempting to fill the void, rather than reacting out of spite, and, as my thoughts begin to drown in a dark pool of negativity, I can't hold back the tears any longer. I carelessly run my fingers through the parting of my hair and drop my head into my hands. Darius thankfully doesn't interrupt by rubbing my back out of sympathy, like the average person would have, to which, would have no doubt made me cry hysterically. After a minute of self-loathing, I am able to compose myself better. “Bar tender, another shot �" please?” I hold my glass high in the air, unable to open my eyes fully due to the water and dark mascara drowning my vision.

The bartender looks apologetic as he pours another shot, firstly towards me and then to Darius, who hangs his head low and I know for certain that I have discovered the chink in his steel armour.

I reach my arm out to grab the filled glass of whiskey that's sitting mere metres out of reach and throw down a fifty to appease the bartender, who looks nervous now.

“Look, maybe you should stop before you make a fool out of yourself.” Darius is weary, his head suddenly shoots up but both his voice and face appear deflated. He reaches out to me and places a cool hand on my arm - or maybe I'm just really warm from all the alcohol I've consumed?  

I huff “A bit late for that isn’t it?" Another big tear wells in my eye, but I refuse to give it up. "Bartender another one please?” I beg, knowing that I'm bordering on the edge of his limitations to remain a responsible server of alcohol. But I need something to numb this pain that's building in my chest. He reluctantly pours me one more drink - perhaps out of pity?

I down my final shot fast and instantly feel better as the hot liquid burns my throat and warms my chest.

“In fact - Just leave me the bottle �" thanks!” I smile widely at him, knowing I've pushed my luck to the maximum - or have I? The bartender waivers slightly, but then proceeds to pass me the quarter filled bottle.

“No, she’s had quite enough” Darius pushes it out of reach, confident and commanding, no hint of remorse remains in his voice.

“No I haven’t” I'm desperate. I just want to forget about how much of a failure I am, at least for tonight.

“Yes you have” he replies passively.

I stand up to face him off. Jabbing my finger irately in his direction, wishing he'd stop moving enough so that I can give him a proper scolding �"

When I realise that he's standing perfectly still and that I'm actually the one swaying, I come to the conclusion that maybe he is right.

“Perhaps you’re right, you’re always right.” I spit angrily in defeat. I'm not sure if it is the alcohol, or if it's because I stood up too fast, or perhaps it is just the combination of both, but the whole room begins to spin uncontrollably and I stumble forward, losing my balance.

Before I can make contact with the floor, however, something cold, like hard granite, grasps me tightly and breaks my fall.

The darkness is emerging fast upon me.

“Goodnight, my love.” I imagine a faint whisper in my ear, and cool, smooth fingers combing softly through my hair, before finally giving in to the darkness and passing out cold.