Misguided Vows: Chapter 6

I try my damn hardest to not look back over my shoulder at him even though I know he’s walking behind me and I can feel his gaze on my ass. I bet my next hundred dollars that he’s smirking.

Unable to help myself, I take a deep breath and glance back to find exactly what I thought I would: him staring at my ass, smirking. He doesn’t catch me looking, so I quickly turn away. I want to wipe away my own smile. Yes, he’s attractive and it’s flattering having someone that hot appreciate my ass. It’s a confidence boost, but it’s just a shame that the guy’s a complete asshole.

I feel revitalized when the breeze hits my face as we step out of the airport. It’s been over a year since I last visited home soil, and, to be honest, I didn’t think I’d come back this soon, but the opportunity was too good to pass up.

Mr. Blue Eyes comes to a stop beside me. I try to take another calming breath as he checks his wristwatch.

“Lift?” he asks as a black car pulls up to the curb. The driver steps out and greets him, and begins grabbing his bags.

“No, thank you.” I pull out my phone to order an Uber. “Even if it was the last cab available, I’d rather walk.”

“Come on, milady, I don’t bite—that hard.” He winks, and I immediately point to the hickey that says otherwise. He chuckles as he encroaches on my space. I freeze as he lifts a piece of my hair, and heat flushes over the spot where he branded me. “We could play again.”

I place my hand on his chest and smile as I push him away. “Play with yourself. Remember how magical your fingers are?” I say, stepping back and waving with all five fingers before turning and flicking him the bird.

I don’t look back, because if I did, he’d notice me smiling. And he can’t know that anything he says or does makes me smile.

I’m afraid it would just encourage his bad behavior.

I’m biting my bottom lip as I think about what we got up to in the bathroom. Though it was rather thrilling, it can’t happen again. And it won’t because, luckily for me, I won’t ever see this fucker again.

As soon as I’m in the back of my Uber, I call my mother to let her know I’ve landed. My mother raised me as a single parent, and she has supported everything I do, so I try to call her every day. She asks me if I plan to visit her while I’m back in the States, but I’m not sure what my schedule will be like yet, so I don’t make any promises. I won’t know unless I definitely get this contract, but I’m hopeful that if they are willing to buy me business-class flights, that they can put their money where their mouth is. I mean, surely, they wouldn’t spend that type of money just to turn me down, right?

My mother also isn’t the biggest fan of flying, and I haven’t been able to afford to fly her business class. I feel that’s the only way I’m going to get her on the plane, not because she’s fancy, just for the sole fact that she can freak out in her own cubicle.

“So, have you met any men yet? You can’t stay single forever, Alina,” she says. She’s always telling me I shouldn’t be single now that I’m at a different stage in my life. She thinks I should be considering marriage and children more seriously. Though I’m not sure if that’s entirely something I want anymore. Years ago, I thought I found the love of my life, but it got messy to say the least. Since then, I’ve discovered how much I enjoy my own company. And besides having a few flings to meet my needs, I don’t know if I want anything past that.

Why opt for a relationship when it offers no amount of security, whereas my toys can always meet my needs like most men can’t? It just makes sense to me.

“No, and you know I’m not looking,” I remind her.

“You’re pushing thirty, Alina. I want grandkids.” She huffs. I roll my eyes, grateful she can’t see it.

I’ve told her I don’t know if I even want children. I saw how tough it was for her to raise me on a single income. And while, yes, I make good money now, that could change if I’m unavailable to work due to pregnancy or a newborn.

It’s so easy for men to just up and leave. It was different for my mom and me since my father didn’t leave us willingly, he passed away, but it didn’t take away from the noticeable absence of his presence.

She goes on to tell me about work at the same job she’s had, and loved, since I was a child, and the new neighbors who just moved in. It’s nice to check up on her and know that she’s doing well.

The Uber driver stops in front of a blacked-out storefront, and I realize we’ve arrived at the destination. “Hey, Mom, I’ve just arrived to meet the potential clients. I’ll call you back tonight, okay?”

“Of course. Tell me all about the space. Sounds a little bit raunchy doing a lingerie store.”

I laugh. “Calm down. We don’t know if I’ve got the contract yet.”

She scoffs. “As if they flew you all this way not to hire you. You’re the best of the best.”

I’m stepping out of the Uber with my carry-on suitcase as I say, “Thanks, Mom. Love you.”

I hang up and admire the building. It’s a bigger space than I expected, especially for a lingerie store. A tingle of excitement begins in my stomach.

I thought I’d stop by before going to the hotel because I’m just too excited to see the space that I’ll potentially be working with. If they don’t choose me, then at least I get to return to New York for a week, I suppose.

I push that type of negativity away. I know what I’m capable of, and a smile touches my lips at my mother’s words. You’re the best of the best.

The smile doesn’t last long when my Uber driver leaves, and I realize the black car parked in front of it eerily looks like the same one Will got into. Surely, it’s not.

I swallow hard as I walk to the front door that’s been left open. When I step inside, the first thing I see is a shirtless Will, standing next to the front counter and doing up his belt. My gaze inevitably roams down the front of his body, scanning over every ridge and dip. Fuck me.

Another man holds out a shirt for him. When Will looks up to take the shirt, he notices me, and a devilish smile appears on his lips, that singular dimple forming.

“Milady, you made it.” I cringe at the word, and at this point I know he uses it just to piss me off. But I don’t let it show as I lock eyes with the second man. He offers a brilliant, charismatic smile but briefly glances between Will and me before approaching. He’s well dressed in a very expensive white suit. And dare I say he’s prettier than Will?

Will is definitely attractive. He’s just a different type of attractive, a little rougher around the edges, whereas this man standing in front of me is very clean-cut and oozes power and money.

“I’m Dawson Taylor. Will has told me all about your work. And I’m looking forward to working with you.” He offers me his hand and I shake it, purposefully ignoring Will, who is moving to join us.

Why the fuck is he actually here?

“It’s lovely to finally meet you, and I’m excited to see what potential this baby has,” I say, looking around the shop. That’s when Will steps into my space, because Lord forbid this fucker is ever ignored.

“You’re not going to ask why I was half naked when you walked in?” he asks.

My gaze flicks to Dawson, who watches us as if it’s the most casual exchange transpiring in front of him. If he’s acquainted with Will he’s probably already acquainted with his less then desirable shit stirring personality.

I smooth a hand over my hair and make sure my long locks are covering the big fucking hickey on my neck from a certain asshole.

“Not particularly. I’m here for work. And why are you here?” I ask, trying my best to remain professional.

“You seemed interested when you were staring for so long,” he says with an arrogant smile, and I pin him with a lethal stare. “Haven’t seen a man without his shirt on in a long time, milady?” His top four buttons are still casually undone, revealing the tight muscles beneath, and I notice a scar on his shoulder.

I grind my teeth with a tight smile as I turn back to Dawson, ignoring Will. I don’t know what the relationship is between these two. At best, I hope they’re friends because this is the most awkward consultation I’ve done. Especially considering all I want to do is fucking strangle Will.

“So this is the space we’re working with?” I ask Dawson, purposefully stepping away from Will, who seems to enjoy invading my personal space. I can hear him chuckling behind me.

“Yes, this is the one.” Dawson ignores Will in the same fashion.

I’m looking at the space, but I’m also distracted by my mind rattling as to why the fuck Will is here. Is it because he got me a foot in the door? There’s no need for him to be here, though. I thought I’d never have to see this guy again, so why am I still having to deal with him? I try to push down the warmth flooding my core as I think back on our encounter on the plane.

The back door opens, and a petite woman with long, honey-colored hair walks in. “I’m sorry I’m late. A few customers lingered at the café.” When she notices me, she smiles, and I’m dazzled by her beauty. Did I just step into runway model Grand Central Station or something?

Dawson and the woman move toward one another—gravitate is probably a better word—and he leans down and kisses her passionately. I look away, realizing I’m watching something I shouldn’t be.

“It’s like that every time,” Will says over my shoulder.

“I didn’t ask you,” I whisper shout back. “And why are you even here?”

“This is my wife, Honey,” Dawson says as they walk over hand in hand. I ignore Will and smile at them.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Honey says. I offer my hand, and she absolutely beams. “I’ve been following you on social media ever since Will suggested your services. Your designs are beautiful. It’s incredible to meet the artist behind the work.”

A blush heats my cheeks, and I can’t help the smile that teases my lips. “Wow, thank you so much. I’m really excited to work with you both.” I can’t help but side-eye Will, who seems rather smug. Okay, so the fucker really did help me out on this one, but I hate he knows it and is making me feel like I’m in debt to him or something.

“Do you mind if I get my camera out and take some photos of the space?” I ask, already reaching for my bag.

“Of course. Take as much time as you need,” Dawson offers, already preoccupied by his wife. I go to open my bag, but Will picks it up and carries it to the counter for me. I offer him a tight smile. Yes, it’s chivalrous. Is it also annoying? Yes, but only because it’s this man.

I get another glimpse of the tight muscles beneath his shirt and whisper, “Do your shirt up.”

“Why does it bother you so much? Does it turn you on?” Honey coughs, and I know they heard him. “Your cheeks are pink again, and not the ones I want to see.”

Fucking hell.

“Can you leave?” I turn away from him as I open my bag and pull out my camera.

“Why? Can’t contain yourself around me?” he casually says as he leans against the counter, surprisingly doing up his shirt buttons. I can’t help but notice the veins in his hands and internally slap myself because they should not look so fucking hot.

“I’m trying to work here. Look, I appreciate you recommending my services to your friends, but I don’t understand why you’re here.” I step into his space and lower my voice. “I really want this job, and I don’t want it ruined because you’re here being an ass.”

A smile curves his lips, and he looks down at his shirt. “It was a stain.”

“What?” I ask, confused.

“On my shirt.” He leans in closer, and my body tenses. “It had lipstick marks on it, most likely from when a certain brunette was panting harshly into my chest as she fell apart all over my fingers.”

Heat flushes my face again and my pussy starts pounding.

No, no, no.

We are not going down memory lane right now. He pushes off the counter, and I’m relieved as I look down at my camera and take my first photo of the space. I just want to hide and die behind my lens right now.

I don’t pay much attention to the others as they speak among themselves. I’m already too captivated by ideas. The space is massive, and the layout somewhat basic, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed. I notice the fitting rooms are quite large, and there’s even a powder room.

This isn’t just any old lingerie store; this place sells an experience. And experiences are what I create best.

Back in the front of the shop, I notice the three of them standing and talking by the counter. They’re immaculately dressed and ooze with a type of wealth I’m not familiar with. But they’re all captivating in their own way. I raise my camera and take a photo for reference. You can tell a lot about an owner from the way they style and present themself, and I’m sure there are certain elements of Honey and Dawson I can put into this store.

Will’s gaze slides to me the moment I’ve taken the photo, and he grins as he says, “I’ve killed people for less.” I’m shocked because there’s something menacing about that statement. He’s saying it as a joke, but… Surely, he hasn’t actually killed anyone.

Why am I even thinking about that? I must be tired from the flight.

I turn away and continue taking photos when a man with a shaved head, wearing all black comes into the shop. A ripple of unease rolls through me as he enters. This man definitely looks the part of a killer. There’s something wild to his demeanor. And it’s not at all surprising when Will bursts into excitement to see him, his English accent thickening.

“You bloody bastard! Missed me that much you had to make a visit? Couldn’t even help yourself.” He goes to throw his arm over the man’s shoulder, but the newcomer flings his arm away.

“Fuck off,” the man says with a slight accent. I think it’s Russian. “I’ve come to see Dawson. We have some business we need to discuss.”

Will whistles as if the meeting is foreboding.

“I didn’t expect you to come find me personally, Alek,” Dawson says with a charismatic smile that doesn’t reach his gaze. The tension is palpable, and the newcomer—Alek—doesn’t say anything further. I have the distinct impression he’s a man of few words.

“I’ve got everything I need now,” I announce, doing my best to leave this awkward tension. “When I get back to the hotel I’ll start putting some ideas together. Will tomorrow work for you if I send through a rough draft?” I ask Dawson.

“Oh, you only just flew in. You can take a few days. Please don’t rush,” Honey says with a bright smile, and Dawson agrees with her. I can’t help but smile back; it’s nice to see such a powerful man be what I dare say is “wrapped around his wife’s pinkie.”

“It’s fine, really. It’s why you flew me out.” I place my camera back in my bag. “I have your email, so I’ll send ideas through. Let me know if you have inspirations or ideas you’d like me to incorporate. And if you don’t like certain aspects of the concept, please let me know.”

“It’s all on you. We trust your judgment, so go with what you feel is best,” Dawson says as he places his hand on Honey’s lower back.

“What if you don’t like what I have in mind?” I ask, because I really want this job.

“Oh, I will. Honey has shown me quite a few of your videos, and I haven’t disliked any work you’ve done so far. We’re excited to see what you come up with.”

“Oh, and here’s my card.” Honey hands me a business card for what looks like a bakery. “If you’re in the area, stop by. And if you need anything, let me know.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.” I pocket the card. “Well, enjoy your afternoon, and I’ll send through some ideas shortly.”

I go to grab my bag but Will picks it up. My temple pulses as I grit my teeth and smile, not wanting to make a scene in front of his friends. Why is this fucker so persistent?

I walk out, and Will follows me.