Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
I get a notification five minutes ahead of schedule. Arrived.
Tiffany – Creamgirl – is downstairs in the lobby.
I check my tie in the mirror, straightening it just so. I’m wearing one of my finest suits. A traditional number from Savile Row. A dusty blue tweed that works with both my hair and eyes, complemented by the royal blue tie I’ve chosen. I smooth down my lapels, and I’m set to go.
I descend the main staircase, my mind still cycling through the options of how she could have interpreted my words. Her natural self, I asked for, and as I step into the lobby and catch sight of her, my question is answered.
Creamgirl has come as Tiffany. The gorgeous creature who sat on my lap in Santa’s chair.
There is no way on this planet I’m going to be getting my head together tonight.
She’s wearing big boots and torn jeans, with fishnets visible underneath, swamped in a hoodie against the chill with her scarlet hair a cascade down her back. Her expression as she registers me is one of fixation and horror, both at once. She stares me up and down with wide eyes, her fake lashes giving her the appearance of a porcelain doll. I love the contouring on her cheeks as her mouth opens. I adore her bright red lip gloss and the way it looks so inviting.
“Hi,” she says, but I ignore the casual and go straight in for a kiss on each of her cheeks, clasping her hands in mine.
“Welcome. It’s a pleasure to see you.”
She laughs at that and looks down at herself. “Yeah, right. When you said come as me, I thought you meant literally. I didn’t expect you’d be bringing me to swanky town.”
“Where else would I bring you?”
“I dunno. Just somewhere more…”
I smirk at her, because I can’t help it. Her smile is already infectious.
“Basic?”
“Yeah, basic. After the alleyway thing, you know.”
“I’m sure they have an area where they keep the waste, if you prefer? At least let’s have dinner first though, shall we?”
She kicks out a leg so I can see her chunky boot. “Yeah, these are going to be right at home in this place.”
I stare at her, and she doesn’t shy away from my gaze. “Are you a self-conscious girl?”
She rolls her pretty eyes at me. “Hardly. I was thinking more about you. I don’t give a toss what I wear in a restaurant.”
“Neither do I.”
“Seriously? You look like you’ve stepped straight out of some suit porn monthly magazine, and I look like I’ve just popped out to grab a meal deal.”
I step to her side and offer her my arm. “I think we are very well suited, actually.”
She holds back a laugh as a couple walk past and give us a side eye.
“Jeez, Mr Sinclair. I must look like I’m your rebel daughter.”
My turn to laugh. “I like that analogy.”
The flash of a vixen comes to life in her eyes as we start the route to the restaurant.
“Yeah, so do I. I love myself a bit of daddy kink.”
The restaurant is relatively quiet when we get there, just a few tables taken. I would usually be scanning the room for signs of opulence and inspiration for my own restaurants, but I have no interest whatsoever this evening.
The waiter is a gracious enough chap, pulling out Tiffany’s chair when we get to our table. I watch him as he watches her, clocking his curiosity. She’s a striking creature, even wrapped up in a hoodie. She emanates a buzz that can’t be ignored.
“Champagne?” I ask, and she nods.
“Yes, please. I never say no to some fizz.”
“De Chante, please,” I tell the waiter, and he trots off to the bar for the bottle of their finest.
“You could have said we were coming somewhere posh and eating out.” Tiffany’s eyes are cheeky. “Your proposal was the vaguest one I’ve ever had. I took it at face value, though. Thought you’d want the Tiff from the grotto.”
I put my elbows on the table. “I want you. As you. Whether that is the girl from the grotto or not.”
I get another flash of the vixen eye. “Yeah, well, I have a lot of different flavours. You can sample them later, if you like.”
“For one pound a go?” I pause. “Why did you accept?”
She shrugs. “Dunno. Thought it would be fun.”
I know she’s playing casual, just like she’s dressed casual, but I don’t want the outer shell. I want the girl inside the hoodie. Her brains, her beauty, her sexuality, her spice and soul. A taster just hasn’t been enough.
“Drop the facade,” I say, and lean in closer. “Why did you accept the proposal, Tiffany?”
The waiter returns before she has a chance to answer. He pops the cork and fills our glasses, and Tiffany gives a little whoop and raises hers in a cheers. She takes a sip as the waiter leaves, and smacks her lips.