She was everything they never expected.
Regal and mysterious, Callaia Sosa was more than they bargained for when they accepted the job of protecting her. Little was told of the heiress and there was even less to find.
They expected someone spoiled...
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T H E C I G A R R O O M
Callaia
There are few things in the world I'd classify as being more uncomfortable than this, but being in an enclosed room with these guys definitely is high up on the list. Sitting in lazy leisure in one of the velvet armchairs near the fireplace, I feign nonchalance even though my left brow has acquired a twitch. My long black cigarette holder hangs limply between two fingers, the cigarette half gone and heavy with ash I've yet to flick away. I've come to this meeting all dolled up, Alec and I planning on a night out at one of our favorite clubs in the area, The Cat's Meow. It once was a speakeasy back in the twenties, a bar that sold bootlegged liquor, and they've kept up the vibe from the era. It's one of our go to spots when we stop by the area.
One doesn't go to The Cat's Meow in typical clothing. It's why I'm decked out like a risqué flapper in a black tight dress bedazzled in eyelet lace and beading with a hem of six inch fringe tickling my knees. I've got black satin evening gloves and black heels with a vintage brooch on the toes as well. Alec helped with my hair as I'm only talented enough to pull it back in a ponytail myself. I've gotten better with my makeup over the years, but I rarely have the patience to play with my hair. It's in a low chiffon, lazy and coiled elegantly, with a string of black lace ribbon and fringe held by Art Deco shell shaped bronze clasps, one near my left ear and one at the crown of my head. The slack in the hairpiece is enough to go under my chiffon and dangle back up stylishly.
