Let There Be Light

Chapter Nineteen

               High end people gathered at the entrance of the Gala, boasting to one another with their success and how much money they had spent within the last few months. Their wives by their side eyeing the women that caught their husband's attention - a few glancing at you. Majority of the people here were older people and none of them interested you.

Security at the door greeted you and you hand him the matte black envelope that Price had given to you right before you got out the limo. Security nods at you and motions for you to go inside. The place was decorated in style. Elegant, but with a hint of over dramatics. A few ice sculptures in the form of swans were placed throughout the place. Frank Sinatra played faintly, but the chatter among the rich drowned the tunes out. Your eyes scanned the room over each individual hoping to lay eyes on your target.

Chaperones swayed through the crowed holding small gold trays with flutes of champagne. One approached you and lowered his tray, inviting you to take a flute. Your hand wraps around the glass and you give a soft smile. Other chaperones lingered as well with silver trays topped with delicate finger foods – caviar covered crackers, olive and cheese toast and snails – which are a delicacy in Paris.

A Scottish voice came through your ear, "You doing okay lass?"

"Mhm." Not wanting to draw attention to yourself from talking to no one and seeming crazy.

Several minutes go by and your eyes finally rest on him. Anger and adrenaline resonated deep inside of you. Not wanting to approach him directly, you slowly make your way towards him making seductive glances. Michael was not one to be approached and you take the lead, he liked to come to you and feel like he is the man in charge. He walked with arrogance and felt like he was God's gift to women.

His eyes finally meet yours and then back to the gentleman he was talking to. Hook, line and sinker. The flute of champagne in your hands finds your mouth, while he takes another glance at you. Your lids lowered to an even more seductive look until you break eye contact and look in the other direction. You wanted him to feel like he was being rejected and just as well as you knew him, it worked.

He shakes the gentleman's hand that he is talking to, adjusts his expensive jacket to his suit and makes his way towards you. When you see him heading your way, you slowly walk off, glancing back at him and make your way towards the stone terrace. The air was crisp and light. You set your flute down onto the stone railing and wait. It was only a matter of time.

The sound of soles hitting the stone terrace made your adrenaline rush even more.

"Beautiful night, isn't it?" His voice was the same as you last heard it. Another pet peeve he did was attempt to make his voice deeper to impress whatever whore he was trying to sleep with that night.

"Mhm." You're still waiting for him to get hooked in. 'Wait patiently' you keep telling yourself.

"Are you here with anyone?" He clears his throat, and you catch a hint of desperation in his voice. You got his attention, and he wasn't leaving here without something from you. That's Michael.

"No." Firm but not too off putting.

"British?! My favorite." Bullshit. Any accent on a woman that he wants to fuck is his 'favorite'. You stopped yourself from rolling your eyes and turn to look at him. 'Play along'.

"Is that so?" The playfulness in your voice made his eyes grow hungry.

"You could have gone Scottish" Soap jokes into your earpiece. "She knows what the superior language is." Price chimes in and you're trying your hardest to keep from laughing. A smile crept on your face and was quickly wiped away when you heard him speak, "Good girl". You take another sip from your flute and hear someone clear their throat in your earpiece. It was obvious they felt awkward.