Picture To Burn [Charles Leclerc]

3. Bad Blood

Now we got problems...

***

I was almost mesmerized.

The stranger in front of me had extremely refined features. He was wearing glasses, but even with them, I could see that his drunken eyes had an enchanting mix of greens and blues, framed by thick, dark blonde lashes, they shivered with a captivating intensity.

The suit he was wearing seemed to be perfectly tailored, a full black with a white shirt that was already unbuttoned at the top, showing a bit of chest skin. Despite the slight disheveledness in the attire, he looked ridiculously handsome.

He was clearly drunk. The strong scent of scotch roamed the air but a trace of expensive perfume still hit my nostrils.

The hair, the face and the clothes, everything seemed to perfectly add to him. There was no doubt he belonged to that kind of environment.

Unfortunately, the charm lasted very little. It was time to go back to my senses.

"You're paying for this." I repeated, raising the ruined camera at him, "You just fucked the work I had."

"Wow." He mouthed as he studied me for a brief moment, looking me up and down before getting closer. His annoyed stare went all flirty in a matter of mere seconds, "That's not a very lady-like way to speak."

I rolled my eyes, "Shut up."

"Rude, I see." He grinned, "Perhaps I did you a favour. You're too pretty to be an annoying paparazzi."

Idiot.

"Not that is any of your business, but I'm a photographer, not a paparazzi." I stated defiantly, "And like I said, you owe me a camera. And a dress."

The stranger laughed. An annoyingly beautiful laugh that made me more upset for some reason.

"I'll pay for your camera and your dress," He said and for a moment, I thought there was an ounce of decency in him, "If you take a drink with me."

Now I was the one laughing. Arrogant asshole.

"You think too high of yourself." I scoffed.

"C'mon. Don't act as if that hadn't been your plan in the first place."

I almost gasped, "Excuse me?"

"Don't worry, chérie. I was planning to end the night with a nice interviewer back there," He looked at me once again, up and down. Then, he got closer to my ear, whispering, "But I could make an exception for you."

He had to be joking.

I don't know what came over me at that moment, but I got so angry at his remark that I just couldn't help it.

I slapped him.

My hand made hard contact with the left side of his face. He was so drunk that the impact disoriented him and almost caused him to trip. This earned us a few surprised and concerned stares from the people surrounding us, but I didn't care. I wouldn't tolerate such idiocy.