❝You promised me❞
♜
Spencer Kingsley holds more power in his hands than he thinks
♜
After years of waiting for Madeline Lockhart, Spencer is finally ready to move on. He's en route to becoming a great film director and has met the perfect girl; Amel...
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Spencer groaned for the eighteenth time that night as Oliver called out 'SHOTS' for the sixth time. How many shots could he take? It was almost like a joke- how many shots does it take to knock an Oliver down. The answer? Undetermined.
Oliver had come without Nora, claiming she was sick but Spencer knew his friend like the back of his hand. He didn't tell Nora they were going out because Nora would definitely stop him from drinking too much. It used to be Spencer's job but, as much as he loved Oliver, he couldn't commit to spending every night out taking care of Oliver. He wasted so much of his time arguing with a drunk version of Oliver, begging his best friend to stop drinking or else risk alcohol poisoning. He had even ended up in the hospital a few times. However, he couldn't just leave Oliver alone so he shoved him into Charlie's arms.
"Make sure he doesn't die. I'm going to get a drink."
In hindsight it was probably a terrible idea to leave Oliver with a very high Charlie. Charlie had taken about half a dozen pills and downed them with liquor. Both of them needed a minder but Spencer just wanted to enjoy himself. Charlie mumbled something nonsensical in response and Spencer quickly left to go to the bar. He seamlessly glided to the top of the crowd and, after spotting him, the bartender immediately left the customer he was with to tend to Spencer. Spencer was too modest (and embarrassed) to ever admit it but he held more power in his hands than he thought. No one even batted an eyelid at how he skipped the queue. Everyone seemed to recognise him.
"A MacAllen on the rocks, please."
Nodding, the bartender quickly turned to fetch him his drink. In the meantime, Spencer turned around and took out his phone. He took a quick time-lapse video. It would be useful in his next film project. However in the midst of the stock-video partiers, one girl stood out. Spencer's eyes focused on the angel dancing in the middle of the club. Her red slip dress kept riding up, making her long legs seem even longer if that was even possible. It had been a while but Spencer recognised her. He could never forget a face like hers. Or a body like hers. Everything froze and blurred into the background except for her.
Her jet black hair rained down from her head, reaching her mid back. Her eyes were accentuated with a golden shimmer and dramatic eyeliner and her lips, lips that had kissed every part of Spencer's body, were a shiny red, the kind that would make Marilyn Monroe shake in her grave.
"Amelie," He uttered, daring to speak out the angel's name.
"Who?" The bartender asked him, placing the drink in front of him.
Ignoring him and his order, Spencer stumbled in her direction. His legs seemed to fail him and as much as he wanted them to, they wouldn't speed up.
She was a Greek love goddess. She had to be. Obviously she was Asian and not Greek but it was the only explanation to how she was still able to hypnotise Spencer even though he had only met her once all those years ago. She was magnificent. Aphrodite.
