“This is a smart woman you’re talking to, Peter,” I tell him, already reaching for my credit card. Cash is king, sure, but when it comes to New York...plastic is the fucking emperor. “And smart women don’t care about warehouses moguls, or whatever the fuck you like calling yourself. They care about the good life...and when it comes to the good life, there no one better than Darian Strong.”
“Is this a bidding war?” The woman tips her head back as she laughs, and locks of silky hair spill down her tan shoulders. I move to kiss her neck, but she pushes her index finger against my forehead, keeping me in place. “I’m sure your conquests love bidding wars, but I’m not one of your conquests. You can’t claim me that easily.”
“Then how?” Peter and I say it at the same time, which annoys me to no fucking end. We’re already sharing this woman’s time right now, even if against my will—do I really have to share the same words with this prick?
“I like winners.” She purrs those words into my ear and gives my cock a hard squeeze. When she whispers the same words into Peter’s ear, I have to make a conscious effort not to shout that there’s only one winner here. But I’ve watched Game of Thrones, baby, and I know that a man who has to say he’s the king...well, he isn’t a true king at all.
“Oh, look at that.” She gives us both a coy smile and springs up to her feet. “The song’s over.” She turns her back to us, offering us a mouth-watering view of her ass, and starts walking away. She does it in such a regal fucking manner that I can’t help but feel like a peasant.
Almost as an afterthought, she stops and looks back.
“This was fun, boys.” She gives us a little wink. “But it was just a taste. Whoever signs with Max here...gimme a call.”
And, just like that, she’s gone.
What the fuck just happened here?