How to Destroy a Rich Boy

Chapter One

Was I used to asshole customers? Of course, I was. But none of them dared to be so confrontational with their rudeness - most of them had the decency to talk behind my back. 

He raised his eyebrows as a stupid grin worked its way onto his face. "Wow, someone's in quite a mood," he whistled as he nudged his friend beside him.

The other middle-aged men at the table chuckled at his comment as though it was actually funny. 

He leaned forward on his elbows, and a scarily cruel light flickered through his eyes. "You know what an uptight girl like you needs?" he asked as a smirk lit his face. "A nice, good fuck. That always sorts your type, right out," he sneered.

There was a moment of silence as I stared at him; my anger just ticking and ticking away. It started getting to the point where I hardly felt like I could breathe. Feeling the last of the professionalism in me slip away, I took the last step that was separating me from the table and brought my face down to his. 

My eyes narrowed as I stared at him eye to eye. "And what exactly is my type!"

He jumped a little at my sudden shift in tone, but then his eyes washed over my face, and he relaxed. The idiot probably didn't see my face as a threat.

Then, I watched as he leaned right up to my face and smirked. "Your type?" he laughed. "Well, that's easy, babe. Your type is a worthless, easy slut," he whispered. 

He made sure to pronounce each word sharply, so each one felt like a sharp slap in the face. Then suddenly, his hand jolted out and snaked around my waist before giving my ass a firm squeeze.

I ripped myself away from him fast, my blood boiling in a combination of both rage and humiliation. 

Then something in me shifted, and before I even knew it, I swiped my hand sharply around the middle-aged man's face. 

My hand stung from the intensity of it, but I didn't care. Instead, I looked over his face in satisfaction – loving the harsh red mark I had left across his face. The man stared at me in shock, along with his whole table.

As I did, my eyes darted to the jug of water sat on their table. Without even thinking, I snatched it up and leaned over him before pouring the entire thing over the piece of shit's head. I smirked as I watched the ice cubes bounce comedically off of his head.

Once it was empty, I chucked the whole jug canister roughly at his chest. "Don't you ever touch me again!" I hissed.

Silence deafened the room, and I didn't even have to look to know that all the strippers, customers, and wait staff were likely all looking my way.

Now that the shock of my attack had subsided - the man looked pissed. A deep scowl was etched on his face, and his eyes drew in coldness.

Suddenly, he growled and reached out to snatch my wrist. "You're lucky we're not alone."

I snickered as though he told a funny joke. "Why, what would you do? Fight me?" I taunted.

His eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything. Shrugging, I put a hand to my ear and started to unhook the ends of my tear-dropped earrings free from my ear. 

His eyes darted over my face, looking marginally confused. "What are you doing?" he whispered, a tendril of fear dancing through his eyes. 

I resisted the urge to laugh; all these men were the same - they couldn't put their money where their mouth was. As a part-time kickbox instructor, I was proud to say I did not suffer from the same problem.