No Strings Attached

Chapter Four

"More guitarist than singer. I knew it wasn't what I supposed to do, though."

"Why?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know. I guess I loved it too much to taint it with the industry."

I drink the last of my whiskey, already feeling a delightful burn within me. "You didn't mind with fashion then?"

"Fashion is business. It's an art, of course, but to me, I find it hard to remain true to myself, to the vision I have for my work, for my life. I am constantly surrounded by people who see me as a good fuck or a good payday. I don't remember the last real friendship I had."

I'm stunned by his candor... the way he speaks.

"When I met you, you seemed like one of the people you describe," I state bravely, and I earn the shutter of shock in his gaze. He takes a moment to answer me.

"Sometimes, you mold into the people who surround you. It feels safer that way. I didn't expect you to be different."

"How do you know I'm different?"

"I just know."

"What makes you so sure I have good intentions? I could be just like these other girls."

He laughs softly. "You should take it as a compliment when I tell you right now that you are the furthest thing from them."

I smile. "I'm not a model."

He shakes his head, breathing in. "You know what I'd really like to ask you?"

I'm nervous. "What?"

"Do you think you're pretty?"

"What?"

He presses his elbows into the table, leaning in. "Do you think you are beautiful? Pretty? Sexy?"

"I think I'm pretty, yes."

"Then why do you hunch over? Why hide behind your hair? Why do you wear clothing that doesn't fit you?" He shrugs. "I am starting to believe you have lost the ability to find yourself beautiful... Maybe it was someone who did this, maybe you've always felt this way, but either way, I'll tell you, it's a state of mind. All of it."

I know I'm pale as I cut my steak, staring at him stupidly. "A state of mind?"

"Yes, a state of mind. Tell me, do you pleasure yourself?"

I choke on the steak in my mouth loudly and unattractively.

Holy fuck.

"Excuse me?"

He stares at me as if there was not a thing taboo about what he just asked me. "If we're going to do this, whether it's today or another day, I want us to be open with each other."

"I've had perfectly functioning relationships with people who haven't felt the need to ask me that question!"

"Well, this isn't a relationship, and I'm not a boyfriend."

"I-I haven't even decided if I want to—"

The look on his face, that look that screams bullshit, is what stops me mid-speech. We both know it doesn't end here.

As I set my fork down and sink into my chair, I don't tear my eyes from him. He's like a lion, watching the meek animal that will soon succumb to his torture. His eyes are sex and fire ,and he's not even naked.

"I find it hard to get there on my own," I tell him, surprised by how steady my voice turns out to be. We're perfectly still for a few moments as the finality sets in.

"Do you have a pen?" he suddenly asks. My heart begins to pound.

I swallow. "You're serious?"

"If you are. You want writing; I'll give it to you."

I stand, my legs trembling as I walk to the bed, reaching into my purse for a pen. I set the purse onto the ground and turn when I have one. I approach the table slowly, enjoying his greedy gaze upon my body.

He takes the pen, already smoothing out one of our unused napkins. God, this is ridiculous. When he's done writing, having signed his name across the bottom, he moves the napkin closer to me.

I click the pen, breathing in as I read.

Both parties agree to leave personal relations set apart from any and all business. Both parties agree to confidentiality in the strictest form. If there is any conflict in these arrangements with Scarlett Bardot, I, Giovanni Martinelli, agree that I will not leave Norman White Public Relations.

"I will have my lawyer draw up a legitimate contract later."

I look from the wrinkled napkin to him. "Are you sure you want this?"

He smiles softly, his gaze smooth like molten lava. "Absolutely. Are you?"

Jesus, am I?

I scribble my name quickly across the line as an answer, my fingers trembling violently as I pull back. The silence between us is deafening as I set down the pen, straightening.

"What... happens now?" I ask him, unable to care anymore if I'm making the biggest mistake of my life.

Giovanni's darkened expression doesn't change as his eyes begin to travel down.

"Now, I watch you undress."

"Wait." My heart is literally in my throat. "Watch me...?"

Radiating power, experience, masculinity, his eyes suddenly pierce my own. "Let me see you, Scarlett."