Page 10 of Zach
what they said. I always knew it would come in handy.
I’m not the smartest of us. Or the most strategic. I can’t hack a computer or run complicated
equations in my head. What I do have is a thick head of hair, a killer smile, and a powerful body
honed by hours-long workouts in the gym. My looks are my asset, and I know exactly how to make
them work for me.
And tonight, it doesn’t take long to get something glittery on my hook.
She knows the game.
She’s a master at it too, dancing by, ignoring me at first. Flirty smiles come my way on the second
and third passes, and by the fourth, she makes her move. She approaches the bouncers guarding the
VIP area and flashes a smile in my direction. With a nod from me, she’s through the ropes and sliding
sensuously onto the sofa.
I love this part. The teasing cross of her legs, the way she wets her lips, the little shimmy of her
shoulders, making one of the thin straps of her dress fall off her shoulder. I know my role. With a
small, seductive smile, I lean forward and run the tip of my finger up her bare arm, snagging the strap
on my way up until it’s back where it’s supposed to be.
We exchange small talk, but neither of us has much to say. We know where this is headed, and the
anticipation is thick between us. I toss back my whiskey, taking a minute to savor the burn, and turn to
her.
Her features are unremarkably beautiful. She could have come out of the pages of any magazine
with her golden skin, bleached hair, and blowfish lips. She’s got the kind of face and body that would
sell anything. I should know. It’s my job to sell anything and everything my family needs me to, from
oil changes to luxury condos, and I’m really fucking good at it.
Packaging matters, and hers is stellar.
She leans into me as we cross the club. The pounding bass, the crush of bodies, and the dimly lit
room all blend together. This could be one of a hundred clubs I’ve been to around the world. They’re
all the same. Same music, same smells, same plastic people. No judgments, though. I’m just as plastic
as anyone else here.
Maybe more.
I call my driver, and the second we’re in the privacy of the Escalade, she’s on me, uncaring that
my driver is watching. He barely notices, eyes focused on the road, ferrying us to her place. He
