SHE (Book #1)

20

***MALACHI****

"Excuse me, sir. I think we skipped a couple of chapters," Cole says, sitting in my living room, "How did we go from 'oh she is just a play thing' to 'I like her so much it's driving me crazy'? Like bro, do you no see how off that sounds?"

"Can you shut the hell up, please?" I look in the mirror, trying to focus on doing my tie I fucking hate ties. They suffocate me. But elegance, representation.

"No, I will not shut the hell up, you ass. I am hearing you tell me that you randomly fell for a girl you were supposed to hate, and I am supposed to be fine with it? You," he stands by the doorway of my bedroom, "You have never once spoken about a woman using manners. I am convinced she bewitched you,"

I laugh.
Because in a way she did.

"I don't know man. Something about her seems so... irresistibly alluring. Not just her looks, but who she is," I see his face morph into disgust through the mirror.

"I think I am going to throw up if you keep talking. Oh, good God and all things holy, that was disturbing to hear come out of your mouth," he hunches over, pretending to be sick.

I flick him off as he laughs back down the hallway. I hear him tell me he is going. I have ten minutes to get to Tempest's house. 

Nervous is an understatement. 
Driving through her driveway, stopping in front of her house, walking up to the steps.
I feel nauseous, and I am really glad Mr. Moore is in a whole different country right now. I don't think I have the guts to shake his hand and tell him I am escorting his granddaughter to a party filled with liquor and scandal upon scandal. 

The helper opens the door. She smiles and lets me inside. I stand by the door and wait, while she goes and tells Tempest I have arrived.

I didn't know what to expect.
But I didn't expect to see her like this.

I would expect a suit, like the first time everyone met her. I would have expected literally anything.

But not this dress.
Not this petite dress.

So much skin. So much of her is shown, I am almost knocked off my feet. She walks down the stairs, heels with straps that wrap around her leg. Her silky, black dress right above her knee, hugs her waist perfectly. The straps are thin and the back is almost nonexistent, except for the crisis crossing of more thing straps. 

She looks riveting. enticing. Oh my God, I am so fucked. 
A helper hands her a long blazer, which she slips on, covering her backless dress.

I have to tear my eyes off her to regain my vision.

"Are you ready?" I ask her.

"Most certainly," she takes a small purse into her hands, "Let's go,"

Her hand grabs my arm. She carefully walked down the small steps and I open the car door for her. 

(Song Playin in the background: You Don't own me by Saygrace)

The car is silent except for the song playing on the radio. She takes out her phone and seems to be reading emails. She is in her own little world, doing whatever she pleases. 

I breathe in and out.
Wondering how everyone will react when they see me enter with her. The prized jewel of the society we live in. Everyone wants to know her. Every guy wants to be the one accompanying her. But it's me. I am the one. 

I smile a the thought.
Every man knows I do not play about what's mine. I don't share, which is why I was never seen with women in their league. I am not trying to be cocky, but it's the truth. I consider myself better looking than most of them anyway, and I have twice as much wealth without my family's fortune included.