Pain And Pleasure 18+✓

Twenty-four

Eight months ago

"What are you, blind? Didn't you see the blinkers?" a slender man so furious yelled at me.

I puffed the rainwater rolling down my face and scoffed at him. The audacity he had! He'd knocked my car, damaged the blinkers, and yet he had the guts to complain that I wasn't careful enough. All he made me feel was extreme anger and resentment for several reasons.

I was almost late for my interview at Beal Bank, the one I got with so much difficulty. It was just five minutes to time. The traffic was heavy, cars cramped randomly with jarring horns and ambulance sirens blaring randomly in the air like a carnival, all thanks to the collision that blocked Las Vegas Boulevard.

"Look what you've done to my car!" I barked, pointing at the broken blinker.

My thoughts jogged at the repair costs and I was broke. Damn, it was Sally's Mini Cooper that she worshiped. What was I going to tell her?

"Hey, you two, just move it already!" Some dude peeped through the window of his taxi, screaming at us from the long line of cars.

Neither of us paid attention to him, for the argument was already stiff enough. I asked the guy with a black SUV, the one who knocked mine from behind, how he was gonna sort the issue, but he kept saying I'm the one at fault.

"Hey, bitch, I said move it!" The same bastard yelled again, at me this time since my car was ahead of the other two before his.

"Just shut it, motherfucker, can't you see we're busy here!" I yelled irritated, and back to Mr. SUV, I snapped, "So, do you want us to call the police or something? Maybe they can determine who's at fault here, don't you think?"

Hell, I didn't want to let it slide. Instead of at least apologizing for what he did, he had the nerve to blame me for it! I couldn't stand the injustice. And, much to my dismay, I knew I couldn't make it for the interview unless a miraculous helicopter picked me up from there.

Wishful thinking.

"Well, let's call it even! My car is starched too and I'm not complaining, am I?" he blurted while pointing at the bumper of his fancy Jaguar. "See? If you didn't reverse recklessly, none of this would've happened," he added.

"And who do you think you are to call me reckless, huh?" I snarled. "It's fucking cramped here! And for all I know, tailgating is against the traffic laws; you should've kept your distance, dammit!"

The rain slapped frantically and I was almost soaked wet. My white satin blouse was stuck to my skin, the white cotton bra underneath showing through it. I was done for and our argument was bearing no fruits but further agitation.

"How much will the repair cost?" A firm voice interrupted our banter.

My gaze flew toward the man in a navy blue suit, a perfectly body-fit one, who was standing behind the back door of the SUV. He was eye-catching—brawny and bronze-skinned—but whatever he looked like was the least of my interest.

I was too angry to care. That interview meant everything. It was a golden chance that wasn't gonna come twice. And it never did.

"Your car," the man in a suit, with a voice so deep, thick, but gentle, said haltingly, "how much do you think can fix the broken light?"

Upon his question, my focus shifted to him entirely.

He seemed important, and classy, with that same arrogance constantly worn by people with more money than they need. He had a fit body, six feet plus height, well-trimmed hair, black and glossy, and a neat stubble beard like a model from a haircut catalog.