When a drunken night out leads to Rose Delacour meeting the mysterious American Mafia Boss, Clecentine Huxley, she can't help but give in to her beauty and charms.
Young and carefree Rose Delacour didn't expect her night out at the bar to result in...
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Another day, another meeting.
That's how almost my entire day had gone by in a blink of an eye.
Hectic schedule, a draining meeting. I almost lost drugs worth a hundred million dollars and that was because they weren't willing to work with me and wanted to break ties with us.
Their reason? They didn't trust me and thought I would be useless like my father. It was fair though. With my whore of a father ruining almost every good chance at a drug deal with numerous complaints from the hotels, bars and strip clubs he owned our business went downhill and now I was trying to get it back up.
It was obvious they won't trust me with his genes running in my body. Not that I cared much when it came to topics of trust. I was capable of manipulating people well enough to get them to do the job.
A sigh escaped my lips and I got up from the desk plopping the file I held in my hands on the desk. I felt tense and nervous. Frustrated. And I needed to spit out the pent-up frustration I had in me for a long time on something.
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Clad in only my black tank top, black shorts and shoes I made my way to the training room adjusting my white hand wraps, deciding to pummel the punching bag.
Throwing open the doors in front of me was a sight worth watching with every bit of attention.
On the centre of the training mat stood Rose, ready to take on a man twice her size. She didn't look like a puny amateur. She held herself in a perfect stance; one that took me a month to perfect.
Her hands were held in tight fists, her hair in a ponytail from which strands had begun to fall out of place, eyes fixed on the man in front of her. My eyes narrowed on her knuckles which seemed slightly bruised. My eyebrows rose in surprise. So he wasn't her first prey.
Her stance, even breathing and hawk-like eyes screamed volumes about the experience she had with martial arts. Her eyes scanned the man in front of her, assessing him well.
I casually leaned on the wall, eagerly waiting for the fight to start. There was now no need to pummel the bag, I could watch her pummel a living bag instead.
