Meet Lauren Pierce. Fiercely independent, beautiful and a perfectionist. The media loves to call her the 'ICE PRINCESS' because of how cold and unyielding she is, and she doesn't care enough to correct them. The only thing she cares about is her su...
Sitting on her couch for probably the first time this week, Lauren pulled off her heels and let them clatter on the floor, freeing her legs from the sweet torture she seemed to enjoy. She was trying her best to look busy, locking and unlocking her phone, double checking her empty schedule for tomorrow, just anything in an effort to ignore the gorgeous man in her kitchen.
As soon as they'd got to her place, a beautiful condo with big airy windows, a sleek kitchen and one bedroom, he'd insisted that she sit down and let him handle the snacks and wine. As she sat there watching him, she began questioning her choices. If those fuckers outside decide to stay the night, where would he sleep? She'd bought this place because it was practical, not because she couldn't afford something like a penthouse.
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"Here," he said, setting down a tray with a plate of chicken loaded fries he'd somehow conjured from the leftovers in her fridge and pouring wine into both their glasses. She smiled. "See, I knew there were perks to dating a chef," she said. He laughed, always amused by her. "Oh so you planned this whole thing out for free meals?" He teased, watching as she swallowed a forkful of the fries. "I plan everything," she said, after humming about how good the food was.
A couple glasses later, she was feeling a little tipsy, and a question burned at the back of her throat. "So, what happened the other night? I think I made a mistake of some sort," she said, watching him. He sighed. "It was nothing of subsequence, you were drunk, I insisted on bringing you home and tucked you into bed," he said. She rolled her eyes. "I know that, I'm asking if anything else happened. Did we...kiss?" she asked, and the look on his face had her jumping to her own conclusion.
She stood up, suddenly hot and embarrassed. He watched her quietly, and then set his glass down. "And if we had?" he asked tentatively. She sighed, rubbing a hand down her face. "You know that complicates things," she said. "We have a business contract, and that was not part of it," she said.
He stared at her a moment, contemplating something, then stood up too to follow her by the window. "What are you doing?" she asked, as he was standing too close to her. "You said you need to look me in the eye to tell if I'm lying," he began, quoting her previous words. A sense of Deja vu began hitting her, they were this close, and those words had been said at some point. But what happened next is the problem.
"You asked me to kiss you. I refused, not because I don't want to, but because I cannot kiss a drunk woman especially if she might regret it later. If we ARE going to kiss, its going to be because you ask me to, with your own words from that pretty mouth, or with those eyes.. like yesterday," he said. For the first time in a while, Lauren felt speechless. She could see, very clearly, that he meant every single word, and it somehow both excited and disappointed her.
Disappointed? Why? Do you want him to grab you and kiss you? .... Yes!? Shit. I do want to kiss him. Badly.
The realization hit her like a truck, and she leaned away from him, her muddy thoughts scrambling her control. She looked outside, and a camera glinting in the dark on the other side of the street caught her eye. These idiots still haven't left. They're like vultures.
