⚠️Warning ⚠️
We have a NSFW content in this chapter. Light Bdsm play, nothing too extreme. But, still steam inducing, at least. Proceed with caution.
Whatever she'd been expecting, it wasn't this.
The 'office' took over an entire floor of a squat building further up the Strip, halfway between Treasure Island and Resorts world. But, instead of the standard open plan, the high ceilinged converted warehouse boasted of a maze of polished scaffolding and living walls that curved into cozy nooks and cubicles.
The air was imbued with a herbal scent and the light in the middle of the office was diffused and warm.
Honestly, Elodie had expected that it would be some fusion of a club-house and an open space like Sin City in London. So, seeing a proper office, one where people worked on large computer screens and talked into receivers was surprising.
But, what was even more surprising was the sight of Angelo—garbed in tailored mid-night blue suit and jacket, deep pink tie that matched the cuffed shirt underneath his jacket—waiting in the reception area.
Her steps faltered, the threat she faced earlier melting away into oblivion of her mind at the wonderful sight that was this man.
A stirring started lower in her belly as their gazes met. Held.
Familiar molten irises roamed all over her figure, pausing appreciatively on the rise and fall of her chest, then back to her eyes. Even he couldn't disguise the heat in his gaze.
Her own pulse galloped.
"Good morning," she said shyly, fingers toying with the thin leather strap of her purse.
"Good morning, bambino. Coffee?" He held out a cup with a large shop logo on it; although she couldn't make out it the name from this far.
"Yes, thank you." She took it, inhaling slightly. It was iced white mocha, and the coldness seeped into the palm of her hands, grounding her.
"Come join me in my office."
So used was she to his brisk and commanding tone, and hearing this soft tone instantly raised her suspicions.
Elodie didn't have the time to look around as she wanted to and Angelo not breaking his stride indicated that he didn't want questions, either.
His private office was a sprawling space on the other end of the building—the corner spot, of course. Tall large windows opened to the Strip and accents of green and pink glowed against the sedate light wood.
The sun ricocheted against everything—the light sconces that might have been raided from an high fashioned home magazine by someone; pink shelves that were cluttered with small sculptures forged in different beautiful metals; floral illustrations in opulent art-deco frames; Angelo's desk,, a long block of polished white marbles set on two blocks of what looked like solid gold.
Elodie could barely see with how bright everything was.
What she saw, however, was grandiose and opulence in a way she hadn't expected. The decor didn't look like Angelo's Angelo's style, at all. Someone else must have done it.
"It's magnificent. And so tasteful..." She prattled on as Angelo locked the door and moved towards her desk.
Elodie was nervous. She didn't know how to act now that they were alone, but talking didn't seem to help. Angelo wasn't paying attention to her either.
YOU ARE READING
THE ESCORT
Romance*** Explicit +18 Mafia romance*** Elodie Evans has been an escort for over five years. It's a nerve-wracking job, but she needed the money to pay for her brother's hospital bills as well as her own bills. A waitress by day, an escort by night, life...
