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Walking back inside my room i chewed harshly on the gum—a few seconds later a few people flooded in and started doing whatever they wanted to my face.
After what felt like seven hundred and four years—the makeup artists walked out of my room as i walked over to my mirror as i studied myself.
Damn, they knew what they were fucking doing—I looked flawless.
My cheekbones were bronzed perfectly as my chin was lifted up—my eyeliner was done in a sharp cat eye so sharp that it could kill a man—There was light patch of blush that matched perfectly with my skin tone—some highlighter dabbed on my nose and on the inner corners of my eyes—even the small amount of mascara lifted my lash into a lavishing length that brought out my eyes. my lips were outlined by a dark shade of lip liner and tinted lip gloss that glossed my lips and made them look even more plump—My extraordinary blue hair was straightned into perfection as it remained it's silky and shiny texture fitting around my face shape gorgeously.
Fuck, no man deserved this.
I slipped on my dress, slightly adjusting the dress in the mirror it was a gorgeous navy blue sweetheart off lined—with a dangerous it trailing way up my thigh—It was a dress to impress. More likely to attract horny middle aged men—But that's the goal.
As the best way to manipulate a an idiocy of a horny man was to seduce him—and Logan Sanchez was the most accurate example of a manwhore.
I checked the time—twenty minutes till the car arrives. This was it—i could not fuck this up.
I choose not put in any eye contacts—one i was too lazy to do it—secondly it was an all Empire Gala, they're were the most important Mafia leaders and groups including the Russo's. nobody was meant to notice me—i would quickly get the job done without any interactions with people and get the hell out of there. easy.
I was relieved at the thought of not having to see Adrias—as word was out he was on a mission in another country, thank fuck.
I didn't need another problem on the pile of a hundred other which i already have to deal with, especially if it's with a arrogant fucking man which i have a deadly sensation of hate for.
I walked over to my dresser gently picking up one of the most expensive perfumes i owned—the Chanel No.5 classic Hand-crafted from the finest crystal and dressed in red, an elegant powerdy—floral fragrance.
They say spray the perfume where you want a man to kiss you—i don't need to want a man to kiss me, men are at my knees begging everyday to do much more.
I scoff to myself at the thought—spraying the perfume on my wrists behind my ear between my inner thighs—on my ankles and a small spritz on my neck and—each sides of my shoulders finishing the look.
