"You have now arrived on floor 23. The doors are opening." The metallic voice resonated in the spacious elevator.
"Welcome to my humble abode." He gestured.
The woman found herself agape at the sight of the luxurious penthouse.
Placing a hand on her lower back, he led her inside.
The marble floors reflected the moonlight, and the great glass walls allowed her to see the lights of the city below.
"They can't see us. It's a one-way window glass." He specified.
"It's magical." From that height, the cars seemed to move slowly, and the concrete jungle below them seemed nothing but a distant picture.
"It is."
The two stayed there, admiring the scenery for some more.
"Would you like something to drink? I can make some bomb margaritas."
"You don't look like you'd enjoy margaritas."
"I'm full of surprises."
She chuckled and followed him to the kitchen. Not a speck of dust could be seen in the whole house. It was as if it was inhabited by a ghost, not a person.
"Cointreau or Grand Marnier?" He asked.
"Cointreau."
"Good choice, I prefer that one too."
He salted the rims of the glass with Kosher salt, and poured all the ingredients in a shaker.
Being the show off she discovered him to be, he juggled with it, throwing it up high, twirling and catching it. She clapped her hands and laughed.
"One extra fabulous margarita for the beautiful lady." He poured the contents in the already iced glass, and got for himself some orange juice to mix with the lime.
"Are you not drinking one?" She asked.
"After my mother, I tend to be more keen on virgin drinks." He shrugged.
Her heart squeezed in her chest, and instinctively placed her hand on top of his. "I'm sorry."
He gave her a reassuring smile.
"I shouldn't accept drinks from strangers." She joked, trying to lift the mood.
"Why's that? Am I not trustworthy?" He chuckled.
"I don't know, you may be a serial killer for all I know." She teased him.
"Do you think I am a serial killer?" He asked, feigning offence.
"I don't know. Are you a serial killer?"
"Yes, so be careful."
She chuckled and sipped on her drink. It was the first time a man so perfect had walked into her life. "I like the thrill", she joked.
He smiled, sipping on his non-alcoholic beverage.
"So, do you do any spots Mr. Perfect?"
"Mr. Perfect? I suppose my bartending skills finally paid off." He chuckled.
"I think it's the alcohol speaking. You haven't answered my question."
"I hunt."
That was rather the sudden news. She did not expect him to be into hunting.
"Why's that?"
"I like the thrill." He said, copying her sentence.
She took a big sip, trying not to notice the effect his voice had on her body.
He circled the island of the kitchen.
The man ran his fingers through her hair. Her eyes naturally closed. She found his scent intoxicating. The man planted a kiss on her cheek, and whispered in her ear.
"Finish your drink, I'll be waiting for you in the other room."
He winked and left her there, dumbfounded. As she watched his figure leave the kitchen to enter a room further down the corridor, the woman realised how much she had been anticipating that moment.
She was spellbound.
YOU ARE READING
The wax figure
Bí ẩn / Giật gân"Every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures." - Henry Ward Beecher. So does our protagonist. With the purpose of giving new eternal life to the people around him, he creates his masterpieces. A life devo...
