The Devil's Mistress

~Chapter 2~

I sat in the parlor of the Stone Rose Lounge, a cozy romantic venue with plush red velvet interior and upscale clientele, watching my plaything. He clutched a newspaper in one hand and a Raspberry-lychee Bellini in the other, completely oblivious to his surroundings, unaware that I'd been keeping an eye on him for hours whilst occasionally flipping through his wallet. He read a headline while I read his ID. 'Derrick James Deville, age twenty one, born in London England'. A man with an accent... Mmm.. I watched him place his empty drink down on the runway table before dipping a hand into his suit pocket. He patted at the vacant space and his face fell in sheer horror. I'd never seen a man loo so frightened over a missing square of leather. To my amusement, he did a thorough investigation around that area of the bar before abandoning his stool altogether. Shadows from the fireplace danced along the far corner of the bar's paisley walls, casting a dim glow throughout the room. It was just dark enough for me to be able to swipe two hundred dollars from the stolen wallet. I tucked the crisp bills under my bra for safe keeping, then folded the wallet and placed it on the table just in time to see a figure turn in my direction. It came forward, discarding it's spot beside the couch down below, to climb the small set of steps that lead to the upper area of the lounge, instead. With every move the figure became clearer to see, but I already knew who it was. Standing before me, all dressed up in suit and tie, was none other than Derrick Deville himself. He wore a politely frantic expression, and, wasting no time with introductions, presented me with the same question he'd asked the rest of the bar. "Have you seen a wallet laying about? A black leather one to be exact". How any human thought they could find a black wallet in a room so dimly lit, I didn't know. Nevertheless, I reached toward the table and curled my digits around the square of leather, passing it to him in silence. He nearly gasped. "I was afraid I'd have to report the incident to the police. Thank you very much miss..." "Pierce". "Miss Pierce, of course". He tucked his wallet away without so much as a glance inside of it before offering me his hand. "Mr. Deville, it's a pleasure". "Yes, it is..." His handshake was strong and firm, and he chuckled at my comment, gesturing toward the shadowy bar at the other end of the room. "Please, allow me to thank you properly and buy you a drink". "You don't think your girlfriend would mind?" I asked with a soft smirk, pulling myself onto my feet. Derrick frowned. "How did you..." "A man like you doesn't walk around single for long". He brushed off my topic with another chuckle, obviously trying to make our encounter as innocent as possible. "It's just a drink... it's not as if I'm asking you out". We exchanged looks before he added, "on the other hand, maybe I shouldn't..." Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance, an ominous shade of dark grey spreading across the sky. "Maybe not..." I patted his chest sympathetically as I passed him by, pausing at the edge of the wooden stairway. "You're welcome". "Thank you" he responded, taking my queue. We locked eyes for a moment. Even as I turned my back to him and slunk down the stairway, I could sense his gaze still lingering on my body.