Ophelia.

03. Time To Impress.

Ophelia Samson.

And just like that, my body was already responding to the very presence of this man. My heart was picking up its speed and my knees were close to buckling like a newborn giraffe. How pathetic.

"Sir," Hosea smiled brightly.

"Hosea," Mr Salvatore acknowledged, a short glass of dark liquid sitting in his right hand. He then turned to look at me and heat instantly flashed throughout my body. "Miss Samson."

"Mr Salvatore," I tried to offer a smile.

"Do you mind if I steal Miss Samson for a while?" He asked Hosea politely. Nervousness crept stupidly up my spine and I attempted to seem normal. My heart beat erratically and there was no doubt in my mind that everyone could hear my heart over the music.

"She's all yours. I've been eyeing the food station since we got here," Hosea said casually, clasping his hands menacingly with eyes as bright as a lick of fire. He nodded over-dramatically and made his way down the few steps and into the sea of people. "I won't be too far away," he promised and walked wistfully away without another word.

I slowly turned to Mr Salvatore with a nervous smile, waiting for him to make some sort of conversation. His eyes grazed me over and he moved closer to me and held the small of my back. "I hope you don't mind that I introduce you to some of my colleagues," he said close to my ear. I felt a ripple of shivers roll down my spine and I tried so hard to not make it obvious.

"Of course, Mr Salvatore."

He gently directed me towards the crowd of people, with his hand still on my back. "Myrtle Von Duke is here." He said this so casually and my eyes widened in pure shock.

The Myrtle Von Duke? Only the most famous fashion designer in the twenty-first century is here tonight at the Salvatore estate? What kind of barbecue is this again?

"He is one of us. If not, worse. He smuggles cocaine in the material of his most famous dresses, but his business tactics are running dry," he whispered into my ear.

I nodded letting him know I was absorbing all this. What kind of world had I just entered? I felt as though I was in a different dimension. The fashion designer I thought I knew and loved was a cocaine dealer.

"I have to introduce you to him. What is important to me, must also be equally as important to you, yes? We need this to run smoothly."

A rush of adrenaline coursed through my veins. He wanted me to do something for him. I smiled at the many people that passed us by. They all turned to look at Mr Salvatore and I. It was most likely Mr Salvatore, the most beautiful man to grace planet earth, catching the attention of all these people. I couldn't blame them.

"What do you have in mind?" I asked confidently.

"Impress him."

I stared back at him, eyebrows screwed up in confusion. He wants me to impress the Myrtle Von Duke? I had looked up to this man for most of my pre-teen years. I waited each year for the met galas, Hollywood red carpets and award shows just to see his dresses and couture on celebrities.

"Alright," I agreed.

He suddenly looked back at me as if he was shocked that I agreed to it so easily. "Alright?" He asked, slightly taken aback. He looked impressed by the way his eyes squinted upwards deliciously.