↠ Open Novella Contest Long List finalist.
Private Investigator, Alexander Hart has it all, he oozes confidence and charm.
Women want him and men want to be him.
But life wasn't always so perfect, was it Alex?
You can change your name and your lo...
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I am doing absolutely everything in my power to stifle the groan I so desperately want to let out. My eyes continuously scan the room looking for:
A) The reason I'm here tonight and;
B) An escape route from my current unwanted and unpleasant situation.
I did not fly two and a half hours to a place I absolutely hate, full of pretentious brats I loathe, to attend a masquerade ball for the hell of it.
Yet, here I am cornered by a blonde that I haven't bothered to learn the name of stands in front of me, wearing heels too high and a dress too short, giving me her best impression of what I assume is sex eyes? While she swats at my arm and cackles like a witch at a cauldron; one pitch higher and I'm certain glass will be shattering.
I wonder how rude it would be for me to cover my ears? I mean, do I even care at this point?
Not really, no.
"Mr Landon?"
"Mr Landon?"
"Mr Landon!" she squawks while clicking an impatient finger in front of my face.
Well, shit. I never associate myself with that surname anymore, at least not often enough to comprehend people trying to catch my attention with it.
"How did you know my surname?" I shoot back. My face is masked and I certainly haven't told her.
"I saw you arrive with the Landon's, I just assumed," Blondie replies sweetly, her hand seductively travelling down my chest.
An unimpressed scoff rumbles from the back of my throat. I shouldn't be surprised, people hear the name 'Landon' and money symbols form in their eyes, quite literally.
"What do you say we get out of here?" Lip biting and sex eyes upped a notch.
Ah, so she wants me to fuck her, then she'll extort me for money to keep our 'secret night of passion' just that, a secret. A true human equivalent of a Black Widow Spider.
"Excuse me." I push past her and begin to stride off in the direction of the dance floor.
"Mr Landon," she whines while stomping her foot. I stop in my tracks and turn to face the overgrown baby.
Lunging forward two steps and halt three feet in front of her. "Stop acting like a brat," I hiss. Blondie stiffens at the word.
"I do not now, or will I ever want to have sex with you." My words are laced with venom.
"And I doubt anyone will if you keep acting like a child."
"It's not really a turn on you know. Children certainly don't do it for me," a sardonic laugh erupts from me.
Blondie's face is full of humiliation and her body slumped, socialites have stopped all conversation to eavesdrop. I assess the wreckage I just caused, turn on my heel and stalk out of the room, now determined to fulfil my purpose of being here tonight, Damon McCartney.
