The Sinner's Plea (John Seed FanFiction)

NINE

Throwing your head back, you dry swallow the two blue pills to soothe the future headache that you would surely endure during your visit to John's party. He promised that it would be tamer than last time, but you were being safe just in case your boss was being modest.

Your feet already ached in the heels you bought yesterday to match the dress John gifted you, which surprisingly fit better than anything you purchased for yourself in years. You wondered how he was able to figure out your exact size and style because he seemed to know it better than even you.

You tended to stay away from red (you always thought the saturation was much too distracting and loud); your color pallet usually consisted of neutrals to help you stand out less. This dress, however, was completely out of your comfort zone. Surprising you once again, it worked.

The dress was made of pure silk, the red cascading down your legs but stopping just short of the floor. There was a slit in the left side, exposing only your calf muscle when you took a step. The neckline was lowcut, although nothing too revealing. Valerie was right in assuming it was from the expensive-taste of YSL, but John, being the gentleman he is, made sure the price tags weren't to be found in the present he left you.

Your hair was let down, something that was becoming more and more common ever since your boss made one tiny remark that late night in the office. You couldn't help but hope he would make another one of those comments tonight when he saw you.

The long elevator ride up nearly 40 floors made your stomach lurch as you came to a stop at the top floor, where his penthouse resided. A man in a tuxedo was there to greet you at the glass double doors you entered just one week ago, offering you a martini with two olives skewered on a toothpick. You shook your head with a polite smile; you wanted to keep your wits if you were going to meet your potential future bosses.

You could hear the faint sound of a piano playing classical music as you walked further into the penthouse, and in an instant, you were overwhelmed with a crowd of people conversing in the living room. What John seemed to imply as a small get together turned out to be an even larger event than the first party you attended. You don't know how it was possible to fit this many people in one penthouse without it seeming too cramped, but John knew how to form a guest list perfectly.

The half-naked girls and A-lister attendees were replaced with men in tuxedos and women in exquisite gowns. Everyone held a martini glass or a champagne flute instead of a rolled-up dollar bill for snorting cocaine that was lined on the coffee tables. The champagne fountain you called cheesy was vanished and reinstated as a white Bechstein piano with a hired musician who was filling the room with the soft elegant music you heard earlier.

It was as if the penthouse you saw before was a completely different home. The only similarity between the two events was the fact that the host was nowhere to be found. You'd think someone who creates such lively parties would want to be at the center of the action, but his only appearance was his name on the lips of his guests.

***

You were right about that; John was far from the spotlight of his party. He merely leaned against the bar that held all sorts of alcohol shipped from overseas, including nearly twenty-year-old aged wine.

He didn't partake in any of the liquor stored in those pristine cabinets, however; his hands were barren of a glass as they sat comfortably in the pockets of his tuxedo's pants. John was too busy accounting for his guests, waiting for a certain red dress to come flashing by.

His eyes were on you ever since you set foot in the penthouse, and he wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him when he thought he smelled your subtle perfume from half-way across the spacious room.