Putting on a pot of hot milk and sprinkling cinnamon over the top I whack the dial to six so it can simmer its ass off and be delish.
Just what my mind needs after the shitty, mind blowing, and rather annoying night at work. Like fuck, we all know who Jayden James is. He’s the rap devil whose rock music is just as insane as his rap game is strong. He has the looks and fucking attitude to match it. He’s also had every girl this side of the Pacific and probably carries more women’s numbers than a telephone book.
Fuck it. He’s under my skin and I’m not sure I like it. See this is what I do, I sit up all night and I over think, over analyse, dissect and reattach shit in ways that isn’t healthy for my brain nor soul. Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have. A hope that I could even change Jayden James is insane and I shouldn’t even let that thought in. All he wants is a fuck and I won’t give him the satisfaction.
Pouring the now boiling milk into a Christmas mug means that it’s just about Christmas. I’m freaking stoked as it’s my favourite and I mean favourite time of year. Padding over to the wall of windows in my apartment I watch out over the city. Penthouse apartment you say? I see your brain rolling that over waitress, penthouse, Auckland city… mmmmm…. Yes, I may be just a waitress, but I was left this stunning penthouse suite high above Auckland by my grandfather along with a hefty inheritance. I keep that locked away. I own the club I work at as a silent partner. I bought it out from under my best gay mate Sean when he had a little habit with meth. It fucked him up in the worst possible way to the point that jail was on the cards for him if we couldn’t manage to get the judge to agree to rehab. Thank God he did but let me tell you that comes at a hefty price. He had already depleted the bar’s funds and placed it so far in the red that I was the only way the bank couldn’t take his dream away. So, waitress by night and a hard ass businesswoman by day.
Why work you say? Well, why not? I like to make sure all is good, that my money is doing something, the workers don’t know shit. I like to keep an eye on them like an undercover fucking boss, mate.
It works and that’s all that matters really.
I know that Triple X has the whole top two floors and penthouse suite, including the rooftop, of the Long White Cloud Hotel. I can see the self-proclaimed rap devil right now.
He’s standing on his balcony dressed in just ripped Demin jeans that hang low over his hips. His body toned and lean, covered in colourful ink drawings. He is watching the council workers hang up the Christmas banners and lights. My heart does a happy dance seeing the bright coloured fabric drop from the streetlamps unveiling Christmas trees and holly. That gives me a thought as I push the door open, the glass cold on my heated hand from holding my mug. I will hang my decorations and get ready for the door man’s grandson to deliver my Christmas tree. He’s bringing me an actual real tree from his farm in the Waikato.
Our eyes meet as I step out onto the balcony. Sliding my eyes down as warmth fans my cheeks I watch his lips part as he blows out smoke. Then pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth. Fuck me, hot much. I feel a sensation flutter between my thighs as a fire ripples up my body, I’m fucked as that’s one sexy mother fucking body. His chest is carved from stone and has as many ripples and turns as the damn Grand Canyon. That ink now that I’m closer is something else. It’s like he has an art gallery tattooed into his skin.
I watch him as he flicks his middle finger and thumb snapping his wrist and his smoke falls to the people below, the hot ember tip lighting up the air around it as it falls. How fucking rude of him. People are in the street below. Just lost some of the hot factor mate.
Shaking my head, our eyes meet again as his hands rest on the glass wall of his balcony. His arms straight, tense, chiseled lines holding up his body that has mine doing some weird shit. I scratch the side of my neck. It’s a nervous habit and I hope to God that he doesn’t see that it’s me standing here in just a silk robe, with a Christmas mug in hand and a pair of fluffy bunny rabbit slippers on my feet.
I look down in a state of nervous panic. Fuck, shit, dang it.
Willing myself to look up at him (don’t run from his stare Tru), I tell myself he can’t do anything to you from across the street. But self-conscious thoughts say that’s where you’re wrong. Just his stare alone is alluring and dangerous. When I look up, he’s standing stock still his hand has picked his guitar back up. Sucking in a deep breath, he’s hot like that you know it’s undeniable. Just a pity he has a shitty I am God and you are mine attitude. Pulling my cheek into my teeth I nervously chew on it as heat creeps up my body from his stone, cold stare. Then he winks at me, fucking winks, before turning and heading into his luxury penthouse that is directly across from mine, and now he knows it. Fuck, palm slap to the face. Grandad why were you sleeping with the most sought-after actress of your generation and had to build this tower of apartments with the whole sprawling top storey being yours and right across from her penthouse.
Because now I feel like history is repeating itself. The difference is my mind doesn’t want Jayden James but my body, that traitorous bitch, does. Something tells me from his stare, he wants me. Well, no. Correction, his dick does.
Chapter Four
Tru
Walking into work, my body aches from getting no sleep and putting up a massive, and I mean a massive ten-foot Christmas tree is no joke. Well not really ten foot but moving that fucker alone was hard work. Looks pretty and very Christmassy covered with red, silver and gold decorations. It’s a bit sexy and it’s my Christmas tree.
I hung lights all over my apartment, the balcony and glass railing. I also saw the chick, that had herself draped all over the rap devil himself last night, walk from his room and through his open, very open, penthouse. Just like mine it’s all glass walls top to bottom. Now I understand grandad’s architecture.
She tried to wrap her body dressed in his bands shirt around him and he pushed her off handed her a rolled-up bill and her handbag then pointed to the door. I nearly pissed myself laughing.
Take that. Shit, Tru, jelly much.
Looking over my apartment, which now looks like Christmas spewed up all over it (I love it) I change into my Christmas themed work uniform that makes my heart happy.
Red tights, black skirt and a cute as sin Christmas t-shirt with Club 81 wrapped inside a string of Christmas lights.
10pm, I am out back in the office, my aching feet on Sean’s desk and my body sunken into the oversized chair. This man has expensive taste. It’s costly but comfy as hell and gorgeous.
The outside is filling up. My bouncers are all lined up dressed in black and ready to go. The red carpet is out and the stand with the VIP book list is out. We have so many celebs rock up to the bar and now that Jayden is back, he and his boys spend an awful lot of time here. I know this because this is my club and I have eyes everywhere. The only reason I was doing his VIP table the other night is because the little lady that was rostered on saw who it was and passed out, smacking her head on the back of the bar and knocking her ditsy blonde ass out. Fuck me. He better not turn up tonight. Scratch that thought.
We are on the corner of Quay Street. It’s busy, popular and right by the water. I have camerasinside and out covering every angle around my club. A commotion on one catches my eye.
It’s him. My heart sinks, palms sweat, thighs clench together and heart beats out of sync. The flash of cameras and the screaming women throwing themselves at him, all wanting him to bring them into the notorious Club 81.
I carry on with my roster. He’s here early as it’s only 10. What has his ass out so damn early? Whatever it is, I have a plummeting feeling that I have a long night ahead of me with the rap devil and his posse.
10:30pm, my eyes watch him as I bite the end of my pen while tapping my nails on the desk. He’s all super rock star cool and fuck, does he know it.
10:45pm, I’ve watched him snort 6 lines of coke and smoke 4 cigarettes.
11:00pm, eyes on the roster, trying so hard to pay attention while pencilingin the month’s shifts. I’m on for a full four weeks every day excluding Sundays. They are my stay in bed with a book and milo, wrapped up in my duvet and phone off for twenty-four hours days.
