"Fine," she groans. "I was supposed to meet someone at the party to discuss a possible modeling gig. The woman in charge of the campaign was supposed to be there." She huffs out a breath, rolling her eyes. "Obviously, I ended up modeling my underwear for the internet instead."
"You want to model?"
"Not really." She shrugs one shoulder. "But I do want to pay my bills, so I occasionally take jobs when the right ones present themselves."
My brows pull down, a frown tugging at my lips. "Why the fuck can't you pay your bills?"
She glowers at me in response, her entire body rigid. "This is one of the most expensive cities in the UnitedStates, and not all of us make millions of dollars to play a professional sport, Austin. Some of us have to hustle to survive."
Fuck. I don't like the sounds of her having to hustle to survive at all. I open my mouth to offer to pay her bills, and then immediately snap it closed again, already knowing the odds of her kicking my ass for even suggesting it are astronomical. She's independent, fierce, and she still doesn't trust me much. If I offer to pay her bills, I won't gain any ground here. I'll simply lose what little I do have. But make no mistakes, I will be fixing this shit. Pronto.
"What was the job?"
"A bridal designer needed a plus-size model." She takes another sip of water. "I guess I fit the bill."
"What the fuck?"
Her lips curve into an amused grin. "Oh, so the thought of me in a wedding dress terrifies you, huh?"
"No. But you calling yourself plus-size pisses me off."
She blinks wide eyes at me.
"Your body is fucking perfect."
"I happen to agree, but the rest of the world hasn't quite caught up yet," she murmurs. "We're all supposed to aspire to be skinny."
"Yeah, fuck that noise," I grunt. "Your curves keep me so hard, I've chafed my cock, Serena."
Of course our waiter chooses that exact moment to materialize. That's just my fucking luck with her.
She shoots me a death glare, her cheeks bright pink, when he clears his throat, one brow shooting skyward. But he recovers quickly, pretending he didn't hear a damn thing.
I order a rare steak and a bottle of wine, then wait for Serena to look over the menu.
She doesn't even glance at it before her gaze comes to mine, mischief written into every line of her perfect body.
"What's the most expensive thing on your menu?" she asks the waiter.
"Uh…" His gaze drifts to me.
"Don't look at me," I mutter, shaking my head. "I didn't ask the question."
"That would be our Japanese Wagyu, ma'am," he murmurs to her. "It's a prime cut of beef."
"Excellent. I'll take the same thing he ordered," she says, pointing at me with a smile. "And then we'll have ten of those to go."
I choke on my water.
"Ten, ma'am?"
"Yes, ten." She bats her lashes at him. "The homeless in this city deserve delicious, expensive food sometimes, too, don't you think?"
"Uh…"
"Just take the order," I mutter to the confused man, chuckling. "Trust me. It'll save you time."
"Yes, sir," he sighs, bowing slightly before gathering our menus and hurrying away like he's afraid to stick around and see what else she might request of him.
