Gorgeous!
My ride makes a quick stop at my apartment building, allowing me a few minutes to dash in, slip off my top and black ripped jeans to change for the evening. I sprint back out in my heels to my waiting car. I keep my makeup and hair simple so I can finish both on the short drive to the mysterious address Alric sent me. We pass towering skyscrapers as I swipe on peach lip stain and touch up the rest of my makeup, fluffing my hair. Once we arrive, there’s a line out the front door that extends long past the gilded entrance of the historic terracotta building. One of the valets rushes to open my door and offers me a gloved hand.
My red-soled heels match the carpet laid out leading up to the bustling restaurant.
A perky beta host with a long blonde ponytail waits for me, a menu in hand. Alric must have shown her my photo so she knew who to expect. “Right this way, Miss Madeline. Mr. Monroe is waiting for you,” she says as I slip off my coat and hand it to another host before she leads me through the crowd.
Alric is the only client to ever know my real name—only because he learned it at one of Harper’s gallery openings before I had the chance to give him a false one.
Waiters in crisp uniforms stride by with sizzling plates of tender steak and silver trays packed with ice, fresh oysters towering on top. Somewhere in the distance, a champagnebottle pops, followed by the clink of crystal and joyful cheers. Thousands of vintage bottles of wine line the walls, opposite large paintings in ornate frames. With every candlelit table packed with guests, the soft classical music is drowned out.
We make our way to the circular bar, where a chandelier glitters above countless liquor bottles shining in the center.
My sugar daddy is saying something to a terrified-looking waiter, who nods furiously before scurrying away clutching his order pad.
Alric’s eyes slide to me as we approach, a short glass of amber spirit at his lips. He turns and nods to the bartender, who immediately pulls out a chilled martini glass with a flourish and pours liquids into a shaker.
“Mr. Monroe, your guest has arrived.” The host gives me a sincere smile before heading back to the host station.
Alric cracks the barest of smiles as I step into his open arms. His tempting masculine cologne wraps around my senses, drawing me in as it always does. His salt-and-pepper hair is pushed back, though the gray in his hair has more to do with stress than age. He’s only thirty-three, but his demeanor makes him seem older. He leans down to cup my face before bringing his lips to mine. His welcoming kiss is demanding, the whiskey bright on his tongue as it slides together with mine. My hands sneak into his suit jacket, rubbing against his muscular back.
When we finally break apart, we get a few stares. I know what everyone thinks when they see a younger omega with an older, much richeralpha. I can almost hear what they’re calling me. Sugar baby. Spoiled.
They think I’m with him for his money, which is offensive to me. It’s notonlyabout the money—I’m also with him for his huge cock.
“Are you hungry, honey?” he asks in a low voice, tone as sweet as my nickname. He’s my oldest sugar daddy, both interms of his age and the length of time he’s been one of my clients. Almost twelve months together.
“Always.”
Alric glares at two businessmen seated across the bar, who are watching me with open interest. They look away while he grabs his glass and I take the icy lemon drop that has appeared next to it. He leads me to a narrow staircase, a velvet rope blocking our way. He unclips it with one hand and motions for me to ascend first. I know he’s watching my ass as I climb. The short black silk dress—bought with the credit card he insisted I keep—is tight in all his favorite places, so when I put an extra swish to my hips, his growl echoes around us.
At the top is a mahogany door with gilded letteringPrivateacross it. I turn the bronze handle to find an intimate room—a small table set for two, an open bottle of wine ready for us. The large windows overlook the lake, the sunset sparkling off the peaceful waters.
I love this view.
“Stunning. Is this one of yours?”
Alric owns all the best restaurants in town, along with multiple high-end grocery stores.
“Opening night.” He pulls out my seat and it earns him a quick kiss from me. When he pushes my chair in, Alric’s lips brush my ear. “I named it after you.”
He lets out a laugh at my soft gasp. I grab the menu in front of me, tonight’s offerings in a delicate script, and bold at the very top isThe Madeline.
I stare into his gray eyes, a sly smile on his face. He’s always been generous, so much so I’ve often felt he treats me more like a beloved wife than a sugar baby.
It’s too much—he shouldn’t have done that. Knowing I’m going to disappear this week causes a quiet guilt to coil at the pit of my stomach.
“What a beautiful gesture, Alric.” I’m at a loss for words. “This is…so thoughtful.”
“I like the idea of your name tied to me.” There’s a possessive edge to his tone.
I let out a laugh to ease my tension. “I bet you do.”
“I want you to be my girlfriend—for real. I’ll be away on business next week, but once I return, I’ll be joining a pack. I would love for you to meet them.” He takes his seat across from me. “They are amazing alphas, I think you would really like them.”
That cuts off my amusement. Even if I were tempted to accept his offer to be his girlfriend, I will never be in a pack.
Sugar baby rule number nine: No packs.
