Page 3

Chapter 1

Mr. Fuckadoodledoo-picklesucker-buttlicker was leering at me. Again. I mentally tallied the number of times I caught his penetrating eyes turned in my direction over the last hour. Fifty-two. He had eye raped mefifty-twotimes in a span of sixty minutes.

Stiffening in my seat, I attempted to pay attention to my father across from me and ignore Mr. Buttlicker. D.O.D. – Dear Old Dad – had his peppered hair trimmed so it cascaded neatly to his shoulders. He wore a gray suit that seemed to accentuate the blue in his eyes. Some might’ve considered him a handsome man once, if they found ice-cold asshole statues handsome. Seriously, the man was a dick. He even put Buttlicker to shame in the whole creeper-asshole department.

We had arrived at the restaurant only a few minutes earlier, traveling immediately from the conference room to the elegant restaurant in the basement of the resort. The only word adequate to describe such a room was golden. I know, not the most eloquent description, but a golden sheen seemed to paint everything, from the intricately carved wood work to the golden flowers canvasing the wall. It was almost nauseating.

“I appreciate you taking the time to meet with us,” D.O.D. said, for probably the billionth time that evening. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Buttlicker had as much choice in the matter as I did – needless to say, none at all.

“It’s always a pleasure doing business with you,” Buttlicker responded stiffly. His tone suggested, though, that he found it anything but pleasurable. Daddy tended to evoke fear in his clients.

“What looks good?” D.O.D. asked, scanning the menu.

And cue…

“I can think of one thing.” Buttlicker’s gaze flickered appreciatively over my body, and I resisted the urge to shiver. He made me feel naked, despite the fact I purposefully wore a modest black number with a pearl necklace strung tightly across my neck. The guy also seemed to be forgetting the fact that he was thirty-some years older than my own age of seventeen.

A reminder, my friends, pedophilia is a punishable offense.

My mother made a sound as if she heard Buttlicker’s comment and found it as repulsive as I had…wait, no. She was just ogling our waiter’s backside while simultaneously touching Mr. Dickhead’s – aka our head of security’s – knee underneath the table. Like seriously? Did the woman not realize I sat directly beside her, clearly able to see her hand trailing upwards towards no-no land. Dear Lord. The woman was going to be the death of me.

As I thought this, Buttlicker gave me a smile that he must’ve thought was seductive but came across as more of a constipated grimace.

Correction.Hewas going to be the death of me.

The waiter, that my mother so shamelessly gaped at, stopped at our table, and my mouth nearly fell from its hinges.

The guy was gorgeous. Like ridiculously gorgeous. His ash blond hair was disheveled, as if he had run his hand through it one too many times. His eyes, a vibrant off-set blue that seemed to heighten an already arresting face, sparkled as if he was the only one privy to an inside joke. Even his cheekbones – oh sweet baby Jesus, those cheek bones – were chiseled and rose high on his face.

And. He. Had. Dimples.

My one weakness.

“Good afternoon. My name is Asher, and I’ll be taking care of you this evening.”

“Is that a promise?” My mother batted her eyelashes at him, and I felt my own eyes widen in horror.

“Dammit, mother,” I hissed. If it was possible, and I didn’t think it was, D.O.D.’s expression darkened further. If he hated one thing, it was the attention his wife gave other males. Of course, D.O.D. made an exception for Dickhead the guard, but that could’ve been because he was banging him too.

I touched my pearl necklace, a reminder of what I could gain with a little blackmail.

If only it couldridme of such nuisances, say the Buttlicker licking his buttlicking lips beside me.

I wanted to apologize to the waiter for my mother’s crude, though unsurprising, behavior. However, I knew the gesture would be futile. D.O.D. was not only the owner of this ostentatious restaurant, but the entire resort. And a few other not-so-legal enterprises that I probably shouldn’t mention.

Gorgeous kept his smile pleasant though his eyes dimmed marginally. He looked embarrassed by my mother’s outburst, but how could he not? She basically implied that he was a prostitute to hire, despite the fact that he could only be a year or two older than myself.

“I’d like the chicken alfredo,” I said quickly. A pathetic attempt, I’ll admit, to ease the awkward tension, but it seemed to have the desired effect. D.O.D. let out a breath I hadn’t realized he had been holding, and mother’s face contorted into a scowl. She really didn’t like it when I interrupted her flirt sessions, as she so liked to call them. Gorgeous’s eyes flickered to me, his relief obvious.

And then they stayed there.

I knew he what held his gaze. It was the same thing that everybody else saw, the same thing I saw when I looked into the mirror. A girl that was almost ethereal in beauty with brown, curly hair and a porcelain-like face. Bright red lips and a cute, button nose. And my eyes – a color that seemed to be a mixture of violet and blue, like the light at the crack of dawn where the sun had yet to set and the moon had yet to disappear completely.

Did nobody see how haunted these eyes were? How my lips were constantly turned down into a frown? How the makeup was barely able to conceal the bruises marring the perfect skin?

Did anybody care?

Asher continued to stare at me, a blond brow lifting slightly. His mouth opened before snapping closed again. I couldn’t understand the expression on his face.