Page 14 of Tender Offer (Chance at Love #3)

Madison

“ P lease tell me you ate her pussy.”

“Kojo!” I glance at the couple three seats away from us. The way the older woman smirks around her teacup proves she heard my loud-ass friend.

Motormouth leans against the low-backed booth with a dreamy grin. He’s wearing a black dress shirt and pants. The diamond studs under his dreads, which are pulled back into a bun, wink in the light of the sconces on the back wall.

He separates a bite of ice cream and brings it to his mouth. “Don’t knock it until you try it.” The spoon breaches the pink flesh in slow motion. He swirls the ice cream in his mouth for good measure.

Freak.

“Unlike you, I don’t sleep with clients.” I sip my espresso.

“At least I’m not dropping dust from my thighs when I walk. It probably looks like the catacombs down there. Just dead and full of webs.”

We fall over laughing.

Tears stream down my cheeks. “I hate you.”

“Lies.” He fans himself with a napkin. “Do your clients usually strip like that in front of you?”

“No. You know how it gets backstage or on set. Nudity isn’t a big deal for me. It’s the way she did it.” I shake my head, replaying the look in Bellamy’s eyes. They were cold. Calculated. “Her energy was predatory. I felt like she was sizing me up the entire consultation.”

Kojo shrugs. “Maybe she was.”

After Bellamy dropped her dress, I took a few notes and got the hell out. I appreciate beauty in all forms, but something didn’t sit right. It’s what was behind her eyes—a darkness tempting me to overlook it—that made me grateful for Kojo’s call about lunch.

We’re at this bistro in Notting Hill. It’s a cute spot with coffered ceilings and stenciled wood floors. The all-day brunch and the fact that it’s a stone’s throw from the two-bedroom apartment we rented for the week made it a win-win.

“The next time Kendall Jenner wants to put on a show, call me.” My laugh cuts off at his you think I’m joking? stare. “Anyways”—he rolls his neck—“since you’re on a no-men diet, what are we doing for Valentine’s Day?”

I frown. “Valentine’s Day?”

“Yes, Valentine’s Day,” he mocks. “I want to be outside with my friend, and I have just the thing.”

My sigh says I’m already over whatever he’s about to pull out from his clutch.

“Now, before you try to act like the spirit of Cicely Tyson and stay indoors, take this.” He slides over a black lacquered card.

“Ravenous?” I read the gold letters.

“The place to release your desires,” Kojo says like one of those holograms in a sci-fi movie where everybody dies from a bad decision.

“Count me out ,” I chuckle. I’m not trying to catch a cramp or get caught up in some orgy. Pass.

“Come on, Maddie Baddie. It’s safe.”

I lift a brow. “Are you sure you didn’t find this on the street?”

“No, prude.” He laughs. “A friend who has a show this week passed it along. It’s an exclusive event; they have one in London each year.

No names. No faces. Consent waivers. The whole nine.

I see you biting your lip. Let curiosity take care of that kitty cat.

Come and watch, or cum from watching. Up to you. ”

“I don’t know, Kojo,” I say through a long breath. “I’ve never done anything like this.”

“It’s one night.”

I am tired of my toys and fingers…

Dating and casual sex are in time-out. I’m serious about that. But is looking at the menu that bad if you don’t order anything? There’d be no regrets—about empty carbs or men.

An echo of the past forces itself on our table. It was a similar café. The upholstery was navy instead of gray, and I was across from a man who showered me with sweet nothings. My heart skips at the pleasure that consumed me that night and each one after. Until he took my heart and broke it.

“Let me think about it,” I say to cut off another thought about Preston.

They’ve been nonstop since I touched down days ago in London. It’s an upstream swim against a tsunami to keep from wondering what he’s doing, who he’s seeing. A billionaire bachelor doesn’t stay at home to reminisce about his ex.

Why do you care?

I don’t. I’m simply curious.

“Let’s swing by the store before we head back,” I tell Kojo. “I want to cook tonight.”

Valentine’s Day this year is a special form of punishment. The holiday is usually hit-or-miss, between boxes of chocolate and super-sized stuffed animals. You’re either a sucker for the gimmicks or you despise the commercial displays of affection and rain on everyone else’s parade.

Celebrating has never been a big deal to me. I live out of my suitcase this time of year anyway, shuffling between clients and fashion shows in different cities. Any relationship, or lack thereof, doesn’t dictate how I spend the day. I go out with friends, a romantic interest, or by myself.

I don’t need a man to define my worth. I do just fine by myself, but I can admit I get lonely.

Journaling while singing India Arie’s “Ready for Love” has yet to manifest my match.

I want to share my life with someone who isn’t my best friend, niece, or the cat at the animal shelter I came dangerously close to taking home.

I already have one lonely pussy to care for. I don’t need another.

Valentine’s Day in London has given me no problems until now.

Because you know what’s worse than pretending you’re okay with being in the same city as an ex you swear never crosses your mind?

Pretending it doesn’t stir the tiny part of you that’s yearning to see him again.

The part that still remembers the love we once shared, the love that’s become a rubric for every man who will never measure up to what we had.

There was heartbreak, but there was also affection. Reverence.

Every forehead kiss, loving glance, and adoration he wrapped around “I love you” found a home in the heart I tried to conceal. I’ll never forget, and that scares me.

The more I fought to forget Preston’s beautiful face today, the more I saw it. He was everywhere. The server at brunch. A man walking his dog. I wasn’t safe in the apartment Kojo and I are renting.

Wouldn’t you know our host subscribes to a business magazine with Preston on the cover?

A trip to the spa to pamper my stress away didn’t help, either. Neither did the mini shopping trip.

Any attempt to erase him is a lost cause, which is why I’m in my closet, choosing an outfit for tonight.

He’s still overseas. I double-check before sliding into a backless minidress and heading into the night.

Kojo already had me sign my life away in waivers and rush an STI panel in case my “curious ass wants to feel a leather tongue.”

Ravenous is a last-ditch effort. Maybe it’s the distraction I need.