More Than A Playmate
She had high drama and high cheekbones. Her instinct to fight complimented her physique, or as much as I could assess within her casual silk trouser suit.
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Millionaire Seduction
I used to enjoy watching beautiful people, seeing them fawn at my feet, serve me obscenely expensive snacks on ridiculously tiny plates.
Now it just bores me.
The millionaire lifestyle had been my dream. I’d achieved it sooner than I’d expected. Funny how one idea can just take off like that. When I sold my first company, it was a buzz like I’d never known. By the time I got to the third, the buzz was fading fast.
I could understand why entrepreneurs took bigger and bigger, even life-threatening risks, but I wanted something else.
I just wished I knew what that something was.
Purely out of habit, I’d arrived at the club. The waiters and bar staff, as ever, pandered to my every whim.
The usual suspects were hanging around the bar, beautiful women who earned a good living from keeping men like me company. Men sat alongside.
I wasn’t into them, but I could still see the beauty. I used to enjoy studying their habits, be slightly envious of their aesthetic. Now I saw past it and felt something between pity and shame about those who fell by the wayside.
The days of me thriving on the lack of emotional connection were over. The anonymity offered by a partner who would do nothing after sex other than take the money and leave no longer interested me. I don’t know if it ever had.
I had to get out of this lifestyle. I craved a partner who would challenge me, disagree with me, hold me to account. As I swigged the dregs of my whisky, I pondered whether I should just sell up and move, or come up with the next big idea. It seemed to be all I was good at.
I glanced out of the window.
The sight of a woman shook me as I watched burly security staff escorted her from the premises. Tall, statuesque, stunning in a quirky way and, importantly, obviously and loudly, absolutely livid! Incandescant the word that sprang to mind.
The security guard was having a real problem making her leave the verandah and go back to the sandy beach where he assumed she’d come from.
Now usually I’d have shrugged my shoulders and left them to it, but for some still unexplainable reason, I felt obliged to see what all the fuss was about.
Besides, I didn’t have anywhere else to be. The age-old problem for millionaires the world over.
By the time I’d signed the bar tab and walked outside, the woman was standing like an amazon, hands on her hips, demanding to see the manager.
She looked magnificent.
Her chin held with a steely determination I recognised, her indignation worn like a shield.
I stepped forward and mistimed my run completely. Just as I stepped forward, the security guard tried to manhandle her again. The woman swung around in justifiable defence of her dignity. Her hand flew up and caught me like a right hook on the chin. I fell back, more in shock than pain, somehow kept my footing despite a punch worthy of a pro-boxer, my hand up to my face checking for blood.
Thankfully, none appeared.
Then things got messy.
Another security guard ran out, grabbed her arm, pinned her to the wall, and rushed to check on their favourite millionaire of the moment.
Then, I laughed.
I just couldn’t help it. I hadn’t been whacked like that since my school days, when geeks like me got shoved down toilet basins.
The guards thought I was hysterical, which was a fairly reasonable assumption.
There were now two junior managers, a bar person with a bucket of ice, for my cheek, I guessed, and the woman pinned to the wall. What impressed me most was her total ignorance of who I was or what damage she might have had done to my face.
Ballsy!
She spun her face around and shouted across at me.
‘Are you going to sue me, or get them the hell off me?’
I knew it would be the latter.
‘Maybe we can talk about it?’
‘Talk about it? What the hell?’
She hadn’t taken my offer of mediation in the spirit I offered it.
‘Well, these guys seem to think you need to leave. I’m not sure why but…’
‘They seem to think I’ve stolen a bottle of wine. That one.’
She nodded at the table, and I spotted the bottle of 1989 Château Cheval Blanc.
‘Is that a Saint Emilion? If so, you have great taste.’
‘Of course I do. I wouldn’t have asked my sommelier to stock it otherwise.’
‘Your sommelier?’
I could feel the atmosphere change.
The club’s senior manager chose that moment to step onto the verandah, a look of absolute horror on her face.
The security guard released the woman with the realisation that they might have just made a career-breaking mistake.
I continued with my questions, trying to suppress a laugh at the absurdity of the situation. The bruise making itself felt on my face, a reminder of this woman’s energy and strength. It made me want to get to know her.
‘Sorry, but you have me at a disadvantage.’
‘I have you at a disadvantage. What about me? I’m pinned to the wall in my own hotel, being accused of theft. What’s your excuse?’
I couldn’t hold it back anymore, and a burst of true laughter burst free.
For a split second, I thought she was going to scream at me again, but then a crack appeared and she smiled, then joined me in loud, joyous laughter.
The manager stepped forward, explained to the security guard just who exactly they had pinned to the wall.
They gave me a bag of ice for my cheek. The members in the club and the curious tourists on the beach slowly moved away, drama averted, and I stood gazing at the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
She had high drama and high cheekbones. Her instinct to fight complimented her physique, or as much as I could assess within her casual silk trouser suit.
Her understanding and empathy with the staff after what could have been a litigation nightmare soothed a sackable offence into one of compliments for attentive attitudes, and only a subtle suggestion that retraining in some areas may be necessary.
This woman should be at the UN. Wars would be a thing of the past in her strong but empathetic hands.
She explained, as we sauntered to the bar, that she perfectly understood her part in the drama and, after all, they were only protecting her profit margins.
We walked on the beach that night, barefoot. She held my hand.
I kissed her as we lay on the sand.
She refused to sleep with me. I waited.
Then we shared a bed and her body fitted with mine as I knew it would.
She had no idea who I was that day, still isn’t sure what I used to do. She doesn’t care and nor do I.
We argue about politics, makeup over enormous dishes of homemade pasta. We cry together at nature programmes, cheer ourselves up with dishes of ice cream and chocolate sauce.
She always wins when we run in the park. We play chess and she lets me win.
In bed, she loves to be dominated, other days, she doesn’t. Some days we sleep, some we don’t. There are no rules.
I love to watch her sleep, she says I snore. She’s probably right, but I won’t tell her that.
The bruise on my cheek lasted about a week. She thought it made me look intriguing.
She had a point.
I kept a selfie of me with it in full purple and yellow glory, one to show the kids in years to come. When we tell them how their parents met, on the night that their dad retired and their mum nearly got arrested for theft. The night we shared tapas and, of course, the Château Cheval Blanc. The night I left the club and never went back.
I’d found my ‘something’ and I needed nothing more.
We get married next week, then set off in our motorhome to tour the country for six months.
I want to wake each morning with her skin next to mine. She wants to adopt a rescue dog or two and plan the new restaurant and bar business she’s setting up. She’s not sure where yet, maybe France or Italy.
I’ve sold all my businesses, invested some of the money, donated more. I’ve got some on one side ready to buy a property. One day. Who knows where we’ll put down roots.
As long as hers are entwined in mine, I’ll be happy.
Millionaire Seduction