“Whatever,” she mumbled, breaking eye contact with the cute waiter. She didn’t even bother to acknowledge happiness that his face fell when he realized she wasn’t going to approach him.
Chyna took another sip off of the expensive imported champagne and turned her attention back to Marco. He better f**k her right tonight . If she was being discarded, she damn well wanted a consolation prize. But, she didn’t see him.
Had he left with the reporter already? No, she zeroed in on the reporter who now looked sullen in his absence. That bitch had been trying for some Italian ass all night, and it was kind of comical that he had likely turned her down. What a tease .
Guess Ms . Cupcake didn ’ t cut it.
But then, where was Marco? Her eyes darted around the room for her man.
Usually, she could spot him in an instant, but he wasn’t there. If he wasn’t’ at Glam Ball, where was he and why had he left her?
Not finding him, Chyna’s frustration got the best of her, and she left the main ballroom. The party was basically over. If Marco had, in fact, left the building, then it was officially over. Everyone else in that room didn’t matter to her. If she wanted, she could get another job with any one of them without the proper introduction. But, she wanted the best, and she was going to f**king get it.
She stomped back to the director’s office where her clothes had been discarded. When she walked in and saw that big f**king desk sitting in the middle of the room, her body warmed all over, and her body clenched up at the dirty thoughts running through her mind. He should have f**ked her on that desk. That way she wouldn’t be so horny and desperate for him to be inside of her now.
“Asshole,” she grumbled, coming around the backside of the desk. She reached out for her pile of neatly folded clothing, and on top of her clothes, she found a small envelope with her name scribbled on the front. She would recognize that handwriting anywhere. Her lower half pulsed as her imagination took off, but her heart also constricted in fear that this was the end. Would he leave her with just a note?
She opened the crisp white envelope and pulled out the gold-trimmed card stamped with Marco’s logo on the front.
Her shaky hands flipped it over and read the short message on the back.
Backstage entrance. Blue Bugatti.
Don’t think about taking off that dress.
Chyna wasn’t sure she had ever moved that fast. She left her clothes, sitting discarded on the desk, and rushed out of the director’s office. She turned away from the party and down the empty hallway, following the signs to the stage.
A stray janitor gave her a suspicious look as she bolted past him, but he didn’t do anything to stop her. Soon enough, she found the stage and the big sign indicating the exit. Without a backward glance, she pushed the heavy door open and walked into the back alley of the theatre.
As promised, a shiny blue Bugatti revved in the narrow street. The car was f**king gorgeous. Panty - dropping hot car!
She licked her lips and cautiously approached the passenger side. The windows were tinted so dark that she couldn’t make out an outline of the driver, but she could hazard a guess.
Slowly, the passenger door lifted upward, rather than out, as it turned a hundred-and-eighty degrees vertically, displaying the cream leather interior.
Chyna picked up the train of her dress and slid into the car without a second thought.
The door closed behind her automatically, and she turned to face the man sitting in the driver’s seat.
“About f**king time,” Marco said, shifting into gear and pressing on the acceleration.
He turned around the corner and onto the main street. He looked over at her and smirked. That was all the warning she was given before he punched the accelerator, going zero to sixty in just over two seconds, throwing Chyna backward into the seat.
“Holy shit,” she muttered, quickly buckling her seat belt. This thing was fast!
He merged into traffic, out pacing every other car by a long shot. Other cars mercifully got out of his way as he flew past them. The images blurred in her vision and made her stomach twist. She looked up at the sky to ground her. How fast were they going anyway ? She turned her head to the speedometer and saw the top speed written as four-hundred-thirty kilometers. They were sitting at just over half that. Her head spun. How fast was that? She couldn’t do conversions in her head.
“How fast can this thing go?” she asked as he veered around another car.
God, we were so close to that thing.
One wrong move… But, Marco hadn’t made a single wrong move. He was a natural behind the wheel, handling the beautiful car with the ease of a race car driver. Why had they never gone driving before if he had this thing?
“Four-hundred-thirty kilometers,” he responded, not taking his eyes off the road.
She was thankful for that. “In miles?”
she prompted.
He chuckled softly, darting his eyes toward hers briefly. “Two-hundred-sixty- seven miles per hour.”
“Fuck. We’re going one-thirty to one- forty?” she asked as she pressed herself back against the seat, trying not to think about it.
“Is that too slow for you? I know you like it fast,” he said, hitting the gas harder.
Chyna gripped the left handle to steady herself as they went shooting down the highway. Normally, it didn’t take long to get back to his place. It would have been even shorter, punching it at one-hundred and sixty miles per hour, but it seemed that Marco just wanted to show off. He made a sweep of the city before circling back in the direction of his apartment. If she didn’t know Milan so well, she probably would have missed the majority of what they were driving by. She had never driven it before, of course, but she had ridden around the city enough for various shoots.
. She could tell immediately that the ride in his Bugatti had sent a rush of adrenaline through him, and she would be lying if she said that she didn’t feel it, too.
A few blocks from his place, he pulled up fast and turned sharply into an alleyway.
“What are you doing?” Chyna asked, sitting up a little straighter.
“I want to show you something first,”
he said with a sly smile.
“Will I like it?”
“You’ll love it.”
Chyna chose to trust him because really she had no other choice. As he took a few more sharp turns around the winding street, Chyna stopped keeping track. She was totally lost, and even if they were spit out on a street she knew, she wouldn’t be able to tell you which one or on what end.