TEMPTATION - A Bad Boy Romance by Gabi Moore Page B

surrounded by shocking red and yellow tabloid headlines that this neutral, expensive taste unfolding all around me was quite striking. He really was very wealthy.
    By the time my black haired escort flung open the conservatory doors, I hadn’t yet decided if I was brimming with judgment or with secret admiration for all this opulence.
    The black haired girl kept her kimono-ed arms spread open and floated over on her tiptoes to join Tom, who was seated on a cushion like a Buddha, bent over a carved chess board.
    It occurred to me all at once that I should have prepared far more thoroughly for this interview than I had. I had spent too much time on my outfit, too little time on …well, I wasn’t sure yet. But I felt unprepared, already off-kilter.
    A pair of small muscles was working in his bare, upper arms as he moved the pieces round before looking up and smiling cordially at me.
    Great. He had decided not to wear a shirt.
    The black haired girl had turned the music down and was flitting about with something in the periphery of my vision.
    “Miss Mack! Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, and the girl giggled in appreciation.
    She was busy fixing me a drink. Not Kool-Aid , I thought, although I wouldn’t be surprised if the story took that turn.
    Again, there was something startling in how different he seemed in real life. How three-dimensional. He had that kind of vestigial dusty blonde-brown hair that some men seem to carry over from childhood, even though every other part of them had grown and matured. I guess I had always just written off male bodies of this exact kind: the predictable Calvin Klein physique in expensive lounge wear, the kind of deliberate all-American healthy tan, the boringly tight abs.
    I had always shirked away from this kind of thing the same way I did from infomercials and ads – and for the same reason, too. I had had my beginnings in the advertising industry, and in my current job, I stared all day at men just like this. I was numb to this kind of beauty. I was just being pandered to, right? Just being sold something. Nothing sexy about it. Rampant objectification may work on men, sure, but I liked to think I personally was made of stronger stuff.
    And yet… here was this body, this real-life flesh, and there was something immediately and obviously different in it. This body wasn’t an image, it wasn’t fake and forced and cheesy. The ease with which he held himself, his upright posture, the bridled strength that seemed to pulse in even his smallest movements …here was a man who was utterly and completely in control of his physical form.
    And what a physical form it was.
    He was more Robinson Crusoe than hedge fund kid. Not a Calvin Klein model but the inspiration for one.
    This was very unexpected. I all at once felt small and became aware of myself slouching, of how cheap my haircut must have looked to him.
    “Drink?” said the girl, and snapped me out of my daydreaming.
    I thanked her, took the glass she was offering me and had a sip, noting how beautifully comfortable she looked, and feeling the lack of my own comfort even more strongly.
    “It’s a pity we missed each other yesterday, I do apologize,” he continued, crinkling the corners of his eyes into a warm smile.
    I cleared my throat.
    “Well, it’s me that should apologize – I was made aware that you weren’t happy with my piece. I do apologize. Cache magazine is primarily committed to content that is fair , so we’re absolutely more than happy to issue another article with a more balancing perspective, and you’ll have the chance to weigh in throughout, and we’ll run each quote by you befo--“
    “Woah woah woah,” he said, raising two broad hands and shaking his head.
    I stopped.
    The black haired girl looked adoringly at him, as though everything that fell from his lips was gospel from God himself.
    Was she his girlfriend? Some random groupie? I would have to explore that angle for sure.
    “I don’t care