“Y’know, I could eat a peach for hours.” — Face/Off. Director: John Woo Sin "Have a good day, Mr. Sterling." Peter my chauffeur pulls my Aston Martin up to the curb in front of my offices. The heritage building on the South Bank is prime London property that I acquired after a bitter bidding war. It does the job, I suppose. I swing open the door and Max bounds ahead. He pauses in front of the homeless man next to the entrance. His sign today reads: The Devil returned to Hell by two. I approach the homeless guy, drop a wad of bills into the upturned cap in front of him. "Byron, again, huh?" As always, his face doesn’t change expression. The two of us are similar that way. The degree of s eparation between the man in the palace and the one on the street is less than seven, son. My father’s words echo in my head. He hated the homeless. Perhaps it struck something primal in him. This dread of losing everything, finding himself out on his luck, had intensified after the incident. He'd lost his job soon after, hadn't been able to afford the money for my mother's cancer treatment, if it had not been for my friends. Yeah, I have a few... Six, to be precise. The kind who’d stab me if I turned my back on them. Figuratively speaking... In business, I mean. Best if you never trust anyone, not even your friends. There is no way you can be hurt then, right? I walk toward the heavy glass door where Max waits for me. I push it and he bounds ahead of me. The rec eptionist glances up; her face flushes. "Good morning, Mr. Sterling." I frown. "How long you been here?" She blinks. "You deaf, girl?" "N... no." Color fades from her cheeks, and her color matches the wall behind her. "Answer the question." She gulps. "A week." "You’re fired." "But..." "You're on probation so no need to go to HR; you can leave right now." She splutters, "My fault, Sir?" "Don’t like your face." That is true. Also, because I am getting a little tired of her loss of composure every time I walk by. Reminds me of what my position in this city is all about. Something I hate. I walk up to the elevator, the doors swish open, and I st ep inside. Seems the elevator maintenance company can ke ep their contract... For now.
"Stop." A hand appears in between the doors, halting their progress. A woman st eps in. "Sorry... I can't afford to be late, I—" She looks up. Green eyes stare at me, pink hair tied up into a knot that is already coming undone. The pale creamy skin of her neck colors. It reminds me of someone. I snap my gaze to her face and her jaw drops open. "You?" The door slides closed. "About time," I glare. She frowns, "You’re acting as if you were expecting me." "I was." Wisps of candy-fluff colored hair cling to her flushed cheeks. My fingers tingle to whisper it off of her face. The fuck—? I slide my palm into the pocket of my pants. "Are you stalking me?" She chews on her lower lip and my dick twitches. I widen my stance, "And what if I was?" "If... if this is your idea of a joke—" Her shoulders go rigid; she glances up and around the corners of the steel cage. "No cameras." Her gaze pops back to my face. "It’s a private elevator." I punch the stop button and she draws in a sharp breath. The elevator jolts, then halts. "Oh, hell." She pivots, slaps her hand on the door. "Too late." I lean a shoulder against the steel wall. She swallows, "Why... why did you do that?" I fold my arms, "Not for the reason you are thinking." She sidles away. Her shoulder brushes the wall opposite me, and she jerks upright. "Wha... what reason would that be?" I scan her features, down the arch of that neck—it’s quite stunning, actually—down to the thrust of her breasts. Today, she’s wearing a jacket that pulls in her shoulders. Clearly, it’s a size too small for her. It’s buttoned in the front. The material strains at her chest, showing off her curves. Annoying little thing that she is, she’s used to flaunting her assets to get her way, no doubt. I stare at her breasts, and she folds her arms around her waist. "Not that either, as I clarified earlier." Her cheeks flush. Hmm, interesting color. She’s a natural redhead obviously, given how the color on her face highlights every single freckle on her beautiful skin. I stiffen. Why is my mind headed that way? I am used to controlling it, ensuring that my will is obedient to me. Every time I see her, though, my brain seems to drop to my groin. My dick twitches. I widen my stance and her gaze drops down to my crotch. "You could have me fooled. From where I am, it seems you’d very much like 'that.' ” She makes inverted commas with her fingers. I stiffen. Sod this. I will not be insulted by the likes of her. "So that’s your game, huh?"
"Now, what has that asshole mind of yours conjured up?" "You don’t want to know." I flex my fingers and she pales. "Try me." Her chin wobbles. "You wouldn’t be able to stand it, Sweetheart." "Stop calling me that." "Oh?" I take a st ep forward and she blinks, scans the small enclosed space. You’re trapped, little Bird. Can’t get away from the big bad bully now. Her breath hitches; she retreats against the wall. "St... stop." I take a st ep forward. "No one tells me what to do." I glare down at her. "You think waaaay too much of yourself." She juts out her chin. "You don’t think enough about yourself, clearly." Which is why she turned up for the meeting today without checking for any ulterior motives. Anger ladders up my spine. I don’t get it. Why am I concerned about her well- being? She's here, in my space, exactly where I want her to be. She’s here insinuating herself into my life. Doesn’t she understand how bad this can turn out for her? Doesn’t she care that I could do things to her that she’d never recover from? My groin hardens. One part of me, at least, relishes the hunt. Adrenaline laces my blood. This could turn out to be interesting. Imagine that? Something to work toward. Someone who challenges me, who doesn’t grovel before me. She dares go toe to toe with me? Interesting. I glare at her and she gulps. Fear radiates off of her. "You uncomfortable, little girl?" She shakes her head. "Such a pretty little liar." She jerks her chin. A bead of sweat runs down her temple. I swipe out an arm and she flinches. I scoop up the drop of perspiration, then bring it to my lips and suck on my digit. She makes a strangled sound de ep in her throat. Watches me with unabashed curiosity... Or is that anticipation? "I could take you right here and you couldn’t stop me." She freezes. Her pupils dilate. Her chest rises and falls; the jacket stretches further. The button squeezes out of the eyehole. Bloody hell. I reach for her and she opens her mouth; her features contort. "Don’t," she whispers. She pauses. Eyes wide, mouth opened in an 'O.’ Pink lips parted, lip gloss gleaming. My mouth waters. My balls pulse. Is she trying to taunt me? I reach for her lapels and every muscle in her body snaps to attention. I drag her up to her tip toes, drop my chin, until my face is directly above hers. Her eyelids flutter shut, her thick eyelashes fringing those soulful eyes. Eyes that consume me with their vulnerability. That hint at the innocence
beneath the surface. An awed hopefulness through which she surveys the world. With bated breath. Waiting for her future to unfurl. An optimism that I want to tear apart with my bare hands. Rip into her and teach her never to trust anyone. Not so easy. My breath raises the hair on her forehead and her lips tremble. Her chin wobbles and she tips her head back, showing me the curve of that gorgeous neck. Too fucking vulnerable. I am going to have to teach her a lesson. "Little Bird?" "Summer." She swallows, "My name is Summer." "Are you a virgin, Summer?"