Chapter 3: (Maximillian)
I, paused for a few moments to check Vivian out. She was the right age, feisty as hell, and could clearly think on her feet. She had that girl-next-door kind of look, the girl that you’d known forever but one day blossomed and poof, like magic, became sexy as sin. A myriad of unknown factors could screw my scheme to high heaven but I couldn’t help but wonder if my crazy plan could play out.
Unfortunately, the beautiful girl who might have been the answer to my prayers was also walking away from me at an alarming clip. She threw her hands up in the air, either speaking with ear buds into a phone or talking to herself. “I’ll have you arrested for assault,’” she said in a falsetto. “Fucking wienie with short fat fingers. We all know what that translates to.”
Yes. Definitely talking to herself.
“Who needs this shitty, fucking job? Crappy hours. Minimum wage plus tips. Stupid short skirt that makes me look like I’m giving away pussy shots for free. Ugh.”
I snorted but clapped a hand over my mouth and followed after her.
“And I am done with these cheap, blister-producing boots.” She stopped in the middle of the street, propped one hand against a parked car, balanced on one foot, and unzipped a boot.
I was mesmerized as that zipper slid down her upper thigh, past her knee, over her calf and all the way to her ankle. She latched onto the heel, wriggled her hips, and wrangled the thing off. My cock started throbbing. I turned my head to see if indeed there was a free pussy shot, but sadly there was not. I was spying on her like some kind of weirdo voyeur. What kind of prince was I?
A prince who needed to get his act together or the golden opportunity that had presented itself would slip away. I walked toward her.
“Hey lady. Maybe you shouldn’t be undressing in public. But if you insist, allow me to help—”
She blinked under the glare of a street lamp. “Pervert! Stay away from me!”
“Not a pervert. The guy from Mugshot’s Bar. The one who—”
“Asshole!” She threw her boot at my head.
The boot bounced off my face. I stumbled backwards and caught myself on a parked car. “Ow.”
“Wait. You’re not that asshole,” she said. “Sorry! Then again, maybe you should think twice about approaching a single woman late at night on a deserted street and scaring the crap out of her. I’m in no mood. Leave. Me. Alone.”
She turned and hobbled away, which wasn’t easy considering she had one bare foot and was still wearing the boot on the other.
I could feel my eye socket swelling but I couldn’t help but laugh. I picked up the boot. “Hold on, Cinderella. You forgot your glass slipper.”
She turned and stared at me. “It’s pleather. Burn it. Oh crap, did I hit you in the eye?”
“Yes, Rocky. I’ve endured worse. It sounds like you’re out of a job. Will you be looking for a new one?”
“Will politicians always lie?”
I fumbled in my pocket for a card and extended it toward her. “I might have something of interest for you.”
She walked a few feet toward me, took it, and held it up to the light. “Your name’s not on here. Who has a business card that doesn’t have their name on it?”
“My name’s Maximillian—”
“Nice to meet you Max.” She slipped the card down her cleavage and unzipped her other boot. “You have an accent. Where are you from?”
“Bellèno.”
She kicked off the other boot. My gaze was torn between her gorgeous tits, her curvy hips, and her long, toned legs.
“Aha. The word on the card. I’ve heard of that place. It’s a skiing town in the Alps, right?”
“Something like that.”
She stood up straight, barefoot on the asphalt on a warm summer night. She was around five feet six inches tall. The right height.
“Tell me in one sentence what the job entails.”
“Tough to describe in one sentence.”
“So, it’s illegal,” she said, arching one eyebrow.
“Not really.”
“‘Not really’ means quite possibly.”
She looked even more wholesome without the boots, a far cry from the majority of women I met.
“You’re smart. And you’re impossibly gorgeous.”
“You’re hot,” she said. “But I’m not looking for that right now. Apologies about the eye. I wasn’t aiming for it. I’ve gotta go.”
“Change your mind, Vivian, give that number a ring. Mention ‘The Crown Affair.’”
“That doesn’t make your offer sound more legitimate, you know. Go home and put some ice on that eye.”
“I’m staying at a hotel.”
“I bet they have ice, too.”
“I’m in town for a few more days. Trust me, this is a great opportunity.”
“Thanks, Max.” She waved at me as she rounded a corner and then disappeared from my sight. “That’s what they all say.”
