he couldn’t act on my behalf for decision-making purposes. He emphasized that I absolutely needed to go to the shore by the next day to sign some papers, or the work on my house would be delayed for a few months. I loved that house, and I wanted to live there as soon as possible, so I didn’t want anything to jeopardize the deadline. I knew where I wanted to be—at the beach.
I went to the client, politely thanked him for a lovely party, and made my apologies to leave. When I was leaving the house, I didn’t stop to explain anything to Marisol. I didn’t feel she warranted or deserved an explanation. The plans she had for us were just that— her plans. I didn’t need to tell her anything since she’d just pick up some other random guy to nail that night; however, I did notice her in the driveway as I got into my car. The look on her face told the tale.
As I left the party, she appeared to take it as a personal rejection. This morning it seemed she was the female model for the shoot. As she walked in and looked in my direction, the look on her face told me that she wasn’t pleased to see me. It appeared as though her memory about the night of the party was serving her well.
Making my way back to watch Declan work, I observed someone else watching him closely. Although the woman appeared as cold as ice on the outside, trying her best to appear indifferent, there was definitely fire in her as she looked over at him. She was inconspicuous to the staff on the stage, looking as though she had mastered the art of glancing at him in an unsuspicious manner.
She was easily recognizable as I had seen her photos many times. Every magazine I purchased had at least one page with her reflection in it. She was tall, very, very thin, and carried herself most gracefully. She was incredibly beautiful; an elite Supermodel. TTT
Her big, beautiful, brown eyes and brown-blonde hombre hair color only added to her attractiveness. Her torso was long and lean, and she had legs that looked like they flowed forever into her Christian Louboutin’s. She tried to get Declan’s attention by giving him several looks—none of which he acknowledged. He didn’t seem, even remotely, affected by her. Unfortunately, I was affected by the looks she gave him—and not in a good way.
If apprehension was a weapon, then I needed to stockpile my arsenal. I knew from the moment I saw her that I couldn’t trust this woman and apprehension was the first instinct that went into overdrive. I didn’t know how or why my sense of discernment was warning me that she meant trouble, but I knew those instincts had me on “high alert.” I needed to trust myself and my growing feelings of anxiety. To my surprise, they now included a feeling of protectiveness of Declan, and I felt this woman meant him serious harm.
If Declan viewed this woman as a casual acquaintance—which was what she was attempting to present herself as—my instincts told me it was a complete farce. The simple way she stared at him had a devious air about it. There was something fraudulent and insincere in her eyes. Although she was smiling at him, it was an attempt to conceal something treacherous. I felt uncomfortable with her stare; it was deceptive and shady. I could see in her face and the demeanor she reflected that she was forming some sort of a strategy against him.
I had never felt the need to protect Declan, and I always enjoyed the feeling that I was protected by him. This was different. This was a woman, and women play manipulative games. The Declan I knew wasn’t into manipulative games. When he did catch a glimpse of her looking at him, he dismissed her with a look of indifference, which made her face contort into that of a beautiful monster. There was no denying that she didn’t accept, or like, being dismissed lightly. I wasn’t sure how important she was to his career; whether colleague or client, so I needed to prepare myself to meet her.
One thing I wanted
I went to the client, politely thanked him for a lovely party, and made my apologies to leave. When I was leaving the house, I didn’t stop to explain anything to Marisol. I didn’t feel she warranted or deserved an explanation. The plans she had for us were just that— her plans. I didn’t need to tell her anything since she’d just pick up some other random guy to nail that night; however, I did notice her in the driveway as I got into my car. The look on her face told the tale.
As I left the party, she appeared to take it as a personal rejection. This morning it seemed she was the female model for the shoot. As she walked in and looked in my direction, the look on her face told me that she wasn’t pleased to see me. It appeared as though her memory about the night of the party was serving her well.
Making my way back to watch Declan work, I observed someone else watching him closely. Although the woman appeared as cold as ice on the outside, trying her best to appear indifferent, there was definitely fire in her as she looked over at him. She was inconspicuous to the staff on the stage, looking as though she had mastered the art of glancing at him in an unsuspicious manner.
She was easily recognizable as I had seen her photos many times. Every magazine I purchased had at least one page with her reflection in it. She was tall, very, very thin, and carried herself most gracefully. She was incredibly beautiful; an elite Supermodel. TTT
Her big, beautiful, brown eyes and brown-blonde hombre hair color only added to her attractiveness. Her torso was long and lean, and she had legs that looked like they flowed forever into her Christian Louboutin’s. She tried to get Declan’s attention by giving him several looks—none of which he acknowledged. He didn’t seem, even remotely, affected by her. Unfortunately, I was affected by the looks she gave him—and not in a good way.
If apprehension was a weapon, then I needed to stockpile my arsenal. I knew from the moment I saw her that I couldn’t trust this woman and apprehension was the first instinct that went into overdrive. I didn’t know how or why my sense of discernment was warning me that she meant trouble, but I knew those instincts had me on “high alert.” I needed to trust myself and my growing feelings of anxiety. To my surprise, they now included a feeling of protectiveness of Declan, and I felt this woman meant him serious harm.
If Declan viewed this woman as a casual acquaintance—which was what she was attempting to present herself as—my instincts told me it was a complete farce. The simple way she stared at him had a devious air about it. There was something fraudulent and insincere in her eyes. Although she was smiling at him, it was an attempt to conceal something treacherous. I felt uncomfortable with her stare; it was deceptive and shady. I could see in her face and the demeanor she reflected that she was forming some sort of a strategy against him.
I had never felt the need to protect Declan, and I always enjoyed the feeling that I was protected by him. This was different. This was a woman, and women play manipulative games. The Declan I knew wasn’t into manipulative games. When he did catch a glimpse of her looking at him, he dismissed her with a look of indifference, which made her face contort into that of a beautiful monster. There was no denying that she didn’t accept, or like, being dismissed lightly. I wasn’t sure how important she was to his career; whether colleague or client, so I needed to prepare myself to meet her.
One thing I wanted
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