*Isabella POV*
Standing there was Elly, dressed in a chauffeur's uniform—a stark contrast to the casual, practical clothes she usually wore when she drove us around.
I blinked in disbelief, my eyes narrowing. "Is that a costume?" I exclaimed, unable to hide my surprise at her unusual attire.
She sighed, her shoulders drooping slightly. "Jacob is making me do this. He says this gala is important," she muttered, her tone exhausted. That made me laugh unexpectedly. "But you're just driving," I pointed out, amused.
Elly rolled her eyes. "Rude much," she shot back, a smirk curling on her lips.
I grinned, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. "Yeah, thank you. I'm just driving," she added.
We both knew the truth, though. I rolled my eyes, teasing her. "We both know you don't give a shit about other people's galas," I said, voice playful.
She shot back, "You talking as if you give a shit, either," and we burst into laughter, the tension melting away in that moment.
"Hey, it's my job to be there," I said, trying to sound serious but failing to suppress my grin.
Elly smirked mischievously. "Hey, do me a favor. Seal the deal tonight," she said softly, a teasing glint in her eyes.
"What?"
She chuckled, clearly enjoying herself. "I'm talking about you and Jacob. Do the deed… tonight," she whispered with a wicked grin.
I stammered, speechless as my jaw dropped. "I'm just gonna pretend you never said anything," I managed, my cheeks flushing.
Elly burst out laughing. "Are we going or not?" I asked, heading out of the hotel and toward the limousine.
She nodded, while I was still trying to process what she'd just implied, as we made our way out of the hotel, stepping into the sleek limousine that awaited me, the night suddenly feeling even more unpredictable.
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*Jacob's POV*
I looked up as Isabella entered the limousine, in a stunning black mermaid dress that Hugged her in all the right places. Well I'll be damned. I don't think I've never seen something so enticing. She is a mixture of elegance, Grace and sexy. Sometimes she looks like the girl next door. Not just any girl. But the girl next door. The one you have a crush on for years until you muster up the courage to talk to her. You get to joke a little, flirt a little, but you never get to touch her. But tonight in this dress, she looks like a fucking goddess. Stunning, breathtaking, a glow all around her. This version too seems untouchable. I don't believe I'm worthy to hold her arm and dance with her in the ballroom tonight. I'm to impure, to mundane for such a goddess.
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*Isabella's POV*
"Good evening, sir," I greeted, deliberately dragging his gaze from my body. I wanted him to look, to be consumed by the sight of me. Jacob's voice faltered, a stammer slipping out as if he was trying to piece the words together. "Isabella… you look… very beautiful," he managed, though it sounded more like a struggle. This gorgeous motherfucker. I could feel his eyes resting a little too long on my curves, lingering with an almost predatory hunger.
Then, our eyes met—and I saw it. Nothing but burning desire flickering in his gaze, raw and unfiltered. My first instinct was to step back, to retreat from that dangerous stare, but his gaze screamed warning—danger, and power, and a hunger that I wasn't sure I wanted to ignite.
Doubt crept into my mind. What would I do in such a foreign environment, with his gaze heavy and unrelenting? But then, I remembered Starr's work—how perfect I looked, how confident I felt. Jacob's eyes told me Starr had done her job well. He looked at me like he could devour me whole, and honestly? Part of me wasn't sure I wouldn't enjoy that.
And yet, as much as my brain wanted to hate him—to push him away—I couldn't help but think of Jo-anne, his assistant, and the anger bubbled up once again. That familiar irritation flared again, sharper than before. "Isabella, you should know there will be plenty of paparazzi at the entrance," Jacob said smoothly, his tone commanding and confident. I barely glanced up from my phone, giving him a half-hearted response. "Uh-huh." He leaned closer, his voice dropping just enough to sound like a threat. "You don't have to look at them or respond."
Hesitation flickered, but I finally put my phone away, giving him my full attention. "Please, like they'd be interested in me," I shot back, shrugging dismissively. He chuckled, low, self-assured, and I could feel the smugness radiating from him. "They'll be after me." I rolled my eyes, frustration bubbling into my voice. "Always so full of yourself," I snapped, irritation seeping into my words.
"Just stating the fact, they seem to be obsessed with me. But these days..." he added, a sly smile curling his lips, "they haven't." "Maybe you haven't given them a reason to be," I retorted, crossing my arms. "I've seen you a couple of times on The New York Times—in such an intellectual crowd. Models, showgirls… And not from your best angles, if you ask me."
He scoffed, defensive. "I like to party. Sometimes they take pictures, but that doesn't mean they're my dates or anything." "Whatever," I snapped, tone sharp. "I'm only here because my boss asked me to be. I'm not interested in small talk. Let's just get this over with."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping into a whisper that sent a shiver down my spine. "And you call me rude, Miss Williams. Because, as your boss ordered, and you gladly and without hesitation accepted, you're my date tonight. Act like one. Smile at the people we meet. And most importantly…" he paused, voice dropping even further, "watch that smartass mouth of yours before…"
His words trailed off, but I could feel their weight—dangerous, provocative, utterly unexpected. Then, he started whispering something so dirty, so erotic, I froze."If you keep running that pretty mouth of yours, I'll have no choice but to fill it with something else" His voice was steady, deliberate, charged with raw desire.
Every syllable heavy with intent, each word designed to unsettle me, tease me, ignite a fire I wasn't prepared for.
At first, I thought I was imagining it. No, I told myself, but then I realized—his words were real. Steady, deliberate, and undeniably charged. It was as if he was describing things he knew would unsettle me, tease me, make me burn from within.
My heart pounded harder, my mind racing to process what I was hearing. My cheeks flushed, and my pulse quickened—an instinctive, uncontrollable reaction to the sheer audacity of his words.
Holy shit... tonight was going to be harder than I thought. The mixture of his words, the charged atmosphere, and the undeniable pull I felt—everything about it pushed me to the edge. I wasn't sure I was ready for what was coming, but I knew one thing: this night, this encounter, was going to test me in ways I'd never anticipated.