Sugar Baby Beautiful(6)

Instead I sent a much simpler and clearer message: “No.”

Smiling, I closed the laptop and placed it beside my bed.

God, I felt good.



3:01 p.m.

I grinned at my phone like I had won the lottery, and I had no idea why.

“Felicity. Felicity!”

“Huh?” I jumped off the counter and dropped the rag in my hand. My manager, Manny, an upcoming “actor,” glared at me as he handed me the coffeepot. I would like to note that the only credit he had was being a zombie in one episode of the The Walking Dead.

“Do you think you can stop daydreaming for a moment and serve the customers? You know, since it’s your job,” he snapped at me.

“My shift is over.”

“Not until Rosemary comes in.” He stomped off, grabbing his phone.

He must have gotten rejected for another part. Manny was usually an ass, but he only got really bitchy when he was overlooked for a part because of what he claimed to be the “unrealistic ideals of men in the media.” He was short, slim with no muscle definition despite his best efforts, and had bad vision. Not exactly your typical leading man.

“What can I get you?” I asked, not bothering to look up while I refilled the coffee cup.

“Why weren’t you this obedient when I messaged you?”

I nearly dropped the coffeepot onto the table. He took the sugar packets, pouring way too much into the cup while I stared at him. He wore a navy-blue fitted suit and a dark shirt with the top buttons undone. A smirk formed on his lips as he leaned back in the booth and glimpsed up at me, his green eyes all the more clearer in the daytime.

“What…? How?”

“What am I doing here? I came to see you. How did I know you worked here? Facebook.” He answered before I could even ask the questions or before he could put the coffee cup to his lips.

“Sorry I’m late, Felicity. You can clock out now,” Rosemary called out to me when she entered.

“Thanks.” I waved.

“Perfect timing,” he said, drawing my attention back to him. He nodded at the booth across from him. “Sit.”

“Mr. Darcy, I don’t work for you. Nor am I your pet. Please stop giving me commands. As you heard, my shift is over, so if you would excuse me….”

“Why did you go to a sugar party—”

I kicked his foot. “The sugar? It’s right there.” I tried to cover for him since he had drawn a few people’s attention by speaking louder than he needed to.

“Sit,” he repeated.

Damn it. Annoyed, I slid into the booth.

“Wow, you really are an ass.”

“I wouldn’t be one if you listened to me.” He shrugged and took a slow drink.

“Yeah, I’d rather you be an ass than take your orders.” I crossed my arms and leaned back. However, when he looked at my breasts, I immediately dropped my hands.

“I thought you said you could handle it,” he shot back.

“I said ass, not pervert.”

“Every man who stares at your breasts is a pervert? That seems a bit harsh.” He was enjoying this. Ticking me off. He was getting off on it.

“What do you want, Mr. Darcy?”

“Why were you at that party?”

I groaned. “This again? What does it matter—?”

“It matters because I want you, but I need to know what you want in return. If it isn’t money or someone to provide for you, then what is it you want?”

I was stunned. “Wait, what?”

“I need to know what you want—”

“No, go back to why it matters.”

He raised an eyebrow. “The ‘I want you’ part?”

“Yes. You’re kidding, right?”

“Yes, because I came all the way down here to have crappy coffee for the hell of it.”

“You’re not kidding,” I said more to myself than to him. “Why?”

“Why, what?” He looked at me, confused.

“Why do you want me?” And how could he say it so easily, like he was ordering shoes or something?

He put the coffee cup down and looked me over again. “I’m not sure. No, that’s a lie. When I saw you last night, I was jealous.”

“Of what?”

He smirked. “The piano. You were like a vision in white, yet you only had eyes for my piano. You gravitated to it, dropped everything in your hands, stepped out of your heels, and gave yourself over to it. You played with your back arched, eyes closed, and mouth ajar. I thought, ‘If she’s this passionate with music, how passionate would she be in my bed? How much could I make her back arch? Would her lips part for me? Would her eyes open as I buried myself in her?’ The more you played, the more I wanted you.”