Elouise Edron - In The Night Time

IN THE NIGHT TIME

Elouise Edron

Artcover: Giada Armani

Copyright: BERLINABLE

Berlinable invites you to leave all your fears behind and dive into a world where sex is a tool for self-empowerment.

Our mission is to change the world - one soul at a time.

When people accept their own sexuality, they build a more tolerant society.

Words to inspire, to encourage, to transform.

Open your mind and free your deepest desires.

All rights reserved.It is not permitted to copy, distribute or otherwise publish the content of this eBook without the express permission of the publisher. Subject to changes, typographical errors and spelling errors. The plot and the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to dead or living people or public figures is not intended and are purely coincidental.

I dedicate this book to all those with dreams yet to be fulfilled –

never give up on who you want to become because they may change the world.

CHAPTER ONE

CHEMISTRY

"Chemistry?"

The question came from behind. I peered over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of a stocky, clean shaven man in a finely tailored suit, a scotch in hand.

“Who's asking?" I retorted somewhat aloof as I fiddled with my pen and returned to my notebook. I was familiar with men his age vying for the attention of younger women, thinking they’re quick witted enough to score digits or a hot date.

"DeGrain is the name," he said as he moved in front of my stool, noting the papers strewn all over the bar. "I assume you're a university student?" he went on, as if not getting the hint that I was otherwise occupied.

"I am. And a very busy one at that. I’m going for a high distinction this year, practically married to my studies." I gave him nothing, hoping he’d tire of me, and move along in his semi drunken stupor. It was near the thick end of the year, and assignments teamed with exams were ever present. This interjection, therefore, was something I could really do without.

"And that vodka, it helps with your stress levels, I presume.”

Was he for real? Here I am, working through my break between classes and work, and some middle-aged schmuck wants to get into a conversation about my anxiety?

"You assumed right."

End of conversation. Please.

I bit my lip, trying to find the line in my textbook in a bid to refocus.

"Can I also assume you're studying here because it’s on your way to work?"

I stopped failing to find the passage for a moment; did he just read my mind? I couldn’t imagine he understood the need for people trying to better themselves’, let alone with a ‘high distinction’ average.

"Yep. And if you wouldn't mind, I've got a lot to get done before work," I said, dropping my head to hand in support. Despite his rude demeanour, part of me wanted to give him the attention he was seeking.

Perhaps I shouldn’t be so quick to judge. He could just be a lonely, middle-aged man who really needed to talk. Perhaps I shouldn’t be such a brat, and just let him have a moment of my time.

I attempted to retrace the last sentence I was on with my finger. My eyes were heavy, and straining to see under the dim lighting at my favourite, usually quiet, inner city bar. While I battled with the idea of taking time out to soothe his ego, I knew our conversation really wouldn’t help me get ahead in any aspect of life.

"So, this job, it pays your rent, gives you some money to get drunk…"

Okay. There it was. He’d crossed the line, and my inner bitch was just about to let lose in a much less lady like manner than I had managed throughout our entire interaction.

"Look, I'm sure this conversation starter works in whatever game you're usually trying to win, but I've really got to get this done before I head to the bar." I glared at him, noticing his perfectly blue eyes. I’m usually a sucker for baby blues, but his attitude was clouding any ounce of interest I may have briefly held. Back to the books.

"Ahh, a waitress. Just as I figured. You have that whole resting bitch face going on. I mean no disrespect, it’s kind of endearing".

Did he just call me a bitch? That’s it.

Pen down, he had my fullest attention. I swivelled my stool to face him, bouncing off my chair and before I could even open my mouth, he produced a hand to be shaken. I looked him directly in the eyes, seething with the mere suggestion.

"Look, 'DeGrain',” I said with muted respect, “I've tried to be nice, and now you're really testing my patience. Let's cut to the chase, what do you want?"

My heart was pounding. All I wanted was to take the notes I needed in the spare time I had.

"Well..." He gestured with his still outreached hand, as if asking for my name.

Taking the bait, I finally gave in and our hands connected. Energetically, I sensed a softness within him, something calm, placid and almost inviting that I had missed through our otherwise unwanted interaction.

"Bianca," I said with a guarded stare, before folding my hands back across my chest, wishing I hadn’t just divulged that key piece of information.

"I'm a talent scout for an international company that offers unique, FRESH faces. I thought, since you’re obviously juggling a lot, you may be interested in what I have to offer. You've got the look, one I know our clients love - and that attitude..." he said, chuckling as he looked me up and down.

This guy, with all his obvious wealth, just strolls in acting like he owns the place and now, he’s hitting on me with the expectation that I’ll just fall for his bullshit? Annoyingly, he had me intrigued.

“Go on then. What’s the nature of this work you speak of?” I asked, not ready to let naivety get the better of me.

"What I'm trying to say is that if you work for me, you'll never be worried about your finances again."

My eyes widened as I looked down at what I was wearing, suddenly thinking that perhaps I’d given him the very wrong impression of my ‘talents’.

Oh, fuck. Was he propositioning me? Does he think I'm some kind of hooker? Crap. It must be the hooker boots.

My hair was in a messy bun on top of my head, and my bangs were wiry, and out of control. I'd blackened my eyes for work, and quickly changed in the restroom to save time later, already donning my black short-shorts and low-cut tank that were part of my work ‘uniform’. I suppose it did look a little like I was soliciting, but...

Wait. No, I didn’t. I looked like a girl in her twenties that studies her ass off and works around the clock she can to pay her bills. Plus, my uni notes kind of say it all. I was just trying to study to get my degree in nutritional science. In fact, I didn’t look like I was trying to attract any kind of attention, let alone that of some guy looking for a notch on his belt.

"You've got some nerve. waltzing in here thinking I'm going to be paid for sex. I am not a prostitute!" I raised my voice, looking over my shoulder for a security guard.

He moved his free hand to land softly at the underside of my chin, redirecting my gaze to meet his. With a widened smile, those baby blues glared into mine and jolted me into a shiver.

"I'm not suggesting you sleep with me, love. I'm suggesting you think about working that hot little body of yours into the adult industry. My company produces special movies for high paying clients, and you have the exact look they've been hounding me for,” he explained with a softened voice, that made me feel ever so at ease.

“Look,” he went on. “I get you're under the pump, so how about I just give you my card. Call me when you get off your low paid job, and head back to your crappy shared apartment with nothing in the fridge but pasta and red sauce”