HOW MUCH DID YOU DRINK
1126 Words
CHAPTER 3: HOW MUCH DID YOU DRINK?
SOPHIE ANDERSON:
I bought a take out on my way home and grabbed a bite before climbing up the bed. I still had about thirty minutes to take a nap. Maybe napping would help calm my nerves.
I set my alarm to wake me at six. As soon as I dozed off, I had a dream similar to the one I had earlier this morning. The tall handsome man stood in front of me asking for one more kiss. I was unwilling to let him kiss me and as his lips reached for mine, my alarm buzzed again.
I quickly got out of bed and entered the shower. I filled the tub with warm bubble water and soaked myself in it for fifteen minutes. I washed my hair, scrubbed myself so hard for no apparent reason.
A few minutes later, I was out of the shower, drying my hair.
Knock knock!
Someone was at the door. It was definitely Becky. She walked in and eyed me “You're not dressed yet?”
“I'm on it,” I said as I got dressed very quickly and stood in front of my tiny mirror.
Becky was the one who choose the dress I'm wearing. In fact, she forced me to wear it, claiming it made me look like a classy lady. It was a sleek red dress that hugged my curves like a second skin. But the only problem was the deep neckline. It was a little too daring for my comfort.
"I feel naked," I grumbled, looking myself over.
Becky smirked, and spinned in her emerald-green gown that shimmered under the light. "You look hot, baby. That dress was made for you. Trust me, men won’t be able to take their eyes off you tonight."
I rolled my eyes. "That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid."
She waved me off. "Too late. Now, let’s fix that hair."
Within minutes, Becky turned my long brown hair into an elegant loose bum. She worked some magic on my makeup, transforming my tired eyes with smoky eyeshadow and a bold red lip. When I finally looked in the mirror, I barely recognized myself.
"Damn," I murmured. "I actually look... expensive."
Becky winked. "Now, let’s go mingle with the rich and shameless."
We ordered an Uber since my car was an embarrassment and Becky's younger brother, Clinton, took hers to their hometown with their mother.
I held my breath as we walked into the Grand Royale’s ballroom, I felt like I’d entered another world.
The hall was lavishly decorated and the waiters moved around with trays of champagne. The melody played softly from a live orchestra in the corner.
"Wow," I whispered. “This place is dope.”
"Told you," Becky said, linking her arm with mine. "Now, let’s get a drink and find potential clients."
“Wait for me here, I'll be back,” Becky said as she disappeared into the crowd, networking like a pro,
Standing alone felt awkward so I moved closer to the bar, holding my glass of wine like a lifeline. I glanced around the hall but the faces weren't familiar.
The women here were dressed in designer gowns, while the men wore tailored suits that kind of showcased their wealth.
I sighed. I didn’t belong here.
"Another glass?" the bartender asked, breaking my thoughts.
I hesitated, then nodded. "Make it strong."
As I sipped, the alcohol burned my throat down to my stomach, but it did its job. The more I drank, the less I cared about my overdue rent, my wrecked career, or the arrogant billionaire whose car I had hit.
After I had taken my third or fourth glass, I felt relaxed and started to enjoy myself.
But where the heck was Becky?
"Hello, gorgeous," a smooth voice said beside me.
I turned and nearly gasped. The man was stunning. He was tall, with piercing blue eyes and a sharp jawline. His tuxedo fit him like it had been stitched onto his body.
"Hi," I responded, feeling bolder than usual.
"You look lonely," he said, flashing a smile.
"Not anymore," I flirted back, surprising even myself.
He chuckled. "I like a woman who knows what she wants."
I tilted my head, pretending to consider his words. "And what exactly do you want?"
His eyes darkened with interest. "I was about to ask you the same thing."
I shrugged my shoulders and faced him squarely. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the crushing weight of my financial problems. Either way, I heard myself say, "One night. No strings. But only if you make it worth my while."
His brows lifted in amusement. "How much?"
I took a deep breath and named the exact amount I owed Damien Sinclair for his car repairs and my six month rent.
His eyes widened in surprise. But he seemed interested. "You’re serious?"
Dead serious.
He leaned in, his lips grazing my ear. "I like you, sweetheart. Done deal."
My heart skipped multiple beats as my eyes widened in pleasant surprise. But just then, Becky materialized out of nowhere and yanked me away.
"Sophie!" she hissed. "What the hell are you doing?"
I frowned, and it felt as if the room was spinning. "Handling my problems."
"By selling yourself?!"
"It’s just one night," I muttered. "And it’s enough to pay for the repair of that stupid Maybach and settle my rent for six months."
Becky looked horrified. "Oh, God. How much did you drink?"
Before I could answer, I staggered, and knocked over a champagne glass from a passing waiter’s tray. The crash was loud as it echoed through the ballroom, drawing everyone’s attention.
A few guests gasped. Others whispered. The man I’d been flirting with smirked but didn’t step in to help.
But I suddenly saw a familiar face and froze.
Damien Sinclair.
Of course he was here.
He looked very calm as he watched the scene unfold. He whispered something to a man beside him, then turned his gaze back to me.
I wobbled on my heels, suddenly feeling very dizzy. "Oops," I mumbled.
Becky groaned. "Sophie, I swear to God…"
A suited man approached us. "Miss Anderson?"
I blinked. "Uh… yeah?"
"Mr. Sinclair requests that you and your friend be taken home safely."
I scoffed. "I don’t need—"
"You’re drunk, Sophie," Becky cut in. "Let’s go before you embarrass yourself further."
I scowled but let Becky drag me toward the exit.
As I stumbled into the waiting black car, I caught one last glimpse of Damien. He was watching me with an expression I couldn’t quite understand.
Then he turned to his assistant and said something before he handed him a business card.
- Writer
