Red Hot Affairs: The Billionaire's Pimp

Femme Fatale

"What the fuck is this, Marcia!" He yelled at the top of his voice, right after he moved out of the way. Just one nano second of escape had saved his life. A bullet hole was left on the door as a memory of her irrational impulse.

Her gun clattered to the floor and she sighed in relief. Giovanni hadn't been shot. He was fine. Not even a bruise or a graze. Her door had taken the hit.

As he walked into the room, he looked around her room, taking in the mess she had made. Irregular shaped shards of glass lay littered on the floor and the strong smell of ale wafted into his nose. Her room was neatly arranged but the mess she made meant that something had gone wrong and when he looked up at her, he realised she was drunk to stupor.

She looked like a mess. A very beautiful mess. Her hair was everywhere. In her face, her mouth, her dress and her fingers held onto a stick of cigarette. She was wearing a summer dress, one that accentuated her figure and made her skin sallow.

Fuschia wasn