Page 4 of Paid With Innocence

ORSON

This girl is not Trish. But I don’t care. It’s like an angel just walked into the room. I wasn’t even hungry when I arrived, but she’s got my appetite raging. She is stunning, and I can tell by the way she moves that she doesn’t even know it.

She’s unsure on her feet, which means she doesn’t wear heels that often. And she keeps adjusting her dress, smoothing it down on her hips with her palms—hips which are just begging for my hands.

And those lips…

I barely even hear her as she introduces herself. I’m too busy picturing them wrapped around my cock while she looks up at me with those big brown eyes. Christ, what a beauty. Not a diamond on her, and she’s the most eye-catching woman in the room.

For just a moment, I feel something in my heart I haven’t felt since I was a boy: excitement. An actual thrilling moment as I take her soft hand in mine and hold it, drinking in every inch of her beauty with my gaze.

She’s not just another gold-digger…

That’s what I want to believe, but I know I’m just lying to myself. Of course that’s what she is. She knows who I am, and she’s here for my money. Trish set this whole thing up to make her friend some extra cash. Smart move.

And it’s not like this isn’t something I’m used to. All the girls want me for my money. I’m a billionaire from an old-money family that owns half the city. I could buy this girl’s life and sell it at a loss if I felt like it. I’m not even interested in going on dates anymore. I just do it to keep my mom off my back. She wants me to get married. Settle down. So I book a few dates now and then to shut her up.

And so far, it’s been working. But the last thing I want to do is buy this girl a meal and have William drive her home. No. I want to keep her. Spoil her rotten and give her everything the world has to offer. And that’s a feeling I’ve never had before.

Christ, what’s happening to me? She’s been in my presence for less than a minute and I’m losing my mind. Losing control.

“Won’t you sit?” I ask, finally finding my voice. She smiles, and the entire room lights up. The entire world.

“Thank you.”

Her voice is trembling. She’s putting on an act—trying to be Trish. But behind the fake confidence, I can hear the timidity. The tenderness. The soft honesty of a girl who has yet to be corrupted by the world.

“So, Trish, would you like a drink?”

She adorably waves her hand and twists her lips. “Oh no, I’m not old enough to drink.”

She just keeps giving herself away. Trish would have gladly ordered a martini or some wine. If for no other reason than to get me drinking so I’d be willing to blow more money on her later.

But not this beauty…whoever she is.

My blood rushes through my veins like magma, sending my body temperature soaring. I take a breath and nod, my eyes drifting down to her tits. Christ, so plump and perky. I flex my fingers beneath the table, imagining what it would be like to slide my hands down the front of her dress and squeeze.

“Your age doesn’t matter here,” I assure her. “I own the restaurant. They’ll do what I tell them.”

Her jaw drops, but she quickly tries to hide it. Yep, definitely not Trish.

“I’m actually not a big alcohol girl,” she mutters. “Just some sparkling water would be fine.”

“Whatever you’d like.” I raise my hand for the waiter, who arrives instantly. “A scotch for me and a sparkling water for the lady.”

“Yes, sir.”

The curves of her hips get my mouth watering as she crosses her legs but not like she’s trying to be sexy and show off. More like she’s trying to curl up a bit. She’s self-conscious, which is crazy considering how sexy she is. Is it possible she doesn’t know? How could a girl like this not know?

I watch as she picks up the menu and frowns. Watching her eyebrows furrow sends blood rushing to my cock. Jesus, I’m like a horny teenager again and the date’s just started.

“Don’t read French?” I tease, causing her to look up. She looks panicked for a moment, then quickly tries to save face.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s best?” she asks, putting the menu back. Nice save.

“No problem. I usually get—”

“Orson!? Orson Brooks?!” a shrill voice calls out from my left. Cursing under my breath, I turn and see Pam, a girl I went out with once last year, rushing over to me. Without hesitating, she throws her arms around me like we’re dating and kisses me on the cheek. “I thought that was you! How are you? Why haven’t you called?”