Chapter 32: Strip for Us, Sweetheart?
Nora’s POV
I locked eyes with Alexander, his cold, calculating stare slicing through me like a blade. One second, he could play the doting husband; the next, he morphed into this icy, heartless bastard I barely recognized.
So this is his damn game. Parading me around like a trophy, forcing me to play waitress for his sleazy business buddies. Classic asshole power move.
Here I was, stuffed into this skimpy, pathetic excuse for a dress, trapped in this private dining room with him and six leering businessmen, their eyes practically undressing me.
I met Alexander’s gaze head-on, refusing to flinch. “Mr. Claflin, are you sure you want me serving drinks to everyone?” I asked, my voice dripping with fake sweetness, giving him one last chance to back off from this humiliating bullshit.
His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing in them. “Did I stutter, or are you just too damn slow to get it? Was I not clear enough?” His tone dropped to a chilling low, each word laced with venom.
He lit a cigar, the thick smoke curling between us like a barrier as he leaned back in his chair. Through that haze of overpriced Cuban tobacco, he stared at me with absolute indifference. “What the hell are you waiting for?”
The other men at the table swapped glances, smirking as they sensed the tension. I could almost hear their slimy thoughts: Claflin’s letting his little toy talk back. If she’s fair game, so are we.
I stood frozen for a heartbeat, weighing my options. I could flip out, make a scene, and hand him more ammo to use against me. Or I could…
“Of course,” I chirped, my voice cutting through the room with a bright, fake-ass smile. “For Mr. Claflin’s sake, and to keep the evening pleasant, I’d be thrilled to help.”
I snatched the champagne bottle from the ice bucket, feeling Alexander’s surprised stare burning into my back. Not what you expected, huh, you prick? I thought with a dark smirk.
I sauntered over to him first, perching on the armrest of his chair with deliberate ease—close enough to stake my claim, but casual enough to seem effortless. My dress rode up just a touch, and I didn’t bother fixing it.
“How would you like me to serve you, Mr. Claflin?” I purred, my voice sweet as honey but sharp enough for him to catch the edge. “I want to make sure I’m doing this just right for you.”
Alexander’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Since when did you get so damn good at playing nice?”
I leaned in closer, letting my hair brush forward as I poured champagne into his glass with slow, practiced precision. “Well, since I’m here, I figured I’d spice things up, bring some heat to this dull-ass party,” I said loudly enough for the others to hear, a flirty smile on my lips. “It’s my job as Mr. Claflin’s woman, right?”
Then I dropped my voice to a whisper only he could catch. “Think you’re the only one who can play dirty, Alexander? I’m Nora Frost, and I’ll blow your damn mind.”
Before he could snap back, I slid away, moving to the next guy—Martin Reeves, if I recalled right. I didn’t glance back at Alexander, but I could feel his glare scorching me.
I floated between the businessmen like a goddamn social butterfly, deliberately avoiding Alexander’s side. “Mr. Wilson, come on now, you’ve gotta finish this glass,” I teased with over-the-top enthusiasm, playing the bubbly, flirty role to perfection.
I brushed shoulders, laughed too loud at their shitty jokes, and flashed just enough of a sultry smile to keep them hooked. All the while, I swapped soda water for vodka in my glass—protecting my pregnancy while pretending to keep up with their drunken pace. My every move was calculated, hips swaying just a little more than necessary, letting a strap slip off my shoulder as I leaned over to pour drinks.
As the night dragged on and the booze flowed, the men got bolder. Their stares lingered, their comments turned suggestive, and the respectful distance they’d kept from “Claflin’s woman” started to vanish.
Wilson, three drinks past coherent and red-faced with liquid courage, grabbed my wrist as I refilled his glass. “You know what’d really heat up this party? A little dancing.” His sleazy gaze raked down my body. “I bet you move like a goddamn dream.”
The other men hooted and cheered, egging him on.
“What kind of dancing are we talking about?” I asked with mock innocence, though we all knew exactly what this creep meant.
“The kind where you lose a few of these…” Wilson tugged at the thin strap of my dress, his grin sloppy and predatory.
I flicked my eyes to Alexander, whose face had darkened into something damn near murderous. Perfect.
“Oh, I don’t think Mr. Claflin would mind,” I said with a bright, teasing lilt, twirling the champagne bottle in my hand. “He’s always been so generous.” I paused for effect, letting the words sink in. “After all, he’s letting me entertain you fine gentlemen tonight, even though I’m his woman.”
Alexander’s jaw clenched so hard I swore I could hear his teeth grinding from across the room.
After a few more rounds, the vibe had shifted completely. What started as a stiff business dinner had spiraled into something closer to a damn frat party. Ties were loosened, collars unbuttoned, and inhibitions long gone.
I noticed the strap of my dress had slipped further down my shoulder, but I left it there. Instead, I caught Alexander’s eye as I bent over to pour another drink, fully aware of the view I was giving him—and everyone else.
“I must say,” Alexander’s voice sliced through the raucous laughter, sharp and cold, “I had no idea you were this damn good at working a room.”
I straightened slowly, dragging out the motion. “I’m representing you, Mr. Claflin,” I replied, sugar-sweet. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
His eyes glittered with something dangerous. “Indeed. Seems my reputation in Kingsley City is in your very capable hands, Nora Frost.”
The tension between us crackled, charged with something hotter than just anger. The other men felt it too, their curious stares bouncing between us.
Wilson, too wasted to read the damn room, made his move. He reached out, stroking my hand, his fingers creeping up my wrist. “Such soft, delicate hands,” he slurred, then looked at Alexander with a drunken smirk. “Claflin, just for tonight, why not lend her to me? A few hours, that’s all.”
The room went dead silent. Even with my plan to push Alexander’s buttons, a cold shiver ran down my spine.
Alexander’s face stayed eerily calm. “Why don’t you ask her yourself? See if she’s game.”
Wilson turned to me, oozing sloppy confidence. “You wouldn’t mind, would you, gorgeous?”
I knew I was playing with fire, but I couldn’t back down now. “Of course not,” I said, locking eyes with Alexander, my voice steady. “Why the hell would I?”
Something feral flashed in Alexander’s gaze—a raw, primal rage I’d never seen before.
The crash of shattering glass ripped through the silence as Alexander’s whiskey tumbler smashed on the floor, fragments scattering everywhere.
“Mr. Claflin,” I said, unable to resist one last jab, “did your hand slip? Something wrong?”
Alexander rose from his chair, slow and controlled, but radiating pure menace. “Enough,” he growled, his voice a deadly whisper that somehow filled the space. “Is your little show over?”
I widened my eyes in fake innocence. “Show? What show, Mr. Claflin? I’ve got no idea what you mean.”