Fine Dining With Mr. Senator by McKenna James Read Free Book Online

Watch or perform. Dream or take action. Fight or flee. Kill or be
killed.
    There are two sides to every story,
just like there are two choices for every opportunity. I’m going to
tell you about a certain opportunity that altered my life. My name
is Taylor Sterling. I am twenty two years old. No matter how much I
wish I spoke with elegant and flowery prose – and sometimes I
really wish I did – I don’t.
    I work in retail, at a
distinguished designer boutique called Cutting Edge . And as the name
suggests, in my line of work one must cut straight to the chase.
Stephanie, my coworker, tells me I got the job because of my face.
I’d like to think it had more to do with my people skills. I’ve
been deep into high fashion ever since I was a little girl. Never
for myself though. Honestly, dressing Barbie dolls is not so
different from dressing people. It’s just about selecting the right
sizes.
    As a woman, I know a thing or two
about shopping. The last thing I want when I waltz into a fitting
room, totting along a blouse picked out by an attendant, is to find
out my dream top is too small. When dealing with women, I usually
size up. Being informed that something is too large is immensely
more pleasant than the crushed “It’s too small.” I inevitably spend
the rest of their stay assuring them that nothing makes them look
fat.
    Brilliant .
    Men are the opposite. Men, especially
here in North America, always want to be bigger. Luckily, in retail
this pricey, that also means that the men shopping around are
wealthy enough to spend as much time at the gym as they do at the
office. When I say bigger, I mean bigger in a good way. We get some
real lookers, that’s for sure.
    Now, don’t hate me for this next part.
It may be hypocritical of me, but I never shop where I work. I
don’t make enough money for that.
    Not yet.
    Presently, I buy bargain brands. The
funny thing is that no one can tell the difference. Try not to leak
that to my customers though. I get paid on commission.
    I have been working at this place for
two months. During those two months, I have worked Wednesday
through Sunday: the busy days, the slammed days. Today is Tuesday –
the first Tuesday I’ve been in the store. I took Stephanie’s shift
as a favor to her. Last night was her birthday. That was about all
the excitement there has been for us this past week. Nothing
special happens on Tuesdays to my knowledge: no big sales or
promotions. I assume it will be a regular day until
2:00PM.
    Stephanie conveniently left out the
fact that Tuesday is the day a certain modern marvel comes in for
fittings.
    There I am, folding, sizing, and
colorizing a stack of cashmere sweaters when in strolls the most
delectable man I have ever seen. He is older than I am: tall and
trim with thick arms, muscular thighs, and an attractively slopped
chest. His shoulders are enormous. He stands like a chapel spire –
peerless and daunting above a world that we can look at, but not
touch. Never has a suit looked so incredibly sexy on a person. His
butter blonde hair, slicked back in a loose sophisticated wave,
practically haloes his head. In the middle of it all are two
Caribbean blue eyes that pan the expanse, searching for someone
familiar. They pass over me, a mere peasant in the presence of a
god-king.
    I stand there gawking unceremoniously
(enduring a sensation that feels frightfully like to being smacked
across the face by a two my four) with my jaw dangling from the
hinges and my heart in my throat. In the same moment, I
unconditionally sign over my soul to him, this devil or angel in
front of me.
    I suddenly find my fashion-passion
inverted. There is absolutely nothing in this store that could do
him justice.
    All I want to do is undress him… preferably
with my teeth.
    I watch as the man’s eyes
find Cheryl Hart, the store manager. His face lights up. I am
astonished by how suddenly and fully I am consumed with the desire
to have him look at me that way. Cheryl