Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
“Ja.” Yes.
The vagueness of the request annoyed Ilse, but a job was a job and she decided to shrug it off. Once she met the VIP, she could play it by ear from there. As she squeezed herself into her jeans, she asked Gloria about Erik.
“On the way to your place already, so there is nothing for you to worry about,” her boss answered reassuringly. “Jan is in good hands, I swear this on my gold-digging heart.”
“Great.” Her voice became partially muffled as she pulled her shirt down. “That’s all I need to know. “Doie!” Goodbye.
Ending the call, she kicked her killer heels out of the way, slid her feet into her sneakers, and then began collecting the pieces of clothing that littered the floor. Shoving them into the bag she had stowed neatly under the bed, Ilse stepped out of the room and smiled gratefully at Charlene. “Thanks for loaning me storage space.”
The sex worker blew her a kiss. “May you be blessed with a huge tip, gekkie.”
“I’ll share it with you if I do.” Ilse tossed the promise over her shoulder as she hurried towards the door. Outside, she broke into a run unceremoniously, uncaring about the way the other people gaped at her, and she made it to her meeting place just in time.
Situated atop one of Amsterdam’s few remaining swing bridges, Café Alles occupied every inch available of the historic steel structure and was a landmark in itself. With walls made entirely of glass, the café offered unparalleled views of the Red Light District alongside a warm, inviting ambience brought in by its cozy table setups and soft, beautiful music that soothed the ears.
As Madilyn Bailey belted out her version of Earned It from the speakers, Ilse worked hard to catch her breath while rapidly scanning the café for her VIP client. Guy in a pinstriped suit, glass of pink lemonade on his table, Ilse recalled from Gloria’s list of identification marks.
Gotcha.
She found him seated at the end of the bar, and her VIP client turned on his stool almost at the same time, his gaze finding her unerringly.
Oh!
Ilse’s body jerked in recognition.
It was the silent, mysterious guy from her earlier tour!
She stared at him in shock, and even though he stared back at her with equanimity, she had a feeling he was amused by her reaction. It would have been quite disgruntling if not for the fact that she was still struggling to get her composure back.
Although she had been very careful not to make any eye contact with him during the tour, Ilse had been awkwardly aware of the way he had stared at her the entire time. It had made her self-conscious, but it had also been...flattering.
And now he was doing it again, Ilse thought uneasily. She had the oddest urge to run away, her instincts clamoring for her to flee before it was too late.
But...a job was a job, and impoverished people like her couldn’t afford to be fussy.
Ilse forced herself to walk towards him, and although she knew she was being fanciful, the way his gaze followed her every move made her think of the way a man would look at his newest, shiniest toy.
Lazily, because he knew the toy was already his.
Possessively, also because he knew the toy was his.
A ferocious frown crinkled Ilse’s smooth forehead at the thought. She would have no problem with the way he was looking – if only she wasn’t the one he was eyeing like a toy.
By the time she reached him, Ilse had made up her mind, and she had her dialogue ready.
But then he came to his feet, and when Ilse had her first good look at him up close, she promptly forgot all about the words she had practiced in her mind.
My goodness, Ilse thought disbelievingly.
He was quite, quite taller than she expected him to be, and even if she had been in her killer heels right now, Ilse knew the top of her head still wouldn’t reach his shoulders. He was also exceedingly pretty – the way only movie stars should have a right to. He grew his hair just a little bit longer than what was usual, and the ebony-black waves looked so invitingly soft she had the strangest urge to feel it for herself. His eyes were a vivid shade of blue, his cheekbones aristocratic in its prominence. The rest of him was just as impressive, the magnificent breadth of his shoulders accentuated by his exquisitely hand-sewn suit.
But what really took her breath away was how wicked he felt.
He had BAD BOY written all over him, and Ilse frowned. He was, in a nutshell, the very opposite of her, and the urge to flee returned with a vengeance.
In the four years Ilse had been working as a tour guide, she had become a good judge of character. One look at this gentleman – if he could even be called that – and she knew he was trouble.