Mister West by R.J. Lewis (animal farm read .TXT) 📕

hard-earned lesson that was fundamental to my success.

“The catch would be sucking some old man’s wrinkly cock –”

She interrupts me with a loud laugh and then covers her mouth to smother it. I just smile on, surprisingly enjoying someone else’s company in the back of a crowded plane while a demon child continues to kick my seat.

“Anything else?” she manages to whisper, meeting my eyes with the mischievous blue of her own.

For a moment, we just stare at each other. Her eyes on mine, my eyes on hers. Something…delicious sparks between us. I can see it on her face as she’s finally taking me in with a warmer look than before. In a split second, she is undressing me in her mind. I can tell by the way she gazes down at my clothes, lingers on my chest and arms, and then slowly moves back up to my face. Her breaths are slower, heavier, and her stare is more inquisitive.

With a cocky smirk, I lean a little to her side and finally whisper back, “And riding it too.”

Knowing she’s attracted to me, I continue like this, sneaking in vulgarity that would never have impressed the modest type ladies I’m used to picking up. Her laugh is high and infectious, and I’m biting my tongue to keep from laughing along with her.

“A rich man with a dirty mouth,” she remarks with a shake of her head. “I’m sure you didn’t make your money talking.”

“Wrong,” I reply. “I’m a damn good salesman. I could sell snow to the Eskimos.”

She regards me curiously, as if she’s trying to figure me out. “What do you do?” she asks.

“I’m an entrepreneur.”

“Successful, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“Did you open up a place of business in Vancouver?”

“No. I left Ottawa to look into investments on the side. Call it boredom. Checked into some propositions, but nothing jumped out.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Are you an Angel Investor too then?”

I smirk. She’s knowledgeable. “More like joint ventures.”

“Hmm.” She glances around us and leans in closer to me. I’m a little too fascinated by those bright blue eyes, but her plump little lips are equally impressive. “So, in all seriousness, what’re you doing back here?”

My eyes skim her slender long neck and travel down to her collarbone. I keep them away from her cleavage, knowing I’ll be more vulgar if I get excited.

“I lost a bet.” To a man who owns this airline.

I turn away to stop an old flight attendant as she passes by. I request something to drink (for the third fucking time) and am promised with a, “be back in a minute” (for the third fucking time).

I will likely die of dehydration before this plane lands, and no one will care.

“So you’re being punished,” says Rage-Case, who I’m certain doesn’t deserve the title anymore.

“What’s your name?” I ask her, diverting the subject smoothly.

She stills. “My name?”

“Yeah, it’s something we’re given when we’re born into this world by our loving, doting mothers.”

She scoffs sardonically. “Yeah, so loving. My name’s Ivy. Yours?”

A part of me wonders why she just flamed her mother like that, but I’m more interested in her name than caring about her private life.

Ivy. Never met a girl with that name before.

“Aidan,” I reply.

She eyes my clothes. “Aidan what?”

I chuckle. “Not going to happen.”

“You’re not going to tell me your last name?”

I narrow my eyes at her curiously, jokingly replying, “Something tells me that contrary to how you look, you’re smart enough to know who I am if I gave you my full name.”

She raises a brow. “You’re saying I look stupid.”

“Never said it.”

“Yeah, you did. In a roundabout way. Fucker.”

I smirk. When was the last time I was called a fucker? “You’re a foul-mouthed stunner,” I remark.

She playfully smiles, her eyes alight with amusement. “You think I’m a stunner?”

“I’m sure you know you are, and you’re not stupid looking. You’re fucking appetizing to look at.”

A light blush snakes up her neck and settles in her cheeks. It gives her a soft glow I can’t turn away from. She swears like a pirate, carries on like a hard ass, but the second she’s complimented on her looks, she shrivels up entirely. Which tells me she’s remarkably inexperienced.

“How old are you, Ivy?” I ask quietly.

“Twenty-four,” she answers. “Are you forthcoming with your age, or will I suddenly know your identity if you tell me?”

“Thirty.”

“And you’re a successful businessman at thirty?” she says doubtfully.

“Is something wrong with that?”

“Inherited wealth?”

“Self-made.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“That’s just really, really young. Like unheard of actually.”

“I agree. I’m damn good at what I do, and I worked my ass off to get to it.”

She grimaces. “With that ego, I believe you entirely now.”

“I’ve earned my ego in many other areas too.”

“Like what?”

I run my eyes over her slowly, letting her know exactly what.

She smirks, keeping her eyes levelled to mine. “You’re direct, aren’t you?”

I love that even when she’s shy, she’s still bold enough to keep her gaze directed to mine. There’s something so fucking hot about her contradictory nature.

“The only way to get what you want is by being direct,” I reply in a low tone.

Her lips flatten as a fleeting thoughtful look crosses her face. “And it works?”

“I always get what I want, so yes, it works.”

She’s quiet now, and we’re still staring at each other. Still feeling that remarkable pull I can’t describe, but it makes my chest warm and my fingers ache to touch her. Then, the flight attendant taps me on the shoulder and hands me my pathetically tiny plastic cup of water. By the time she walks off, Ivy has completely pulled away from my side and is looking back at the blank monitor with a frown. She grabs the flight headphones and tears apart the plastic wrapper to get to it. I furrow my brows as she turns the screen on and goes through a list of films. Is she seriously done talking to me? Just like that?

I want to laugh at her. Does she really think she can capture my