Free Enticed (Dark Passions) by Sarah Bailey

 
    Copyright 2012, Sarah Bailey
    Cover photo from iStock
     
     
    All rights
reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of
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hard work of this author.
    This book is
a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place,
events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and storylines
are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    “Congrats,
Mel! You made it through week one working for Don Draper. Time for a stiff
drink.”
     
        
I laughed out loud. “A stiff drink? I work for Don Draper, remember? All I do
is get sloshed and take naps on the agency’s swanky couches.”
     
       
 “Ha, ha,” Jen said, her voice full-on snarky.  “I’m sure that’s what you do
all day, Miss Workaholic. Anyway, work hard, play hard, right? We’re all
heading to Pegu Club tonight. On West Houston. We’re meeting up at 10pm.
Dressing hot is mandatory.”
     
       
 I looked at my watch. 7:30pm. I had just enough time to take a luxurious
bubble bath, eat some take-out, and pick out an outfit for this evening. Part
of me wanted to stay in, put on my silk pajamas, and sip obscenely delicious
red wine on my new leather couch, in my new Soho apartment. I’d only been in
town for two weeks, and I still had a lot of decorating to do. Plus I’d been so
busy at work, I’d barely seen the place, coming home every night at 10pm and
crashing, sometimes full-clothed, on my 19 th century French bed.
     
        
My bed was my one self-indulgent purchase. I’d picked it up in an antique shop
my first day in town. It was a little on the expensive side, but I’m a sucker
for objects that exude history. The apartment itself was a little beyond my price
range. Even with my new six-figure salary as a senior copywriter at a
prestigious Madison Avenue ad firm, the place was unaffordable. I’d been
looking for a pad in Harlem, but my overprotective father insisted that if I
was going to move to a dangerous city like New York, I was at least going to be
living in the safest neighborhood in town, and I had plenty of money in my
trust fund to cover the bill. I didn’t put up too much of a protest. I had a
soft spot for Soho. With its cast-iron buildings, cobblestone streets, art
galleries, and weekend street performers and jewelry vendors, it was a bohemian
fantasy come true.
     
        
“So, we’re on, right?” Jen asked impatiently.
     
        
I sighed. I really did want to see Jen. I hadn’t seen her since she moved from
Chicago to New York a year ago. “Sure. Count me in.”
     
    ***
     
        
“Mel!” Jen yelled, sliding off the bar stool and strutting towards me, her
tight red Valentino cocktail dress showing off her long legs, tiny waist, and curvy
hips. With each step she took, her thick blond curls literally bounced.
Shooting me a blindingly white smile, she bent down and gave me a massive hug.
     
        
“Hey, supermodel,” I said, and laughed at her exuberance. “So good to see you.”
     
        
Jen stepped back and took me in, her eyes assessing my every inch. “Well, you
look gorgeous, as ever. But I said dress hot , not business chic.”
     
        
I gave a small sharp slap to her bare arm. “Easy there, sweetheart. We