Wicked

When Chel Parker saw that smart suit and slicked-back hair, she was at his side in a heartbeat.

A coy smile and a few choice words did the trick—they always did. It didn’t hurt that her skin-tight dress showed off more of her womanly figure than any self-respecting woman would deem appropriate.

The ‘smart and successful’ man was hooked in no time.

“Champagne?” she asked when they reached her apartment. Her eyes crawled over him, slow and methodical.

Of course, he would have been a fool to refuse.

--

She left, clutch bulging with his cash and keys to his brand-new car. The sleep medication wouldn’t wear off for quite some time. Her lips curved wickedly.

The night wasn’t even half over.

Her heels clicked a warning through the dark, following her all the way to the next bar.