Mr. Beckett
He entered the room with the grace of a dancer and the confidence of a lion. His impeccable suit clung to his broad shoulders. It was a shade of midnight that mirrored the depths of his enigmatic soul. His cufflinks gleamed like stars piercing the night sky. His exquisite watch nestled beneath the sleeve of his crisp white shirt. He was a symphony of sophistication.
Sophie recognized the type. Any man could put on a suit. It took a certain kind of man to embody power and status effortlessly. She wore a snug black evening gown with a side slit up to her hip on either side. Her natural gifts balanced precariously between the plunging folds of her neckline. She knew better than to get entangled with men like this. Yet, something inside her yearned to know his touch. To hear him speak her name. To give herself to him. She’d imagined a night with him as she finished her first drink and sipped on another.
She was awoken from her daydream by a firm hand on her shoulder. “He will meet you.” A well-dressed security guard stood behind her.
Startled, Sophie jumped. “Who? What?!”
“Mr. Beckett,” he paused, “would have you as his guest, Miss…?”.
An unexplainable force drew her to this man. Without a second thought, Sophie rose from her seat. “Sophie,” she said, following the security guard.
