In this corner - pole dancer - in this corner - billionaire - let the games begin on #Wipitup

Scene set -We've met Flame  - now let's meet the hero.


With a frustrated sigh, Peyton Lang tossed the report onto his desk. How could one person be so irritating and hold up an entire project? He grimaced as the memory of the Tiny Wood Owl incident popped into his mind. What a stupid mess that was. A fifty million dollar complex's construction site had to be moved because the environmental report said some silly little owl only lived in the exact place he wanted to put a medical center. Still being young and brash, he'd challenged the report. Peyton rubbed his face. What a mistake that was. The media got a hold of the story, and by the end of the fiasco, he'd moved the construction site and donated ten million dollars to the preservation of a bird. He didn't like birds. They shit on his Ferrari.Now this… this… he grabbed the report and read the name Fuchsia Quinn. Now this Fuchsia Quinn had refused all financial offers and was stubbornly determined to stay put. Well, if he couldn't buy her out, he'd force her out. He'd purchased the company that held her rental agreement, and raised her rent. Everyone else in the building had skedaddled when he put out his offer.But, oh no, not this Fuchsia Quinn person. She was probably some old tree-hugging, new wave, crystal wearing crazy person who was going to be as annoying as that damn owl. Fuchsia. Isn't that a color. Like purple? Who names their kid after a color? Craziness probably ran in the family.Peyton, now that was a strong name. He slapped his hands on the table. It's the name of a man who needs a drink. He pushed back from his antique mahogany desk and strode across his Persian rug. He grinned as he pulled the top off his crystal decanter. He liked being rich. Rich people had nice things. Rich people were warm in the winter and always had plenty of food in their bellies.The pale amber liquid splashed against the side of the glass. He opened his ice decanter and chuckled. They even have ice at two in the afternoon. Normally he took his Bruichladdich 15 neat, but it was mid-afternoon. He needed his head to stay clear. He returned to his desk. The report lay sprawled on it. Almost every detail was locked into place and construction could soon begin on a new shopping complex and suburban subdivision. If only Ms. What's-Her-Name would stop being a pain in his ass.He swirled the scotch and let the aroma fill his nose. His stomach fluttered at the scent. His mouth watered. He lifted the glass to his lips. The alcohol streamed into his mouth. His taste buds exploded with joy. Moments after he swallowed, warmth blossomed in his stomach.With his temper soothed, he placed the glass down and picked up the report. What if the rent increase didn't drive her out? He'd never resorted to violence before. Usually money spoke louder. One of his mottos was, offer someone enough money and you can get them to tap dance on their grandmother's grave.Why wouldn't Ms. Quinn play nice?The chirp of his cellphone was a pleasant diversion. He checked the screen. 7 pm. Don't be late. Don't keep your Princess waiting.



What's happening in the rest of the month on Erotic Notions
21 – Thursday 13  #Thursday1322 – Book Boyfriend Café #HotforFriday23 – My Sexy Saturday #MySexySaturday24 – Weekend Writing Warriors #8Sunday25 - Author Spotlight – Liza O'Connor - The Hardest Love 26 – Author Spotlight – Lucy Felthouse – Native Tongue27 – WIP It Up Wednesday #Wipitup28 – Thursday 13  #Thursday1329 – Book Boyfriend Café #HotforFriday30 – My Sexy Saturday #MySexySaturday31 - Weekend Writing Warriors #8Sunday