The Daring Assignment Read online

  THE DARING

  ASSIGNMENT

  VICTORIA BRIGHT

  Seattle, WA 2015

  COPYRIGHT 2014, 2015 VICTORIA BRIGHT

  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

  Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

  Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.

  No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.

  Inquiries about additional permissions

  should be directed to: [email protected]

  Cover Design by Laura Hidalgo

  Proofread by Amy Oravec

  Previously self-published 2014

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  PRINT ISBN 978-1-62015-710-7

  EPUB ISBN 978-1-62015-732-9

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2015902692

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  COVER

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  I WISH I WERE A BUTTERFLY. I WISH I COULD FLY AWAY.

  ON A SCALE FROM ONE TO EVEN … I CAN’T.

  RECOGNIZE WHAT YOU HAVE BEFORE IT’S GONE.

  I CAN MAKE YOUR FANTASIES A REALITY …

  I REFUSE TO BE YOUR PERFECT CLONE.

  WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT GET EMOTIONALLY INVOLVED.

  TWO CAN PLAY THIS GAME, DARLING.

  I WISH YOU WERE MY FOREVER …

  I DEDICATE THIS TO YOU.

  AND THEN HE WAS GONE.

  THE TIMES ARE CHANGING.

  WHAT HAPPENS NOW?

  COMING SOON…

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  To my Cherie,

  No matter how many erotic novels you talk me into writing, I will always be a prude at heart. Although you irritated my entire life about writing this, I’m so glad that you believed in me enough to make sure it was completed. I love you and thank you.

  Freak.

  I WISH I WERE A BUTTERFLY. I WISH I COULD FLY AWAY.

  I OPENED MY EYES the minute I heard the shower running in the master bathroom. I had been awake for a few hours, but wasn’t in the mood to deal with Julius this morning. After the heated argument about my job last night, I couldn’t even look at him without wanting to slap his facial hair clear out of their follicles. The argument wasn’t anything new, just something he was quick to bring up whenever I reminded him about spending money or time with me.

  Here’s the thing, neither of us is actually lacking—in money, I mean. We’re both from established, successful families and heirs to palatial estates. The problem is that Julius and I are very different. He enjoys his status and elite social standings.

  Julius was a third-year associate investment banker at his father’s bank despite not having a master’s degree in business administration. He indulged in the perks of being rich and connected. If it were up to him, having power, money, and attention was all he needed to survive.

  I, on the other hand, hated this stuffy, posh lifestyle. After growing up and being forced to be friends with some of the most stuck-up girls I’ve ever met, I grew to resent the rich. Making people feel beneath me simply because they didn’t have as much money as I did wasn’t something I got off on. My parents didn’t see it that way, though. They spent my whole childhood trying to groom me into their perfect clone. In the end, I just couldn’t do it.

  My father, DeAngelo Donatelli, owns many vineyards in his homeland of Italy as well as a large one in California. He had wanted to teach me the trades of his job, but I couldn’t see myself studying fermented grapes for the rest of my life. My mother, Charlotte, is a fashion designer. She designs for celebrities as well as her own clothing line, House of Donatelli, which she sells in her boutique. People flock from all over the world just to purchase a design from her store. Early on, she’d wanted me to get into fashion, but decided somewhere around middle school that I was too fat to model—which she reminds me of to this day.

  In my opinion, a size 16 isn’t fat. A blend of Italian and African American genes has given me a figure most women would pay for. Either way, it still didn’t stop my body-conscious mother from making remarks such as, “You’d be so much prettier if you lost a couple of pounds.”

  When I chose to be a romance author, my parents nearly cut me off from their estate. Degrading my career, they said I was wasting time. No child of theirs would have a career that would embarrass the family name. After a while, they threatened me. In order to receive my inheritance, I’d have to marry rich.

  Now, I’m stuck with Julius.

  Here I was, trapped in a relationship to please my parents. Julius’ parents had also set the same prerequisite to receive his inheritance, so we were basically just tolerating each other until we figured out what to do. I grew up with him since childhood, and I didn’t like him any more now, than I did back then. He’s still the same arrogant asshole I met for the first time at our private high school orientation. The amount of disrespectful comments about my weight had only increased as the years went by.

  With a sigh, I lazily sat up and tossed the blankets to the side. Even though I hated his guts sometimes, I was proud to be considered his girlfriend, at least in the public eye. Almost every woman in New York wanted him, but I had him. When we went out, I felt a sense of pride when I saw the lust in their eyes, wishing they had my man. On the outside, Julius was the ideal man. His dark, chestnut brown eyes were always bright when he was excited. His strong jawline was lightly traced with a barely there chinstrap, and his flawless lips were framed with his neatly trimmed goatee. Although his hair was closely shorn, the Indian genes he’d inherited from his father caused him to have the softest, deepest waves. It kind of reminds me of how a baby’s hair is a few days after they’re born, you know, all slick and cute. His gorgeous smile generally made me melt no matter how upset I was with him, which infuriated me. Standing a little over 6 feet, his athletic frame was perfect for my own.

  He was the definition of perfection, and he knew it. I gazed in the direction of the bathroom door and shook my head. I just wished we actually lived the life we depicted in public.

  Making my way to the kitchen, I started a pot of coffee and poured myself some orange juice. Leaning against the counter with my glass, I scrolled through the e-mails on my phone to figure out what I needed to do today. I groaned inwardly when I saw an e-mail from my literary agent, and the subject line was in all caps.

  That was never good.

  Knowing it would leave me anxious or on edge, I quickly moved past it and made a mental note to actually read it later. There was no way I could read her e-mail and then deal with Mr. Dickface when he finally came to the kitchen for his coffee.

  Speak of the devil. His eyes raked over my body with boredom as he strolled into the room, buttoning up his shirt. “Do you even plan on getting dressed today? At least look like you’re doing something productive,” he muttered, turning to the coffee pot.

  I rolled my eyes and took a sip of orange juice. “Do you plan on going to hell anytime soon? At least give me the hope of freedom,” I mumbled into my glass.

  He paused and looked over his shoulder. “Did you say something?”

  “Nothing you’d be interested in,” I mentioned dryly, moving over to the toaster to pop in two bagel halves.

  Julius watched me for a few moments before shaking his head and turning his attention
back to his coffee mug. It was the same routine every single morning. Things on the outside looked so glamorous, but on the inside, we were both prisoners that were locked away for life with our parents holding the key to our freedom. I would do almost anything to escape this nonsense.

  “Can you fix my tie? You seem to make a better knot than I do,” he said.

  I clenched my teeth and turned around to face him, keeping my eyes focused on the task in front of me. The closeness of the interaction was enough to get my hormones raging, especially after catching a whiff of his cologne.

  My mind went into a different world right then and there in the kitchen. In my fantasy, this whole tie thing was just a distraction to move him closer to me. He would pull me into his arms and gaze lovingly into my eyes, slowly untying the satin robe that I wore to reveal the sexy, white, see-through negligee underneath. His kisses on my lips would be gentle but demanding as he pressed his erection against me. I could just…

  “I would like to get out of here on time, if you don’t mind,” he stated, breaking into my daydream.

  I blinked as I came back to my current surroundings. The irritation etched on his face was the perfect reminder of how my fantasies were always going to be just that, fantasies. The only time Julius seemed even remotely interested in me sexually was when he had been drinking. It was a blow to my self-esteem at times, but I’ve learned not to care. Either way, the thought was nice while it lasted.

  It took quite a bit of willpower not to choke him with his own tie. Our situation just made me so bitter. The last thing I wanted to do was spend my life with someone who didn’t even want to be with me.

  Once I finished, he moved around me and took my bagel slices from the toaster.

  “Um, hello? That wasn’t for you,” I protested as he quickly spread strawberry cream cheese onto the slices before taking a huge bite.

  He shrugged and quickly put on his suit jacket. “I don’t think carbs would be good for you in the morning. Have a fruit salad instead,” he replied and disappeared out of the kitchen.

  I stared at the empty spot where he had been standing long after he was gone. This was what I put up with every morning, and as usual, I had lost my appetite for breakfast. If he was trying some new method to get me to lose weight, he was definitely succeeding.

  Bastard.

  I quickly finished my juice and headed back to the bedroom to start my day. Despite what Julius thought, I had a lot of work I needed to get done. If you were to ask him what my job entailed, he would say I lounged around in my pajamas from sunrise to sunset, writing unrealistic romances.

  I shook my head. He could be as bad as my parents when it came to my writing, but I was getting used to it.

  Moving over to the full-length mirror in the corner of my room, I studied my reflection. I didn’t think I looked bad. My stomach was flat, my breasts were a perfect C cup, and my hips, ass, and legs turned heads wherever I went. My weight was evenly proportioned on my five-foot-six frame, and I was proud of my curves. I puckered my lips a few times in the mirror as I examined my body.

  “I’d fuck me,” I muttered to myself, turning at different angles to get a better view of myself. What didn’t he like about me? Even if he wasn’t attracted to my body, I was still beautiful.

  People would always compliment my striking, emerald-green eyes or how my copper mane was so soft and shiny.

  Whenever Julius felt like being sweet, I would wake up to him watching me sleep. He would tell me how he loved my long lashes and pouty lips. According to him, he liked his women “natural”—no silicone, extensions, nails, lashes, or anything else that they weren’t born with.

  I just didn’t understand him. If I could capture the attention of so many other men without even trying, why couldn’t I get him to give me 5 minutes of his time? I really did want to love him, but he just wouldn’t allow it.

  In my attempts to have a good time with him last night, I made an effort to find a flattering negligee with the help of my best friend, Gia. Being the prude that I am, I figured she would guide me in the right direction in regard to finding something that would excite Julius. She told me the more skin it showed, the better chances I had of having a good night.

  At the end of the shopping trip, I went home with a white, lacy, see-through negligee and matching garter belt, a white satin robe, massage oils, and edible panties. I gazed at the lingerie piece and shook my head at my reflection in the mirror. Instead of it exciting him, it’d annoyed him and started our argument, claiming he was too tired to deal with me.

  The pain of rejection was still fresh in my heart. I’d spent hours preparing—cooking, lighting candles, sprinkling rose petals around—all in hopes of getting brownie points when he saw I’d taken the time to do something special for him. After hearing him complain on the phone to someone about how he didn’t feel appreciated, I wanted him to know that I truly appreciated him and everything that he did for me.

  When he came home late, I was still determined to make something happen. But as soon as he came through the door, the complaints were flying off of his lips. Why was it so dark? Was I burning something? Why’d I leave the food out? Why were there dead petals all over the floor? When I finally approached him in my lingerie with a glass of champagne, his forehead wrinkled in disgust.

  “What are you doing, and why are you wearing that? I hope that isn’t for me; I’m not in the mood, and that makes you look like a whore. Is this what you did all day? Congratulations, you’ve made a mess all over the house and played dress up,” he sneered. “And you have the nerve to want people to take your job as a writer seriously?”

  That’s when all hell broke loose.

  I shook my head. I didn’t know if I was more upset about what he’d said about my job as a writer, or the whole whore comment. Here I was dressing up for his ungrateful ass, and he says that I look like a whore. I know now to never buy lingerie for him again.

  My phone vibrated on the dresser, interrupting my pity party. I glanced at the screen to see that I had a message from Gia asking me to meet her for breakfast. After the interaction with Julius this morning, I really didn’t have an appetite, but I wanted to see my friend. Talking to her always made me feel better, and as a sex therapist, she could possibly offer me some kind of insight into what the hell was going on with my selfish boyfriend. After agreeing to meet her at Forest Hills Bagels, I tossed the phone onto the bed and headed to the shower.

  ***

  Within the hour, I was fighting traffic on the Triborough Bridge to get to my destination. Thankfully, the deli was less than 30 minutes away from my townhouse. When I pulled into the parking lot, I could see Gia leaning against the side of the building in a long, shiny, black trench coat and fire engine red platform pumps. If I didn’t know her, I’d think she was a woman looking for trouble, or a very attractive call girl.

  Everything about Gia screamed sex. She was a sex therapist by day and a dominatrix by night. It was so strange how we were best friends, but yet so opposite. This woman possessed major sex appeal and wasn’t ashamed to show it. Meanwhile, I am easily embarrassed by her sex talk and uncomfortable with dressing sexy simply because I am not as confident about my body as she is. Although she was also a size 16, she carried herself with such dignity and class that most men didn’t care about her weight; they just wanted to be in her presence. Every BDSM-craving man wanted to be dominated by Mistress Gia, hell, maybe women, too.

  “It took you long enough, you skank. I almost thought you were kidnapped,” she said as I approached her, popping the pink bubble gum that she was chewing. I giggled as I hugged her.

  “It was only 25 minutes, G. I’m pretty sure you just got here. What’s with the trench coat?” I asked curiously.

  She grinned and tightened the coat around her. “I just felt like wearing it. Don’t worry; I’m fully clothed underneath it. I’m just being mysterious today,” she answered with a wink, already answering the next question that I was going to ask.
<
br />   You never knew with Gia sometimes. I can vividly remember this one time she took me to a strip club for my birthday wearing that very same trench coat, and the only thing she had been wearing beneath it was a hot pink thong. If I didn’t believe I was a true prude, that night at the strip club with her proved it. “Well, let’s get inside and get some food. It’s cold out here, and I’m starving,” she said, linking her arm with mine and moving toward the deli.

  The atmosphere inside was warm and comforting compared to the bitter fall chill that was outside. The aroma of bacon, fresh bagels, potatoes, and other breakfast delicacies filled the air and made my mouth water. I may have lost my appetite with Julius, but I definitely got it back once I caught a glance at someone’s hot plate of breakfast. We chose a table near the back window and quickly moved over to it. I slid into my seat while Gia took her time to remove her coat, slowly untying the sash around her and pulling the coat off. It was strange; it was as if she were moving in slow motion.

  It was a typical Gia move, doing things slowly to be sure to catch the attention of everyone around. Once the coat was off, I could hear a few whistles at the sight of her tight, mesh-splicing, half-sleeved red dress that stopped at her knees. Seeing her dress made me feel underdressed in my denim skinny jeans, grey sweater, and black booties. Her brown hair flowed in loose waves around her shoulders as she used her hands to tease it before sitting down.

  I clapped slowly with a sarcastic smirk. “Thank you so much for that display. I’m sure every guy in this place enjoyed the view,” I teased, grabbing the menu in front of me. Gia shrugged and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

  “This is small scale. If I would’ve worn my black fedora like I had planned to, I’m sure I would’ve had every person’s attention as soon as we walked in. Those cops up front would have thought I was a prostitute,” she said, nodding in the direction of the two policemen sitting five tables away from us.