Chapter 1 Bella - Martin 1

• "Darling, you are dazzling," said the older man, who leaned against the bar, he has silver temples and a smile that looked like a cat trying to catch a mouse.
• I turned my head to him without saying anything. "Thank you for the compliment, but I have an appointment," she says.
• He drew nearer. "It's possible that you'll be meeting me. My personal jet plane is ready to take off. What are your travel plans? London? Singapore ? Rome? You deserve a vacation abroad with that beauty." His words were definitely dazzling. His grip on my arse, on the other hand, was less so. He just want my body because I was a commodity to him. I wasn't one of them. I was working at the moment, but not in the way you might think.
• “No, Gracias,” I said in Spanish. He furrowed his brow at me. “Nee, Dank u.” I tried to tell in Dutch. Hardly anything. "Nein, Danke," I said, but he didn't take his hand away. I courteously surrounded his wrist with my forefinger and thumb and forced to remove it from my body. "Thank you, no," I said flatly before turning to the bartender and nodding for a refill. The old man had vanished the moment he slid my drink over to me. Finally, he paid attention. That's fantastic. If he had rem1ained persistent, I would've been so nice, but I was attempting not to blow my cover, so good for me, too. There's no need for a knee to his groin and an elbow to his nose.
• I wondered for the millionth time tonight how I ended up in this situation. I spoke six languages fluently and had always wanted to do more, but life never turn out the way I had planned. At the age of twenty one, I became pregnant and gave up my dream to become a translator. A beautiful woman who could speak six different languages, on the other hand, was an excellent hire for a private investigator who is specialising in catching deceitful husbands. And that was the task for the evening. My boss had been hired by a wealthy, unfortunate wife to obtain evidence of her husband's extramarital affairs, and I am the bait who was meant to catch him, dressed in a dress that hugs all of my curves, a high as the sky stilettos, and bright red lips.
• This was a sparkling nightclub. Everything about it was sparkling The sleek bar. The shiny black walls and silver ceilings. The bottles glittering on their shelves. And the people. They were so sparkly and perfect. And, they were all here looking for someone glossy and perfect to give them the sparkly perfect sex they wanted. Mistresses and millionaires. I was here, not as one of the glossy people, but as a fake. I was here to pretend to be one of them. To look glossy and attractive. To make one of them fall. For me.
• But not the man with the predator's smile. He was the wrong man for the job. I examined my reflection in a mirror above the bar. My chocolate hair was curled into perfect shiny waves, my eyes were sensually smoky, and my red lips made my olive skin look trivial in comparison. And then there's the cleavage. Miles and miles of cleavage in my curve hugging, pearl white knee length dress with one shoulder off. The cleavage was crucial. Tonight, I was "Arabella," my alter ego, who was viciously sensual and self assured, and she was aware that men desired her. It was simple to put on her smile, to look at the men through her lashes, to project confidence.
• My focus shifted to the men in this room. They were all looking at me, or at least at my cleavage, as planned. That was the point. Blown away by the disguises of exotic eroticism, they never attempted to look at me as a person. They'd never know who I was if I wore Arabella, like the dress. They all consumed me with their gazes, and Bella took pleasure in their attentions. A job well done.
• This was the strategy. I was the type that the mark was looking for. His wife, who had hired us to gather evidence of his extramarital affairs, had stated that he preferred the exotic and curvy type, which meant me. Or, at the very least, Arabella. Pia would be here, standing in line for Anthony Metzger, not me, if he liked tall and blonde women. Rich. Powerful. And irritating his wife. She'd told us Tony had made plans to come here tonight but wouldn't say who he was meeting with. She was certain he'd be here to meet his girlfriend or to meet someone new. Arabella steps forward. Our honey trap's lures. Extramarital affairs cases were the bread and butter of private investigators.
• Fortunately, I'd always enjoyed acting. I fluttered my falsies and sipped my drink, which resembled a cosmopolitan but contained no alcohol. It was enjoyable to play Arabella for a night because Arabella was so unlike my everyday life, and me. Bella. And just in particular instance things got too serious, I had a handgun in my clutch. I'd had to take it out a few times, but I'd never had to use it. Hopefully, this is not the case in which I will be involved.
• I scanned the bar once more, my near photographic memory comparing each middle-aged black man in a suit to the man I'd come to entice. It's too tall. Too much weight in the jaw. Too light, too dark. I flipped through the file in my head, looking for specifics. None of them were him.
• The audience was of the highest caliber. The lighting is low and unobtrusive. People laughed as their glasses chimed. Everyone was dressed as if they were important, as if they would want others to know they were. What was the point? I thought it was him when someone walked in the door, but the public parted and he had the wrong profile and was much bulkier. I'd been at this club for two hours already, having to fend off the wrong men who were hitting on me. I'm going for Arabella. I knew I wasn't Arabella. I was Bella. I wasn't even sure if the right person for me would be hitting on Arabella. I wasn't sure if a man who came into this bar would be perfect for me. I ended up taking another sip and inspected my phone for the tenth time. At least I was getting paid to be here, but I wished my boss would call and I could go home and take advantage of my overnight babysitter by turning on some music and dousing in a tub, blissfully child free by myself for the night!
• My attention was drawn to a man sitting alone in a booth in a quiet corner. Because it was my job, I'd noticed him before, but he'd shown no interest in me, instead focusing entirely on his phone. I'd pushed him to the back of my mind, dismissing him as not my target, not a threat, and uninterested. But for just a minute, I saw him staring in annoyance at his phone and letting out a sigh that I took an oath I heard from the other side of the room. He recklessly ruffled his dark hair, which contrasted with his tailored suit. He struck me at the time. As if a bell chimed. It didn't make sense.
• Then he glanced up, his eyes a light green in the dim light of the bar, and his stare reached all the way down to my toes. He tilted his head at me, and for a brief moment, I wanted to melt out of my stool and flee. With all those high cheekbones and chiseled jaw, he was too goodlooking, and it took me a second to recollect I was Arabella tonight, not Bella. Arabella.
• I reverted to my alter ego and gave him a sultry smile before cocking my head and returning to the bar as if unconcerned by him. It was all a ruse. He was bothering me. But there was nothing I could do about it. I was at work. I was a seasoned professional. I wasn't here to look at hot men in bars.
• My phone vibrated. I picked it up casually and elegantly, as Arabella would, while sipping her drink, mine, and glancing at the screen.
• "Bella, you're no longer working tonight. The wife has just confirmed it. Our mark will be staying at home tonight."
• "Dammit," I muttered to myself. I had no idea why. It didn't matter if the mark didn't appear and I didn't have to honey trap anybody at all. I could simply go home to take a bath. "See if I care," I said to my phone, or maybe to my boss, or maybe to the mark. I had no idea. "I can make brownies and consume them all by myself. While sipping on champagne I'm taking a bubble bath. Listening to Taylor Swift or Meghan Trainor is also a good idea. Loudly. How do you feel about that? ”
• What were my plans again? I couldn't recall anything. I sipped my non-alcoholic beverage as if it were booze rather than just cranberry and ginger with a twist. "I'm a young single woman; I don't have to sit here having to wait for some jackass who really doesn't show." I returned my gaze to the table with the good looking man, but he was gone. I was hit with a wave of disappointment.
• Had I wished for the man to be present? Had I wished to make more eye contact with him? Perhaps a flirtation? I chuckled at myself. Notwithstanding the the posh outfit and the fancy bar, I was a single mother with the surprisingly unglamorous job of a private detective for a small time company. On Monday, I'd be back in the office, going through phone records, trying to sell listening devices to questionable civilians, and going to pick up my kid from school in my jeans and sneakers. I wasn't one of these gleamingly wealthy people. I was only acting.
• I rolled my eyes and sent a text message to my boss.
• "I've got it. If anything else comes up, please text me. Otherwise, I'll see you on Monday."
• I let out a completely unsexy sigh and put down the phone. "That was a waste of a perfectly good night," I grumbled.
• "Did you get stood up as well?"
• "A deep rich voice inquired, somewhere to the left of my elbow. I felt a shudder run down my spine.
• I slowly looked over my shoulder, in command, one hundred percent Arabella, not Bella, who had just been talking to herself and fantasizing about having to eat cookie batter from the bowl, in the bathtub, with Taylor Swift playing loudly.
• He was the one. I'd lost my Arabella demeanor. He became even more attractive up close.