CONTESSA VAN VUUREN

I sit amongst the presidents, royalty, the captains of industry, and the wealthiest f--ks in the world. We own Spiked Roses - an exclusive, membership-only establishment in New Orleans where money or lineage is the only way in. It is for the gentlemen who own everything and never hear the word no. Sipping on whiskey, smoking cigars, and conducting multi-million dollar deals in our own personal playground of indulgence, there isn’t anything I can’t have...and that includes her. I can also have her if I want. And I want.

I was upgraded to first class on a flight from London to New York. The food, champagne, and service were impeccable. The blue-eyed man sitting next to me, even better. He was suave and intelligent. We talked and laughed, and something clicked. Fate took over and the plane was grounded, and we had an unexpected stopover for the night. With no plans, we made our own.

He enters the car accompanied by a chill from the evening wind and the car rocks gently, until he’s seated behind me and the door is shut. His scent fills my lungs first and as it does, I remember that I’ve been told that smell is the sense that holds the most memory. Maybe I read it somewhere, but I’ve never known something to be truer than that fact is now.