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Chapter 8: 'Fuck. I want her.'

RUM

Don’t smile like that. It’s revolting….

Revolting? Far from it. I literally can’t feel my face when she smiles. Damn it! That's some swag lyrics. And it’s already taken. Why didn’t I think of it before that guy?

“That’s good, Rum. Intense gaze…,” the photographer coaxed. “More intense.”

I did accordingly, working my thick, manly brows and fierce eyes.

But I found myself stealing glances at my new assistant. I knew she was here the second the door opened. Her powerful scent could never be missed. Then, I saw her at that loser spot behind the staff, between the stylist and the PR exec.

Rose Cintilar… just a dab of gloss and her lips are glowing like cherries. They must be blind to not have noticed it. Her eyes… they sparkle like the purest crystals; those large ugly frames can’t even hide an inch of their beauty.

Drowned victim? Ha! The longer I looked at her, the wilder the pounding in my chest. Yeah, she looked ghastly. But I knew what was underneath all those fabrics.
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