Target- A short story
Cream curtains sweep the walls of the ballroom. A gleaming chandelier hangs over an eloquent dance floor. All around the room people shine like trophies for the special night. Canapes are passed round on silver trays to the people in show-stopping cocktail attire.
One woman in a haughty navy dress curls her lips in a frown at her husband. His cynical jokes and pretentious laughter pinching the air around them. Another man in a suede charcoal suit, mulls over the wine in his hand. Twitching his moustache at the strong elderberry scent.
Flames lick the dance floor following the silk of my dress as I stride towards the bar and pour myself a whiskey double, neat. I meet the bartender’s eyes with a calm coolness, daring him to challenge me. He backs away in defeat, polishing the cocktail shaker in hand.
I turn and sweep my gaze across the room, surveying the mix of aristocrats and entrepreneurs.
‘Filthy rich buggers,’ I think as they parade around the room. Arrogance and wealth driving them across the dance floor. None of them worthy of attention, of my time. They’d be too easy a target and I like a challenge.
That’s when I lock eyes with him. A tall, handsome stranger in a sharp pristine suit, too sharp for this cut-throat event. Swirling a drink in his hand absentmindedly. A hand pushing back his already sleeked-back hair. He’s exactly what I’m looking for. The perfect target.
A mixture of torment and desire washes over me as I make the decision to walk over. Realisation strikes him as he places the shaking glass down on a passing waiter’s tray. He pulls at his collar and steps forwards.
We meet in a waltz and the room fades away.