No doubt he was very good looking, as men went. Samantha was sure lots of women would love to have him crawling at their feet and offering to do whatever they wanted. Lots of straight women, at least. Lifting her gaze, Samantha looked past the nearly naked figure. The club was poorly lit and full of shadows, but all the important points were immediately clear to an artist’s eye, and they added up to one thing. Samantha had screwed up—big time. She looked down once more. The guy was still there. Samantha retreated a step and promptly backed into a huge pillar. It might have looked like marble, but it felt suspiciously like a cheap imitation as Samantha scrabbled at it in an effort to stay upright. “I…I think we might have our wires crossed,” she mumbled. The man crawled closer. Samantha stepped to her right, straight into a huge potted fern set on a wobbly pseudo-classical stand.
