Liam
It's Tuesday evening and I am sitting in a chair infront of my desk in my hotel. I am going through my plans for the evening. The past few days have gone on pretty quickly. Aria has been on my mind during the time but I have tried not to get destructed by burying myself in work.
I finish my work for the day and take a sip of the fine Sancerre, delivered from room service by the woman with dark, dark eyes. Trawling through my e-mails and answering where required has been a welcome distraction from thoughts of Aria. And now I'm pleasantly tired. Is it the five hours of work? Memories of the delectable Miss Manroe invade my mind: in my jet, in my house, in my bed, in my bath. And to think it all started here in this hotel, makes it unbelievable. It hasn't been long but the pretty blond
