I'm free. Come over.

It wasn't a question so much as a demand from Chanel -- there's hardly anything that was ever a question when it came to Chanel, she doesn't ask questions or wait for replies. She gives orders and, thanks to the near constant conditioning from her lackeys that she so lovingly named after herself, she expects them to be followed without as much as a word of reply aside from 'Yes, Chanel.'. Jackson, however, didn't live up to those expectations the way that so many other men in her past had, he hadn't any problem making what Chanel considered to be rude remarks about her outfits, or doing things on his own schedule rather than right when she demanded them of him. Aside from being strikingly handsome, he wasn't anything like the kind of men that she would have normally found herself chasing after.

But maybe that was exactly why she was chasing after him, she enjoyed the challenge that he posed and more than enjoyed the way that most of their meetings with one another ended -- with her clothes strewn about the floor and her body underneath his. For as difficult as he might have been, he was worth it.

Waiting patiently in her living room, still dressed in what he had called a hideous Fendi dress, Chanel tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for the knock on the door, checking her phone every few moments just to see how long she'd been sitting in that very spot because it had started to feel like forever, and she practically jumped out of the chair she was seated in the moment that she heard the sound. "Took you long enough." She commented once she had the door open, one hand resting expectantly on her hip as she gave Jackson a once over.