She’s been gone for a bit but it’s doing nothing for my state of mind.
That’s when my phone rings.
It’s Daphne. I pick that shit up on the first fucking ring.
“Derrick,” she says and her voice is fucking trembling like she’s afraid.
Fuck me.
I don’t need to hear another fucking word. “Give me ten minutes,” I say into the phone. I look at where we are – on 23rd street near Chelsea Piers. Fuck, I think we can do better than that. Pressly looks at me for the driver’s seat. “Fuck, give me five minutes,” I say out to her. I nod to Pressly who kicks the shit into high gear. The tires squeal as he turns a fucking U-turn onto 12th Avenue, and kicks the speed up as fast as it’ll go.
I’m on the phone but I don’t say anything unless she needs me to. I’m not hanging up on her and she’s not hanging up on me. I can hear her breathing and I curse under my breath, wishing I could fucking fly.
The Bentley’s flying, dodging traffic left and right. The other cars on the street, let's just say they’re rightfully fucking pissed.
It’s too long, but eventually we turn onto Daphne’s street, and the Bentley literally peals in and I jump out as I see her on the curb.
She runs into my arms and I hold her while Sam, my bodyguard that was in the front seat rushes up to her.
“You’re coming over and you’re staying with me until we get this whole thing sorted, as well. Okay?” I ask her, but I’m not really asking. I’m taking charge because I’m going to protect this woman. This most perfect creature that I’ve ever met.
She’s already told me her apartment number – 4F – so we climb into the Bentley.
I don’t fucking let her out of my grasp the whole fucking time until we get to One57.
“You live here?” Daphne asks me. She turns around to look at me and expands her question, “By yourself?”
We’re standing in the living room of my apartment. She’s looking out the window from the 75th floor of my penthouse apartment, high above the clouds of New York City. The living room is built in such a way that it juts out and you have views from three separate sides. On one side, there are clear unobstructed views of the Park. The other side has spectacular fucking views of Midtown Manhattan. On a clear day you can see all the way down to the Freedom Tower.
“Just me, love,” I tell her and walk to the window. “Come, see this,” I say, putting my hand at the base of her back and guiding her towards the balcony.
She steps outside and a burst of cool wind whips her beautiful fucking hair around her face. She’s fucking gorgeous. Like a fucking doll.
She looks at me, “So let me get this right,” she says. “Three bedrooms, a dining room, servants quarters, massive kitchen, living room, family room, study, and three bathrooms. And all this is for one person?”
I look at her. I can tell she’s waiting for my reaction.
“You forgot the balcony, love,” I say with a grin.
At first I think she’s going to slap me. But then she just rolls her eyes. “For one person?” Daphne asks again. “Derrick, your balcony is bigger than my bedroom.”
“That’s because it’s a wraparound balcony,” I say, smirking. Another wind comes through and I shiver. I’m still wearing the fucking damp clothes.
Daphne notices. “Let’s go inside,” she says and walks inside. I follow, but I stop. I’m staring at her ass. Her luscious and firm ass. God fucking dammit.
Now you know I’ve been with a lot of women. Fuck, you’ve seen me with a stripper and a news anchor. Let me tell you they couldn’t hold a fucking candle to this woman. And it’s not just because Daphne is fucking gorgeous.
She’s so elegant, even after her apartment got broken into.
She’s got some real class.
And you’re going to fucking groan, but there are two things in this world that drive me absolutely mental about a bird.
The first is if she’s got class.
The second is her ass.
Class and fucking ass. And Daphne has both in spades.