I wave him the fuck off. I don't have time for this. It's 5:45 am and I need to fucking get upstairs.
"Sir! Sir!" he yells like a fucking parrot.
Luckily for me, my security contingent who was struggling to keep up catches up just as I head into the building. I'm not worried. Pressly leads the security detail. He'll deal with the rent-a-cop.
I head up the elevator, not giving two shits that I look so out of place with the rest of the people in there – dressed in their suits and uniforms of corporate slavery. What the fuck do I care? The women are staring me up and down. Hunger in their eyes. Lust in their hearts. Their husbands forgotten. The men are shrinking away from me - afraid when an Alpha is among them. Just the way I fucking like it.
"The interview is in Room 3, Prince Blaine," the receptionist who meets me outside the elevator is telling me as I walk out. She recognizes me instantly. I'm not surprised. Most people would, with the number of times the Post and the Daily News have my face splashed on there. "Mindy Friedman is waiting for you. They'll do hair and makeup as she preps you for the interview."
I'm not paying much attention to her, because we've just walked into the studio that's going to host the interview segment. The receptionist actually never came into the room - her job was done so she just gives fuck all about me. Leave it to the next schmo to take it from there.
The studio is empty except for a cameraman manning a camera and the interviewer - world famous Mindy Friedman.
"Where's the hair and makeup?" I ask, walking over.
Fuck me, this bird is fine. She's wearing a dark blue short skirt and a blue silk blouse. She blushes when she sees me. I give her an evil smile right back at her.
"You must be Prince Derrick," she says to me, a blush creeping across her face as she gets up. I can tell she's flustered.
Her tits are nice. Could be nicer. Body okay. Definitely fuckable.
I don't know what I'm doing but in times like this I usually just go with it. I reach over and pull off my wife-beater.
"What are you doing, man?" the cameraman exclaims.
Fuck. I had forgotten he was there. Mindy's looking at me with a look of shock as well.
"Get the fuck out," I say strongly to the camera man, pointing towards him.
"Excuse me?" the incredulous cameraman asks. He can't believe this shit. Neither can I. Which makes it hilarious.
"You heard me," I say. "Get the fuck out of here. Now."
I flex my upper body. My muscles glisten under the light and ripple. Mindy is entranced.
I smile to myself as the cameraman scurries away, more used to listening to orders than standing up to orders that are bollocks.
I mean, I know what you're thinking. Who the fuck am I? Why am I such a fucking asshole.
Well, I'll tell you who I am. I'm Prince fucking Derrick Blaine from St. Livy. I'm heir to the 10th largest economy in the world after my father. And I truly am a fucking asshole.
I'm also still rather drunk.
But let's go back to Mindy, shall we? Her mouth is hanging open and she's looking at me like I've gone fucking mental.
"We got some time, love," I say. "Follow me into bliss, or stand back and watch me get naked."
"Are you crazy?" she asks - her mouth agape. She's trying to be indignant. But I can see where her eyes are looking.
"Not at all, love," I say. "But we can argue, or we can fuck. Which one do you want?"
She hesitates. I undo the belt buckle of my pants and let them fall. My cock is twitching being around the presence of a female and my boxer briefs are showcasing my 11-inch bulge quite nicely.
Mindy begins unbuttoning her blouse.
So much for high minded morals or professionalism, eh?
"Faster," I say with a glint in my eyes.