I sigh. Ever since my last foray into Page Eight, I've been getting a lot more respect at work. The fact that Mike is holding off on the deadline for printing the paper till after my date with Derrick goes to show how much importance he's placing on tonight and my continued association with Prince Sin.
Prince Sin. I still can't believe it. I mean, it took me a few times to look at the video of him waving his cock around but I came to the conclusion that every woman in America probably came to after seeing it - Prince Derrick Blaine was very, very large. He had a magnificent and beautiful cock. And even I, who hadn't had much experience in these matters could see that.
Oh, just to explain something to you really quick. There's no real one author that writes Page Eight. Well, I mean, in the newspaper the author is listed as Abigail Adams. But she doesn't exist. It's a team of writers that puts together the stories. That's why when Abigail says something, it's usually one of the writers or their assistants that came up with it.
Up until this week, the closest I had gotten to attributing words to Abigail Adams was doing research and looking over and proofreading articles. Until the Prince and his fateful "interview". I got 750 words that day - almost unheard of for a newbie to get. And Danielle and Mike are telling me to prepare for another 1000 words after this date.
And it is a date. But it’s a date where I have to pump him for information. I sigh into the phone, "I got it Mike, you've been over this with me like a million times already," I say.
"Don't give me that kiddo," Mike says and I roll my eyes on the other side. "I've been around the block, okay? I've covered these bad boy princes. Hell, I've even covered the ones that weren't that bad, but wanted the world to think they were. And let me tell you, this Derrick character, he's the worst of the lot."
I'm in a taxi and it's pulling up to Columbus Circle right now, so I tell Mike I'm getting ready to get out.
"Be careful, kiddo," are his last words before we hang up.
It's a nice summer evening and I'm glad I decided to wear a slightly tight, shimmering black dress. I have some heels to go along with it, and I had my hair done for the night.
What? Don't look at me like that, okay? It's my job to make sure Derrick keeps thinking of me as this stupid, little, stripper-girl. Is it the right thing to do? I don't really think so. But it's my career that's on the line. And for what? To publish the truth about a horrible human being whose been mean to me in the past, remember? It's not like I'm making anything up here. And this is for the man that either tormented me as a child or ignored me as I grew older. So I don't see the harm in what I'm doing, okay?
Plus, I have to try to look good if I want him to open up to me. I mean, the other day when he asked me to dinner, I was still skeeved out from the strip club, but my heart was racing. Whether it was because I had just gotten off stage after doing something I'd never thought I'd do, or because I was so close to him. I mean, despite his flaws, the guy has the body of a god. He's tall, handsome, and you can see his muscles no matter what he's wearing. And I don't know if it was because it was on television, but I snuck a couple glances at his crotch - there is definitely so much pleasure swinging from his legs. Don't tell him, or anyone for that matter, but just talking to him, it was a giant struggle to stay mad at him when he was looking at me. I was just getting wet. Really wet. Oh my God. Does that make me a bad person?
And then when he said he remembered who I was, I don't know why I pretended it wasn't me - Alicia. I don't know. It was like the look he had in his eyes when he mentioned me. It didn’t match his actions towards me in the past. But I couldn't tell him I worked for a tabloid newspaper - he'd go on guard around me.
I'm so confused! When I'm around Derrick, he doesn't seem that bad. I mean, he seems overpowering, sure - but in a good way. But the guy has a reputation that goes on for miles. And the only reason he's not in jail right now according to the DA is that diplomatic immunity that he carries around.
Derrick had told me to meet him at Per Se, which is on the fourth floor of the Shoppes at Time Warner. Per Se is like the most expensive restaurant in New York, and the only one in the city to be awarded 3 Michelin stars. So I'm a bit nervous by the time the escalator takes me outside Per Se.
Oh yeah, guess who called twice tonight?
Give up? Jake the Asshole Ex-Boyfriend.
He called once while I was on the phone with Mike and once as I go up the escalator. I sent it to voicemail both times. I have nothing to say to the guy.
; The thing is, he’s called a couple more times this week. Whatever.
I’m not even mad at him. I just don’t think of him.
How is that even possible is probably what you’re wondering. Well, it’s empty when I walk in, but Derrick is standing right there in the center of the room and all thoughts of Jake vanish. And that’s why I’m not thinking of Jake at all. Derrick Blaine - dressed in a tuxedo. He cleans up really nice. Oh, my. Jake is an insect compared to this man.
Not that I’m thinking anything, or whatever you might be thinking.
I hate Derrick! Remember?
He looks at me and there's a glint in his eye, followed by a look - what kind of look is that? Like he remembers me from somewhere?
"I cleared the restaurant, love," he says as he walks up to me and places a hand on my back, guiding me to a table placed in the center of the dining room. "I wanted us to have this space to ourselves," he says.
Okay, I'm seriously impressed. People make reservations a month in advance and generally they don't let them go easily. For Derrick to have done this in three days meant contacting each of the people with reservations and giving them something else in exchange. The restaurant would never do that. Even for a Prince. They had too much to lose.
But all I ask is, "Do you do this for all your women?"
Derrick laughs as a waiter pours some sparkling water and brings a tray with two flutes of champagne.
"No, love," he smirks. "This is only for you," he says as he smirks at me again.
I can feel my cheeks blush and I look down for the menu to hide my eyes. But there's no menu yet. The waiters are just bringing out food.