by Dark Angel
Almost.
“Yeah, kiddo, I’m sure,” Mike said with a long sigh. I could tell he’s thinking this himself. “At the end of the day, this is our job. To expose the truth. We gotta do it.”
Okay. If he says it’s okay, then I’m in.
“Get some sleep, kid. But first, get me tomorrow’s story.”
That’s right! I’m getting another shot at Abby! Yay!
I hang up and pour myself a glass of wine and begin to type up my story on my laptop. About dinner. And Per Se. And his amazingly hot body. The smell of his cologne. His blue, soulful eyes.
Oh, my.
* * *
Derrick picks me up at 8 am that Sunday. He’s got a stretch Bentley. I roll my eyes. That’s exactly what I expected from someone that I call Prince Sin.
Jake calls again, but I push it to ignore and get into the car.
“Morning, love,” he says with a smile as he gets out. “Figured we’d go do a photo op helping at a soup kitchen. What you say?”
I can’t argue with something so blatantly altruistic. “Who came up with the idea, Your Highness?” I ask.
He takes a moment to smirk at me. “Actually, it was Pressly who suggested it to my lawyer. Thought it would be a good way to spend the day. And fuck me, if they didn’t call some press accidentally.”
Figures. I wouldn't expect someone as hedonistic as Prince Sin to come up with an idea like that.
I’m quiet most of the way down Manhattan and only when we crawl through the maze-like streets of Lower Manhattan does the Prince even look in my direction.
“Seriously, Daphne,” he says with no hint of mirth. “I don’t mind doing these things….I just never get a chance to.”
I roll my eyes again. “Too buy getting kicking the girl out of your bed?” I ask.
He actually nods in agreement! “And hung over,” he adds.
Great. He doesn’t feel a lick of shame at his actions.
We board the Staten Island Ferry after some breakfast and the Prince takes me outside. It’s already close to 11 and it’s a nice morning and I watch the seagulls fly around the boat. It’s perfect.
I take a sideways look at the Prince, seeing what he’s doing. He’s gazing out soulfully towards Manhattan. I gasp, but try to keep it to myself. Gone is the arrogant smirk, the cocky demeanor. Instead is a man, struggling with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
I’m about to say something when I hear a scream.
My head turns immediately to the stern. There’s a woman. She’s flailing her arms and screaming.
“Help!” she yells. “Timmy! My boy!”
Before I know what happens, Derrick is already rushing over. I run after him, but I can’t catch up to him.
“He fell! He fell…please someone help!” the woman is wailing. Tears are flowing down her eyes and she’s nearly hysterical. I see a little head bobbing in the water. The other people around us all turn around and are looking at her. No one is sure what to do.
Derrick doesn’t even stop, but jumps on the railing and jumps off the boat.
Well, I can’t say I expected that.
With swift and strong strokes, within seconds, he’s caught up to the boy and he takes him in his arms. He stays in place, treading against the current and waves at the mother, who is still going crazy.
By this time, some other passengers have alerted the Ferry captain and the boat slowly comes to a stop. But Derrick is already swimming up to the boat itself and by the time the emergency workers lower the life raft, Derrick is waiting, helping get the boy back to the emergency workers.
The mother weeps and cries out as the emergency personnel bring the boy up and put a blanket around him. Derrick is down below, talking to the emergency workers.
Remarkably, the Staten Island Ferry resumes service immediately, although it turns around and heads towards Manhattan.
It’s only once we dock again in Lower Manhattan that Derrick comes up to me. He’s dripping wet, and soaked to the bone.
“I think we’re going to have to cancel today’s event, love,” he says looking directly into me. “Seems our first foray into respectability is all washed up.”
I can’t help but smile. Emergency personnel have taken the child to the clinic at the ferry terminal and the mother looks towards Derrick very briefly.
She never got a chance to even thank him, I think to myself. But then again, no one will ever even know about what he did. His heroism.
Except for me.
“You smell like dirty water,” I say, cracking a rare smile at him. “I think you need to go home and change.”
He smiles back. “Let me have the car drop you off then,” he says. I hesitate. I can probably take the subway on my own. It’s a Sunday morning. “I insist,” he tells me. I finally nod my head in agreement.
“Make sure you stay on your side and don’t get me wet,” I tell him with mock sternness.
“It's my job as Prince Sin to get every woman as wet as I can,” he says with a chuckle and a smirk and I can’t help but laugh.
Only Derrick would appropriate a name meant to shame into a badge of pride.
The ride to the Lower East Side is relatively short and Derrick holds the door open for me.
“Thank you for an interesting morning,” I say to him, and before I know it, I stand on my tiptoes and give him a quick peck on the cheek.
God, just doing that is getting me all sorts of hot.
Derrick raises his eyebrows. “Did I get you fucking wet there, love?” he asks with a grin.
“No,” I reply, sticking my tongue out at him. “But you will if you get any closer.”
I’ll leave you to decide what kind of wet I’m talking about. I get too hot just thinking about it.
Derrick is happy to stand there playing along but I eventually turn around and head into my building, going up the stairs, my mind filled with thoughts of random happiness.
Those thoughts are interrupted when I see the door to my apartment jarred open. I look closer. Someone’s broken through the lock.
Oh no!
The door is off it’s hinges and listing to the side on one hinge. I gulp. I probably shouldn’t go inside, but I can’t help myself.
I take a step inside.
“Jenna?” I call out. No answer. The living room is untouched. I go knock on Jenna’s door. She’s not in and the door isn’t locked. I take out my phone and call her.
“What?” Jenna answers in a cold voice when she picks up.
“Have you been to our apartment?” I ask.
She sighs on the other end. “No, and don’t worry. I’m staying with my parents in Connecticut.”
That’s not what I asked her but she continues. “I’m moving out. You don’t have to see me. I think you treated Jake like a real bitch and I don’t want to be around you as you finish him off, Alicia.”
I look at the phone. Is this the same Jenna that was sleeping with my boyfriend? While I was in the apartment? What is going on? Since when did I move to Bizarro world, where Derrick is saving people and I’m becoming a social pariah?
“What did he tell you?” I ask, and Jenna sighs again in irritation.
“You know, it's not even worth it Alicia. He told me all about how you…” Jenna begins but I cut her off.
Because I’ve just walked into my room.
The window is broken. My laptop is broken and tossed on the ground. My posters are ripped from the wall. My desk chair is broken into three pieces. My mirror on my vanity is cracked – like someone took a baseball bat to it.
I hang up, not even thinking what I’m doing. I’m crying, and shaking all at once.
Someone’s wrote in black spray paint, “SLUT” across my wall.
“Oh my God,” I say to myself and I run out. Someone's been here and they came to trash my room. Why would anyone do something like that?
I call Jenna again, but it doesn’t even ring. She puts me straight to voicemail.
I’m so s
cared I grab my purse and run out of the apartment. So violated. So afraid.
There’s nowhere for me to go. No one for me to call.
I don’t know why I do it, but I dial his number.
He picks up on the first ring.
“Derrick,” I say with a broken voice, trembling despite the warmth of the day.
I don’t need to say any more. “Give me ten minutes,” he says. “Fuck. Give me five minutes.”
He stays on the phone not saying anything but not hanging up and literally 7 minutes later a black stretch Bentley peals around the corner and brakes hard outside my building.
Derrick bounds out and grabs me in his arms.
I sink my face in, and feel his strong arms around me, and for the first time since I get home, I start to feel a little safe.
“Someone broke into my apartment,” I say, my voice muffled into his chest. “They trashed my room.”
Derrick motions to someone and from the background I notice that he has nondescript bodyguards dressed as civilians. The man nods and opens the door to my building.
Derrick looks at me, “What apartment, love?” he asks.
“4F,” I reply weakly, not wanting him to let go. Derrick conveys this to the man standing at the entrance to my building and the man rushes upstairs. Derrick continues holding onto me.
“Sam’ll go upstairs and get whatever he can carry and bring it back to my place, okay?” Derrick asks, disengaging himself slightly to be able to look me in the eyes. “You’re coming over and staying with me until we get this whole thing sorted as well. Okay?”
He’s commanding, and takes control of the situation. But that’s exactly what I need right now. I look into his eyes and nod.
He holds onto me as he helps me into the car and the Bentley takes off.
He never let’s go the whole time.
Derrick
Fuck me, I’m going to go mental if I don't fuck that beautiful body of Daphne’s soon. It’s only been one fucking morning and already my cock is twitching like it’s got a mind of its fucking own. It knows what it fucking wants and it's getting pissed as all hell at my brain for denying it.
That’s exactly all I’m thinking about right now as the Bentley’s driving me to One57. I’m still fucking wet from jumping into the water. But I’m not even thinking about that. Why wouldn’t I jump in? You’re thinking I’m trying to be a hero for Alicia or something, right? Well, listen, mate, I’m no fucking hero. I know you might be shaking your head, especially if you’re the skeptical type, but you need to believe me when I fucking tell you that I wasn’t doing anything on that boat for Daphne. I was just trying to get through the morning without popping my massive fucking cock in front of her.
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.
I admire her as she walks around, cooing and making comments to herself as she studies my apartment. Like a bird, before it nests.
Her legs are fucking toned. Her tits are fucking ripe. Her face is beautiful. I want to turn her around, bend her over and fuck her till we both pass the fuck out. That’s the only thing I want in this life. That’s all I know I will ever want in my life.
I’ve been ruined for all other women. And I haven’t even kissed her yet.
“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” she says as she walks up to me. “You’ll catch cold.”
“Right, love,” I tell her. “You want to join me as I get out of them?”
Her eyes fucking twinkle. Four days ago, she would have rolled those eyes and maybe even slapped me. But not now. Instead she just smiles and says, “I have nothing to change into.”
“That’ll change soon enough,” I tell her. “Sam’s bringing your shit over as we speak.”
“Just because you’re so wealthy doesn’t mean you can call all my stuff shit, Derrick,” she says. I look over at her startled and see her teasing smile.
Then she nods, thoughtfully. “I wonder who would want to break into
just my room. I mean, I didn’t really even have anything valuable in there.”
I don’t know either but I’ve asked Sam and Pressly to do a very thorough check of the place after Daphne’s stuff gets brought over.
“I’m so afraid to go back,” she says, and her eyes cloud up with uncertainty and fear again.
Fuck, why does she remind me so fucking much of Alicia? I don’t even know where Alicia is at after she graduated from Yale. But I remember enough about her that my cock stiffens again just thinking about her when she was 18 – before she left St. Livy.
She probably left hating my fucking guts. Because Prince Sin – the bad boy Prince of the fucking world – was too much of a chicken shit coward to admit his real feelings for her. Because I’d been too fucking scarred by the ill treatment of my mother by my father. Because I was too numb from her eventual death. Because I was too worried about how I had treated Alicia as a kid. Where I had not just treated someone despicably, but wasted an opportunity to tell a woman that I loved her.
Yes, alright. I fucking admit it. When Alicia left, I knew that I loved her. That’s why during her going away party, I conveniently went to Cannes. I didn’t want her to see me and I knew I couldn’t keep that shit to myself.
“You’re a million miles away,” Daphne says and I shoot back to reality. Her eyes are wide and she’s looking at me.
I take a step closer and can feel her breath.
Fuck me. I can’t be falling in love with Daphne. Not after just meeting her.
Not when I’m hoping to find Alicia one day.
My face inches closer to her and I can see her eyelids droop as I get closer.
I don’t care if she’s a fucking stripper. All I want is to fucking be with her.
My arm drapes around her and descends to her lower back.
I feel so at peace when I’m with her. She banishes my fucking demons.
Our lips are centimeters apart.
I’m going to kiss her. She reminds me so much of…
“Alicia.”
Daphne opens her eyes and looks at me. Concern, or jealousy, or fear, or what the fuck I don’t know.
All I know is I’m standing there, like an idiot about to kiss fucking Daphne and I’m mumbling Alicia’s fucking name.
