Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
“Perfect,” I murmur, staring down at her.
“My place is just there,” she says, gesturing to an apartment building across the street, “if you wanted to come in?”
Fuck, is it tempting. But I want to do this right, to show Delaney exactly how she deserves to be treated. So, instead of taking her offer and coming inside, I walk her to the door, make sure to get her number, and wish her goodnight with another chaste kiss.
I wait until I hear her lock the door and then force myself to leave, immediately planning when I’ll get to see her again.
4
DELANEY
Iwake up the same way I fell asleep—thinking of Damien’s kiss. I stretch out in bed before rolling over and grabbing my phone to check the time. It’s Sunday, so I don’t have work, and I can revel in a few extra minutes in bed.
I open my phone to a text from a new number.
Unknown: Good morning, pretty girl. Can I take you out for food? - Damien
My heart jumps, and I’m officially wide awake. I save his contact with a heart-eye emoji next to it, butterflies fluttering around my stomach.
Me: I’d love that.
It only takes him a minute to reply.
Damien: I’ll come pick you up in half an hour. Pack your passport ;)
I frown at the instruction, a little confused, but giddy excitement takes over. Then my brain registers the fact that Damien’s given me just half an hour to pull myself together and throw myself out of bed and into the shower.
Twenty-eight minutes later, I’m showered and dressed in jeans and a cute shimmery top. I twist my hair up with a clip and rummage around in my stuff drawer for my passport. I’m just tucking it in my handbag when Damien knocks on my door, ready to take me out.
I can’t stop smiling as he leads me down to where a sleek black car idles by the sidewalk. Damien holds the door open for me, and I slide into the back seat, where he joins me seconds later. As soon as we’re settled, the car pulls away, and Damien’s hand covers mine on the middle seat. I expect the driver to head further into the city where most of the restaurants and brunch places are, but instead, he turns right to head in the opposite direction out of the city.
“Where are we going?” I ask Damien, far too curious to be patient.
Damien laughs, and the sound makes me feel all warm and cozy. God, he looks amazing in a white shirt and fitted black slacks.
“Patience, pretty girl,” he answers cryptically, giving me no real answer at all. “I promise it’s a good surprise.”
“What did I need my passport for?” I push, hoping he’ll give in a little. Anticipation swirls in my belly, and I’m practically bouncing in my seat with excitement.
I pretend to pout, glancing out the windows as though there’ll be a convenient sign or billboard announcing exactly where we’re going. Of course, there’s not, and by the time the car turns off the main road, I think I might explode with unanswered questions.
I furrow my brows, confusion washing over me, as I catch sight of a plane out my window. Two seconds later, a sign above the entrance to a small but well-kept building announces that we’ve arrived at the Browne & Bright Private Airport.
I blink, rereading the sign as though I’ve suddenly forgotten the letters I spend my weeks teaching kids.
“Your name’s on the sign for a … private airport?” I ask, astounded.
Damien’s lip twitches in a smirk. “Well, mine and a business associate who shared the same need as I did—somewhere to house our private jets where no paparazzi could hound us when we’re just trying to take a damn flight.”
I know he’s rich. More than rich. But I guess I hadn’t really considered exactly what that meant until now. Damien Bright has a private jet, like all billionaires, I suppose. Meanwhile, the only flight I’ve ever taken was to Florida for a spring break girls’ trip in college.
Damien notices the shock on my face and reaches for me, cupping my jaw gently. “I don’t want to overwhelm you,” he says, “But I do want to spoil you the way you deserve, Delaney. Let me.”
I can only nod and let him take my hand and lead me inside. The driver helps with our bags, neither he nor Damien letting me carry anything myself, and minutes later, we’re being greeted by a smiling flight attendant welcoming us aboard Damien’s private jet.
Even with my very limited plane experience, I know the jet is insane. Luxury doesn’t seem to encompass it. The seats are plush and comfy, practically armchairs. There’s a sofa towards the back that looks far comfier than the one I have in my apartment, and a blue velvet curtain separates the main cabin from something else at the back.