14. The Pick Up
1001 Words
Emma checked her reflection for the third time. The emerald-green dress hugged her curves, the neckline high enough to hide the last of Damien’s marks but sheer enough to tease. She’d debated changing— Why am I trying to impress him? He is the one literally paid to be here— but the thought vanished the second her phone buzzed.
Damien: I'm outside.
Her stomach flipped. Outside? How did he know where I live?
A sigh left her lips! Nevermind! Probably I have told him. Well I gave him my card.
She grabbed her purse and hurried out, only to freeze on the sidewalk.
A Bugatti.
Not just any Bugatti— a black, snarling Chiron that cost more than her entire villa. And leaning against it, looking like sin incarnate in a tailored charcoal suit, was Damien.
Emma’s mouth went dry.
“You’re late,” he said, pushing off the car with lazy precision.
Emma lifted her chin. “I am never late. You’re simply early.”
A slow smile covered his lips. I hate waiting. Hell I will make people go bankrupt if they make me wait. And this is her second time! Still why don't I mind? Why do I feel like I can wait for her... forever.
Damien’s gaze swept over her, slow and deliberate, lingering just long enough to make her skin prickle.
“That dress is a crime.”
Her pulse stuttered. “Too much?”
“Too little.” His mouth curved faintly as he opened the passenger door. “Get in.”
She slid into the butter-soft leather, inhaling a mix of cedar and expensive cologne. For a moment, she wondered—did he rent this? An escort like him couldn’t possibly afford a car like this… could he?
“So, did you rent it to impress me?” Her tone was teasing, almost careless.
“Of course. Do you like it?” Damien’s chuckle was low, smooth. He leaned in—close enough for her breath to catch.
Emma froze.
Is he gonna kiss me? Oh goddess! His breath smells so refreshing! He is gonna kiss me. Those sinful lips of his…
Her heart pounded. She closed her eyes, bracing for the heat of his mouth— but the kiss never came.
Click.
She blinked her eyes open to find him tugging the seatbelt across her, fastening it with a smirk that was pure sin.
What a fool you are Emma! Gods, he was just fastening the seatbelt for me.
He fastened the seatbelt for me! She repeated in her head. Like dad used to do… no one ever cared since he left. Mom is too sick to even move. This is the first time in a while someone took care of me! An unexpected warmth spread along her chest.
“You are all red, Bella. Did you have any dirty thoughts in that little head of yours?” Damien smirked. This man!
“What dirty thought?” Emma brushed him off, but her rosy cheeks betrayed her words.
Damien smiled wildly. She was like a little kitten, easily flustered. He shut the door behind her, his fingers lingering on the handle a beat too long.
This is business, she reminded herself. Just business.
So why did her skin prickle where his eyes had touched her?
Damien rounded the hood and slid into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life, vibrating through Emma’s bones.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
Damien glanced at her, his smile sharp. “Somewhere you can’t be Mrs. Jones.”
The car tore into the night.
Emma’s heart raced.
Two months, she told herself.
Two months, and this would end. Once she conceives… this would be gone. Damien would be gone.
But as Damien’s hand settled on her thigh, his thumb tracing idle circles, Emma wondered—
I will be free from Oliver! But what about Damien?
The Bugatti purred through the neon-lit streets, a predator cutting through the night. Emma watched the city blur past, her fingers gripping the leather seat as Damien guided the car with one hand— the other still burning a brand into her thigh.
The words should have chilled her. Instead, they sent liquid heat pooling low in her stomach.
Damien took a sharp turn, almost throwing her against him. His scent— dark spice and danger— wrapped around her. "Nervous?"
Emma righted herself, glaring. "Do you always drive like a maniac?"
"Only when I have something worth racing toward." His thumb stroked higher. "Or someone."
The car screeched to a halt outside a nondescript warehouse. Emma frowned. "This is your idea of a date?"
Damien smirked. "Who said anything about a date?" He stepped out, rounding the hood to open her door. "This is a lesson."
Inside, the space transformed into something out of a fever dream—low lighting, plush lounges, and a glass-walled bedroom visible at the far end. A sleek bar lined one wall. The entire place is empty.
In the other side of the bar, there was a lot of… equipment? Oh god! Are those s*x toys? Emma’s breath hitched.
Emma's heels clicked against polished concrete. "What is this place?"
"My private playground." Damien shrugged off his jacket, draping it over a chair. "No cameras. No prying eyes. Just us."
A shiver ran down her spine. Why does he own a place like this? Does he even own it? Or maybe just renting it. Renting a warehouse isn't that expensive, is it?
He stalked toward her, all predatory grace. "You signed a contract, Bella. Two months of my undivided attention." His fingers traced her collarbone. “And now you have it.”
This man is clearly cocky for an escort. The way he behaves makes me suspect if he even is one. Or is that what is going on in the market? Is that what people are into these days? Hard to say.
Before Emma could question further, Damien stepped closer.
- Writer
