Her voice is pained. “Oh.”
She gathers her things and I kiss her cheek, but the second the door shuts behind her, I want to yank it open, grab her, and pull her back to me. I want to keep her here, with me, where she’s safe, because a part of me feels...as if she’s mine.
But I can’t get involved with an escort, I know I can’t. I open the door, but she’s already gone. I slam it, pacing the penthouse. I go about my day on autopilot, answering calls and sending emails, attending teleconferences and signing paperwork.
By lunchtime, I’m on my feet, pacing back and forth in front of my desk. I have to find a way to get her back.
I have to.
Chapter 5
Katie
The driver pulls up to my apartment complex. I should be happy to be home, but I’m not.
I’m wearing last night's dress, wrinkled and rumpled, my hair’s air dried from the shower, and it’s poofing around my face like a winsome cloud. I attempt to smooth it down in preparation of my walk of shame.
Only, it's not a walk of shame if you arrive in a limo. Is it?
My purse lays heavy in my lap, the coins I won at the slots weighing it down. Then, I remember what else is in that bag.
Ten thousand dollars in cold, hard cash.
I know I should feel icky, dirty, carrying around money paid to me for a night of sex, but I don’t.
I feel elated. As much as I could, I suppose, now that I’ve left the hotel. Maybe it was how sweet he was, how hot, and possessive, but it took everything I had to make myself leave when my contract was fulfilled.
Was he reticent too, or was that only my imagination?
Last night was the best of my life. Not only the sex, the stunning orgasms, the deliciously taboo way I called him daddy, but the overall vibe of being with Darius, the handsome stranger.
I felt decadent and spoiled and… safe.
The way he held me in his arms, it's like I can still feel him wrapped around me like a protective cocoon.
“Miss?”
It’s only then that I realize I’ve been sitting in the parked limo, a Cheshire Cat smile across my dazed face. Jumping in my seat, I say, “Oh, I’m sorry! How much for the ride?”
Unzipping my purse, I finger the stack of cash. Electricity dances through my body just from brushing the edge of the crisp bills with the pad of my finger.
“Ma’am? I’m not for hire. I’m Mr. Morrow’s personal driver.” He offers me a polite smile.
“Right. Okay, how about a tip, then?” I pull a twenty from the stack.
He shakes his head. “No need, little lady. Mr. Morrow pays me quite well. Enjoy your day.”
Embarrassment flushes my face. Not coming from a wealthy family, I’m unsure how these things are supposed to go. “Um. Okay, well, thanks for the ride!”
Zipping my purse, I toss it over my shoulder. I go to open my door, but the driver is already out of the car, opening it for me. “Thanks again.”
I stand on the sidewalk, watching as the limo pulls away.
When I turn back to the building, I find a crowd of sunbathers, relaxing by the pool, their curious stares on me.
Straightening my dress, I hold my head high, and march right into the complex office. The bell clangs as I enter, announcing my arrival.
My grumpy landlord, Mr. Taylor, sits behind the desk, a pen in his hand. He looks up, giving me a grim hello. “Katie. Just the girl I wanted to see. Is today the day I finally get to kick you out? Your rent is five days late—”
I cut off his words by putting ten brand-spanking-new Benjamins on his desk. Smiling brightly, I say, “Keep the change, Mr. Taylor.” Turning on my heel, I exit his office, leaving him with his jaw hanging open.
That felt good. Too good.
Maybe I should consider a new profession as an escort. It certainly makes more money than a romance author.
My book! I’d forgotten all about it.
My magical night with Daddy Darius had me completely forgetting my mission and the reason I was at Vegas, Baby in the first place. For inspiration for the book.
Entering my apartment, I find my clothes strewn about from my fit of trying on dresses last night. It’s only been about twelve hours since then, but it feels like I’ve entered another world.
As if nothing will be the same after last night.
I quickly change into leggings and an oversized tee. My hair is a disaster so I wind it up on the top of my head in a messy bun.
Sliding into my desk chair, I flip open my laptop, a grin of victory on my face even though I’ve not yet written a word. How could I not pen a bestseller after the night I had?
The screen comes to life and I tap my red nails on the keys. “Let’s see, let’s see. What will my title be?”
I always start with the title, it’s the hardest part to nail. I find my mind going fuzzy, words swirling around in my brain. Daddy, Older Gentleman, Vegas Lights, Enchanting Evening, Daddy…
This will never do—there’s no way in hell my publisher is going to print a daddy book. But suddenly, that's all I want to write. His words echo in my mind, stirring warmth in my core and making my breasts do that heavy, aching thing. You deserve a reward for being such a very good girl. Spread your legs for daddy. Come on daddy’s fingers.
A little shiver runs through me, and I press my thighs together. Playtime is over—it’s time to work. I may have nine grand left, but I know how quickly that will be gone, and even with an advance on this book, I still won’t see a real paycheck till the story hits the shelves.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip. “Come on, you’ve got this.”
My fingers hover over the keys as I think of Darius’ handsome face.
And nothing happens.
Not one word appears on my computer screen.
Letting out a groan of frustration, I rise from my chair, pacing the floor. What to do? Going to the fridge, I open it, finding a carton of expired milk and two apples.
Even if there was something to eat, I’m just looking for food out of nerves. My hand goes to my belly; I’m still stuffed from breakfast.
Daddy said pick your breakfast.
Suddenly, not only am I terrified that the writer's block hasn’t magically unblocked, I have a much deeper worry.
What if I never see him again?
The contract was a one-night thing. One perfect night.
Just as sadness is about to swallow me whole, I slam the fridge door shut. “One Night!” It’s the perfect title and I rush back to my desk to type it.
One Night by Scarlet Rose
Now, for the tagline. One little sentence that will grab the reader, hook, line, and sinker. My fingers fly over the keys.
A young girl down on her luck makes an arrangement with a perfect stranger.
Sigh. And he is perfect. Biting my lip again, to keep from biting my nails, I stare at the screen. It’s a great tagline. And yet—it makes me feel lost.
How can you put into words the bittersweetness that comes with one perfect night?
An evening that will trump all other evenings in your personal history book. One you will never be able to relive. With a man who, however wonderful and attentive he may have been, you still know that you were nothing more than a paid distraction.
My heart slips in, interrupting my gloomy thoughts: He really seemed to care about you. He was so tender and generous. And the sex was phenomenal. There was a connection.