Chapter 2: The Stranger in the Suit

The penthouse was not a home. It was a monument.

I stood in the doorway of Damian Black's private elevator, unable to move. The space unfolded before me like something from a magazine I was never supposed to touch. Floor to ceiling windows on three sides, Manhattan sprawled beneath like a kingdom waiting for its king. Black marble floors. White leather furniture. A chandelier that probably cost more than my mother's entire surgery.

My reflection stared back at me from the polished surfaces. A girl in a stained diner uniform. Hair falling out of its ponytail. Shoes with worn heels. Lips still swollen from his kiss.

I did not belong here. Every instinct I had screamed at me to turn around, get back in the elevator, go home to my apartment with its leaking ceiling and its secondhand couch.

Then Damian stepped past me into the penthouse. He did not look back to see if I was following. He did not need to. His presence filled every room he entered. I was just caught in his gravity.

He said my room was down the hall. Second door on the left. My bags would be brought up in the morning. Then he walked toward a door at the far end of the penthouse.

But he stopped at his bedroom door. Turned. Looked at me.

He asked if I was going to stand there all night.

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

He walked back toward me. Slow. His eyes never left mine. He stopped when his chest almost touched mine. His hand came up. His fingers traced the collar of my uniform. The same way he had traced my lip in the car.

He said I looked terrified.

I said I was.

He asked of what.

I said of him. Of the way he kissed me. Of the way my body responded. Of the fact that I signed a contract without reading the fine print.

Damian laughed. A low sound. Dark. It rumbled through his chest, and I felt it in my own.

He said there was no fine print. Just the rules. Do not fall in love. Do not break. Do not leave his side.

I asked what happened if I broke the rules.

His hand moved from my collar to my neck. His fingers curled around the back of my head. He pulled me closer. His forehead touched mine.

He said he would find out.

Then he kissed me again.

This kiss was different from the one in the car. Slower. Deeper. His tongue slid against mine like he was learning me. Memorizing me. His other hand found my waist, pulled my hips against his. I felt him hard through his pants. Felt myself go soft and wet in response.

I made a sound. Something between a gasp and a moan.

Damian pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were dark. His breathing was uneven.

He asked if I wanted to go to my room.

I shook my head.

He asked what I wanted.

I could not say it. The words stuck in my throat. But I grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the bedroom he had pointed out. Not his. Mine.

He followed.

The room was larger than my entire apartment. A king bed with white sheets that probably cost five hundred dollars. A closet the size of my mother's hospital room. A bathroom with a tub big enough for two people.

Damian closed the door behind us. The sound of the latch clicking into place made my heart skip.

He stood by the door, watching me. He did not move. Did not speak. Just watched.

I stood by the bed, suddenly aware of how small I was. How plain. How out of place.

He asked if I was sure.

I said yes.

He crossed the room in three steps. His hands found my face. He kissed me again, but this time it was desperate. Hungry. Like he had been holding back and finally stopped.

His hands slid down my body. Over my uniform. Over my hips. He gripped the hem of my shirt and pulled it up. I raised my arms. The fabric came off. My bra was exposed. Plain white. Nothing special.

Damian looked at me like I was wearing diamonds.

He said I was beautiful.

Then his mouth was on my neck. On my collarbone. On the swell of my breast above the bra. His hands found my back, unhooked the clasp. The bra fell away.

I should have felt exposed. Ashamed. Instead, I felt powerful. His breath caught when he saw me. His hands trembled slightly as he cupped me. His thumb brushed across my nipple. I gasped.

He asked if that was okay.

I said do not stop.

He did not stop.

His mouth replaced his thumb. Warm. Wet. His tongue circled slowly. I fisted my hands in his hair. Held him there. He groaned against my skin, and the vibration shot straight between my legs.

He pulled back. Looked up at me. His lips were wet. His eyes were dark.

He said he wanted to taste all of me.

I knew what he meant. My face flushed. But I nodded.

He dropped to his knees.

His hands found the waistband of my uniform pants. He unbuttoned them. Pulled the zipper down. I stepped out of them. My panties were the only thing left. Plain cotton. Nothing fancy.

Damian looked at them like they were the sexiest thing he had ever seen.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband. Pulled them down slowly. Inch by inch. His eyes never left me.

When they fell to my ankles, I stepped out of them. I stood naked in front of a billionaire. My body was not perfect. Stretch marks on my hips. A scar on my thigh from a childhood fall. Nothing like the women he probably dated.

He said I was perfect.

Then his mouth was on me.

I had never felt anything like it. His tongue parted me. Found places I did not know I had. He was slow at first. Gentle. Then he grew bolder. His hands gripped my thighs, spread me wider. His tongue moved in circles, in lines, in ways that made my knees buckle.

I grabbed his shoulders to steady myself. He pulled me closer. Drank me like I was water and he was dying of thirst.

The pressure built low in my belly. Tight. Hot. I could not breathe. Could not think. Could only feel.

I said his name. Damian. It came out broken.

He looked up at me. His mouth still on me. His eyes said everything.

I came apart.

My body shook. My hands pulled his hair. I cried out. Loud. Too loud. I did not care. The waves kept coming. He did not stop until I was nothing but trembling skin and ragged breath.

He stood up. Kissed me. I could taste myself on his lips.

He asked if I was okay.

I could not speak. I just nodded.

He picked me up. Carried me to the bed. Laid me down on the white sheets. He climbed in beside me, still fully dressed. His suit probably wrinkled now. He did not seem to care.

He pulled me against his chest. His arms wrapped around me. His heart pounded against my back.

He said nothing.

Neither did I.

I do not know how long we lay there. Minutes. Hours. Time did not exist.

Then Damian spoke. His voice was quiet. Different.

He said he had not planned for this.

I asked what he meant.

He said he planned for a contract. A performance. A woman who would smile and hold his hand and take his money. He did not plan for someone who made him forget why he started this in the first place.

I turned in his arms. Faced him. His eyes were soft. Vulnerable. Nothing like the cold billionaire from the diner.

I asked if that was a bad thing.

He said he did not know yet.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. He ignored it. It buzzed again. And again.

He reached over and picked it up. His face changed as he read the screen. The softness disappeared. The cold returned.

He sat up. Swung his legs over the side of the bed.

I asked what was wrong.

He handed me the phone.

A text message. From a number I did not recognize.

Congratulations on the new fiancée, Damian. She is prettier than the last one. But prettier things break faster. See you at the gala. — V

Victoria.

Damian stood up. His jaw was tight. His hands were fists.

He said the gala was tomorrow night. We had less than twenty four hours.

He looked at me. Naked in his guest bed. His mark still on my lips.

He said Victoria knew something. She was planning something. And he needed me to be ready.

I asked what he meant by ready.

He walked to the door. Paused. Looked back at me.

He said he meant ready to play the part. Ready to lie. Ready to let him touch me in front of everyone like he just touched me in private.

His eyes dropped to my body. Traveled up slowly.

He said he hoped I was a good actress.

Then he left.

The door clicked shut.

I lay alone in the enormous bed, my body still humming from his mouth, my heart racing from his words.

I was not a good actress.

But I needed that million dollars.

And Damian Black was a man who got what he wanted.

I just did not know yet that what he wanted was me.