Page 21 of Fragile Twisted Vows
There’s a large concierge desk with two women dressed in sleek black dresses, but it doesn’t look like a hotel desk. Actually, there are several plaques with room numbers displayed behind them which indicates this building that Damien owns isn’t a hotel or just his penthouse location, it more than likely is home to many of the businesses that he owns.
I’m walking out the door with my neck turned so I can look at all of the business names when someone slams into me.
“Watch it, bitch.” A young woman with sunglasses, a cell phone, and a latte in hand sneers as she brushes past me.
She looks like one of the many influencers that’s glued to their phones as they somehow seamlessly navigate the bustling city while snapping at people who enter their path or are in the way of their next basic selfie stationed in front of a store front or monument.
And that is New York in a nutshell.
Something I’ve had to grow used to since moving here for college. My entire life was spent at my father’s beach house in Connecticut, so navigating this city took some time. But now, as rude and busy as it is, I’m still in awe of it.
“Ms. Fairchild.” I hear my name called as I turn to look at the black Escalade that’s parked in front of the twenty-story building that towers above me.
It’s the same man wearing those dark sunglasses that’s standing in front of the very vehicle he shoved me into last night.
I want to be afraid, but to be fair I’m more nervous that he called out my last name in public.
I don’t want people to know who I am. I don’t want them to find out that I’m the daughter of Michael Fairchild.
Which I guess everyone will know soon, since Damien will be my new…husband.
Jesus, is this actually my life right now?
“It’s Lucy. Call me Lucy,” I say to the tall, broad-shouldered man with the black ponytail.
He tips his head down and lowers his sunglasses to the bridge of his big nose. Brown eyes bore into me and a small smirk lifts the corner of his full, pink lips. He smells like cigar smoke and whiskey and his chest is so massive that I swear it might burst through his tight, long sleeved black shirt that’s tucked into his suit pants.
“Lucy,” he says, his accent thick and Hispanic and something I’ve never noticed before.
This man is devastatingly attractive.
He opens the passenger side door for me and I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Not going to knock me over the head and throw me in the back during daylight hours, I guess?” I quip and he winks at me before he slides his sunglasses back up.
“Sorry,” he says as he pats the belt line of his pants that bulges slightly.
Because there is very clearly a gun hidden beneath it. And that’s probably what he hit me with.
“Boss’s orders,” he says as I sigh and climb in the front seat.
He shuts the door behind me and I realize then that he did it quietly.
“Vastly different from thebossI see,” I mumble as he hops in and starts the car.
“What’s that?” he asks as he shuts the door and buckles his seat belt.
I don’t know why, but that small seat belt strap that’s crossed over him looks ridiculous.
But he doesn’t pay any mind to my staring. He leans over the console and reaches above my shoulder, his face practically touching my breast as he does.
God, this man smells divine.
He grabs my seat belt and pulls it over my body, strapping me in as he buckles it.
“Safety first.” He winks before he leans back and puts the car in drive.
He peels away from the building and I look at it in the rearview mirror, a million questions fluttering through my mind.
