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“I already told you I wasn’t, Felicity.”
“You didn’t—”
“Don’t make me wait long, Ms. Harper. Patience is not one of my virtues.” He hung up.
I stared at my phone, then at the man waiting for me like a statue downstairs. Mark whistled loudly, drawing the man’s attention, and pointed to me.
“Do you think you can wait, like, twenty minutes? Hell, just give us half an hour.”
I smacked his chest.
“Yes, sir,” the driver said.
“Sir,” Mark repeated in a snobby tone, liking the sound of it.
Cleo came back and held up the dress. “Are you going to stop fighting now? Because if you don’t get in that car, I sure as hell will.”
I grabbed it. Stupid mistake number three of the day.
9:25 p.m.
Black-and-gold ankle strap heels. Nude lipstick. A dress I could barely breathe in.
They were my only armor that night. I was going to do this. I was going to just have fun and let loose. Or at least that’s what I kept telling myself as the car carried me to him. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since I’d first met him. I didn’t know him, yet I had glammed myself up for him.
“Where are we going?” I asked when I noticed this wasn’t the way to the house Mark had driven us to yesterday.
“Mr. Darcy’s penthouse, ma’am.” He turned the car smoothly down West Hollywood.
“Oh, right. The penthouse,” I whispered to myself, gazing out the window. My hands shook slightly.
What’s wrong with you, Felicity? You’ve had sex before. You’ve had hot, great sex with hot guys before. Theodore Darcy is nothing. This will be nothing.
“We’re here, ma’am,” the driver said before he parked, stepped out, and walked around the car. But I opened the door myself and stepped out slowly.
Theodore Darcy is nothing, I told myself again, even as I looked up at the massive glass tower over my head.
“Welcome, Ms. Harper. Mr. Darcy is already waiting. The code is 4-2-1-3, or would you prefer if I escort you?” the doorman said, as if I had come here a million times before.
“No, thanks,” I uttered as I pushed open the glass doors and went straight over to the steel elevator.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside one and saw my reflection in the glass walls. Pressing the PH button, and entering the four-digit code on the keypad beside it, I gripped the small clutch Cleo had given to me before I’d left the house.
Theodore Darcy is nothing.
Theodore Darcy is nothing.
Theodore Darcy is nothing. I’m everything.
The moment I thought it, that boldness spread from my mind through my whole body.
That was right. This wasn’t about Theodore Darcy, it was about me. What I wanted. I’d come here for me, not him.
“Penthouse suite,” a digital voice announced as the doors opened. There was one more set of double doors between the elevator and penthouse, like a final test of my will.
I’m everything.
I knocked, but no one answered. Turning the doorknob and stepping out with my head held high, I opened the doors and was graced with what had to be the best view in all of Los Angeles. The whole city could be seen from his living room, and the floor-to-ceiling windows made up the entire view of the penthouse. Right outside was an infinity pool, underwater lights glowing in the night.
