Page 45 of Brassy Bigwig

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHLOE

The next morning, I wake up to the delicious aroma of coffee.

There’s no way Shelby is up before me. That never happens.

Opening my eyes, I expect to find the clock on my side table I always see first thing in the morning. But I don’t. My eyes shoot open as I remember where I am. Quickly, I pull back the covers to see if I’m naked, and I’m relieved to find I’m still fully clothed. I turn over, wondering if Dimitrios is in bed next to me, but it’s empty. The pillow lays untouched, and that entire side of the bed is still made.

I breathe a sigh of relief knowing I slept alone last night, however, it’s short lived before I start cursing myself for coming here at all. I vaguely remember being accosted by him in the bathroom at the club. My clit throbs as I recall the way his fingers burrowed deep within me after a month-long absence. I groan as my head flops back down on the pillow.

What am I doing here?

After several minutes of not being able to answer my own question, I swing my legs over the side of the bed, steadying myself as I sit up too fast. My head feels like it’s full of concrete, and I want nothing more than to crash back into my pillow, but I can’t. Nature is calling, and I would kill for a toothbrush.

I walk into the connecting bathroom and do my business. After that, I snoop through the cabinets, hoping to find something to freshen my breath. I don’t find any toothpaste, but there is a small bottle of mouthwash which I open and swish around.

When I’m finished, I slowly exit the bedroom, letting the smell of rich coffee lead the way. As soon as my feet hit the hallway, I’m distracted by the sweeping view of the city below us. It’s mesmerizing. Just as much as the inside of Dimitrios’s seventy-sixth floor penthouse, something I failed to notice in my inebriated state last night. I only remember bits and pieces of our conversation, and I’m hoping I didn’t say anything stupid or embarrassing.

Hopefully, I didn’t profess my undying love for him.

I timidly peer into different rooms as I search for the kitchen, looking for Dimitrios. All of the furniture and finishings in his penthouse are high-class and high dollar. It’s chic with just the right amount of masculinity, so it’s clear a man lives here. Just before I make it to the great room where we were sitting last night, I feel a presence behind me. I spin on my heel quickly and am suddenly face-to-face with him.

“Good morning, théa. You look as ravishing as ever.”

God, his voice.

I want to ask him what it means, but I can barely form words. That and I’m fighting to keep a moan from escaping me.

“Good morning, Dimitrios,” I’m finally able to get out.

“You can call me D if you’d like.”

I remember Dex calling him D when we were by the pool one day. I thought it was a nickname of sorts, but it makes perfect sense now.

“D.” I smile nervously at him and tuck my hair behind my ear.

He returns my smile with a dashing—and devious—one of his own. It makes me feel things I’m having a harder and harder time controlling.

“Can I get you some coffee?” he offers.

“Yes, please. Thank you.”

“I’ll be right back. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

I walk closer to the window, wondering if I can brave a look straight down, as D heads into the kitchen. Aside from the Empire State Building, I’ve never been in a building this high before. I feel like I’m on a cloud. Once I’m about five feet away, a slight feeling of dizziness takes over and keeps me from getting any closer. Instead, I take the chair I was seated in last night and curl my legs beneath me as I wait for D to come back.

“Do you take any cream or sugar?” he calls from the kitchen.

“Cream only, please. Thank you.”

As I answer, I spot my clutch on the table across the room.

My phone. Shelby.

She’s probably worried about me. Hopping out of the chair, I grab it from the table quickly and take my seat once again. I’m almost nervous to pull my phone out and check my messages. She was very brutal toward D when we left last night—though nothing she said wasn’t true—and I am hoping her animosity didn’t transfer to me for not being strong and sticking to my guns about not seeing him. Maybe she was too drunk to text anything after we left. Probably wishful thinking. When I pull my phone out, the first thing I do is check the time.

Ten o’clock?

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