Delilah fucking Reyes.
She was like a magnet that I could not pull myself away from, even when I did everything to do so. If I thought about calling up women in my phone that I knew would only want sex, my mind shifted to her. If I thought about just hanging out withmy brothers, I’d have to acknowledge that Sarah would be with Cassius, even if only for a moment, which reminded me that she and Delilah were close friends.
I played this game in my mind of fighting her hold on me, refusing to accept that she had such a grip on me, before eventually deciding that the easiest thing to do was just to lean into it. I wanted to fuck her, and I wanted her in my grasp. What was so wrong about that? It wasn’t like I was going to date her, much less marry her or do what Cassius had done with Sarah. It was perfectly fine for her to be my obsession of the moment; I would wring her for all she was worth, get what I needed out of her, and move on to the next.
Unless she’s the one you stop moving on from.
Ignoring that strange thought that seemed to pop out of nowhere, I picked up my phone and dialed Delilah. I knew like the good little girl—journalist—she was, she would answer immediately or at least as soon as she could. It got only to the second ring before she picked up.
“Adrian?”
“Delilah,” I said, keeping my voice as charming as I knew how to. “I’d like to extend an invitation to you to come to my office. Some call it ‘The Lion’s Den,’ but I’d find that to be much too intimidating.”
But I might just eat you. Oh, I might just eat you… out. Get between those bronzed legs, put my mouth right up there, and…
“I’m not going into a lion’s den,” Delilah said with a chuckle, “but I would be happy to visit your office for an interview. When would work best for you?”
I was going to say something about tomorrow, maybe Friday, maybe even Saturday. Those all would have built heightened anticipation, created a sense of excitement, and put Delilah even more under my spell.
But do you know what worked even better than anticipation?
Pressure.
“Tonight,” I said. “I’m here until nine o’clock usually. So, anytime before then. I’ll make sure my secretary knows you are coming.”
“I can be there in an hour,” she said instantly. Almost too rapidly, as if she’d expected that answer.Or hoped for it?
“Then I will see you in an hour,” I said before we quickly hung up. No need to drag out a prep phone call too long; not when we’d have all night to each other.
As soon as I knew the line was dead, I immediately found myself examining the room from head to toe. Just because Delilah had dismissed the “Lion’s Den” moniker didn’t mean that I was going to let her walk into a room resembling a typical office. She had to know this was the office of Adrian Vale, King of Diamonds. No one else.
The first thing I did was to make sure all of my diamonds and the various awards I’d gotten through the years were strategically placed for full visibility. I couldn’t tell you a damn thing about the awards; the best reward was money, full stop. But other people who would give me money or at least reduce expenses found those awards incredibly interesting, so out on the desk they went.
As for the diamonds, well, they went to the front of the desk, albeit just to the side. It might have been arrogant to say, but the best jewel was the one sitting behind the desk; to block it with anything else, much less anyone else, would be a terrible mistake.
I then went around the room, making sure no pictures were crooked, no dust had accumulated anywhere, and no junk was lying around.
Delilah Reyes was coming to my office, my world, my domain, and she would not see a hint of weakness. Not as Icontrolled her. Not as I made her mind. After all, this might have officially been an interview… but unofficially?
I’d give her all the answers she was looking for.
About forty-five minutes later, my phone rang from my secretary.
“I have a journalist from theLas Vegas Times.What’s your name? Delilah?—”
“Send her in,” I said immediately before hanging up. I sat back in my chair, kicked my feet up on my desk, and waited. I was not a man to wait long, but I was comfortable waiting if it meant Delilah came to me.
It took less than a minute later for Delilah to walk through my double oak doors. She was dressed… interestingly. Mostly professional, with a white top, jeans, and a light gray jacket. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she had an obvious recording device in her hand.
But to me, there were hints that she was trying to make herself come across as a bit more than a stiff professional.
That white top I mentioned? There were two buttons unbuttoned when before there had either only been one or none. Her jeans were dark and professional; there were no holes or ass cheeks hanging out. But they conformed to her perfect body oh so well, in a manner that she could not possibly have been oblivious to. The jacket was a jacket, there was no way to make that anything more than a comfort garment, but the whole of her outfit said she was someone trying to convey a message only those paying attention would get.
Remember though, she’s a journalist. She could be using this to get you to open up about things you don’t want to.
And who could miss the smile that she walked in with? I didn’t even think she knew how her smile came across. Warm, but with a hint of excitement, like she knew what she was doing blurred the lines between investigative journalism and getting too close to the source.
“Good evening, Delilah,” I said.
