CHAPTER 13
Adrian
Afucking week passed, and every time I thought about calling Delilah or dragging her up to my office or penthouse, I felt fucking stupid.
Despite Cassius’ wise words, I still wanted Delilah here for my own pleasure. I wanted her here on my terms. Yet I’d made what felt like a fucking rookie mistake—I’d taken her up to my penthouse already.
That was supposed to be the “seal the deal” location. It was not supposed to be an “escalate the heat and pressure” location. I should have taken her there only if I knew I was going to get laid, not if I thought I was going to get laid.
Where else was I to go? A fucking helicopter? The top of a mountain?
I’d blown my prime location. The spot where I controlled everything was now the spot that I couldn’t take Delilah to for the first fuck. If I invited her over, she’d immediately have her guard up, and no amount of persuasion would get her panties down on the ground.
So…
Maybe I had to take a risk.
Maybe I had to leave it up to chance.
Maybe, for fuck’s sake, Cassius was right—I had to let go of control and do something entirely unexpected.
I couldn’t just call Delilah for an interview or summon her to my office or penthouse. I had to catch her off guard.
Wait.
I had to show up on her turf. I had to meet her where she’d think she was most comfortable.
There was an art to this, of course. I wouldn’t be the fucking loser who stood outside the window of theLas Vegas Times,calling her name, begging for attention. I was a billionaire, which gave me more leeway to buy people off and assert my authority in certain spots, but there was a relatively thin line between being desperate and being clever.
Fortunately, I was the King of Diamonds. I didn’t fuck up this kind of thing. And if I did, like just a week ago, I could recover soon enough.
And sure enough, by the time I finished contemplating my next step, I knew exactly what I would do.
It was late on a Monday night, and by late, I mean eight p.m. Not late as in club-going hours or late as in late-night TV shows, but certainly late for working standards. No regular corporate office was going to be crowded at this point; at best, certain employees would work late, but not the whole lot.
It was those “certain employees” part that I knew I could count on.
Delilah Reyes’ job all but mandated that her mental clock be in sync with the casino world around her, which meant she was bound to be more productive at eight p.m. than eight a.m. The other reporters who covered more benign topics wouldn’t bethere, the editorial staff wouldn’t be there, and now that no one read a literal newspaper, the late-night staff wouldn’t be there either.
In short, a couple of security guards who I could fool with my confidence and charm and maybe a couple other easily bulldozed reporters were all that stood between me and Delilah Reyes.
Stalking? Maybe. Aggressive? Certainly. But what I wanted, perhaps even needed to do to get my dick inside Delilah Reyes?
Abso-fucking-lutely.
Let’s be honest here. As a billionaire, I could get away with certain behavior that other, less wealthy people couldn’t. I intended to use that to my advantage.
I walked up to the entrance to theTimes, wearing a fake journalist placard and something else that would surprise Delilah.
On a deck of cards scale, instead of dressing like the King of Diamonds, I was just a seven. I wasn’t even a particular suit. Just a seven.
Why?
As I walked past the security guards with a quick smile, a gentle nod, and an uninterrupted walk, I scanned the badge into the entrance. It worked without issue—like I said, being a billionaire got me certain privileges I used to my advantage—and walked inside. I made my way straight for the doors, went up the stairs to the second floor, and walked into the newsroom. There was only one person inside, but even if there hadn’t been, it would not have been difficult to spother.
Delilah Reyes.
With that gorgeous curly hair, fierce brown eyes, and powerful presence, how could I not spot her?
