Page 6 of Billionaire Daddy's Girl

Iwake up the same way I fell asleep—thinking of Damien’s kiss. I stretch out in bed before rolling over and grabbing my phone to check the time. It’s Sunday, so I don’t have work, and I can revel in a few extra minutes in bed.

I open my phone to a text from a new number.

Unknown: Good morning, pretty girl. Can I take you out for food? - Damien

My heart jumps, and I’m officially wide awake. I save his contact with a heart-eye emoji next to it, butterflies fluttering around my stomach.

Me: I’d love that.

It only takes him a minute to reply.

Damien: I’ll come pick you up in half an hour. Pack your passport ;)

I frown at the instruction, a little confused, but giddy excitement takes over. Then my brain registers the fact that Damien’s givenme just half an hour to pull myself together and throw myself out of bed and into the shower.

Twenty-eight minutes later, I’m showered and dressed in jeans and a cute shimmery top. I twist my hair up with a clip and rummage around in my stuff drawer for my passport. I’m just tucking it in my handbag when Damien knocks on my door, ready to take me out.

I can’t stop smiling as he leads me down to where a sleek black car idles by the sidewalk. Damien holds the door open for me, and I slide into the back seat, where he joins me seconds later. As soon as we’re settled, the car pulls away, and Damien’s hand covers mine on the middle seat. I expect the driver to head further into the city where most of the restaurants and brunch places are, but instead, he turns right to head in the opposite direction out of the city.

“Where are we going?” I ask Damien, far too curious to be patient.

Damien laughs, and the sound makes me feel all warm and cozy. God, he looks amazing in a white shirt and fitted black slacks.

“Patience, pretty girl,” he answers cryptically, giving me no real answer at all. “I promise it’s a good surprise.”

“What did I need my passport for?” I push, hoping he’ll give in a little. Anticipation swirls in my belly, and I’m practically bouncing in my seat with excitement.

I pretend to pout, glancing out the windows as though there’ll be a convenient sign or billboard announcing exactly where we’re going. Of course, there’s not, and by the time the car turns off the main road, I think I might explode with unanswered questions.

I furrow my brows, confusion washing over me, as I catch sight of a plane out my window. Two seconds later, a sign above the entrance to a small but well-kept building announces that we’ve arrived at the Browne & Bright Private Airport.

I blink, rereading the sign as though I’ve suddenly forgotten the letters I spend my weeks teaching kids.

“Your name’s on the sign for a … private airport?” I ask, astounded.

Damien’s lip twitches in a smirk. “Well, mine and a business associate who shared the same need as I did—somewhere to house our private jets where no paparazzi could hound us when we’re just trying to take a damn flight.”

I know he’s rich. More than rich. But I guess I hadn’t really considered exactly what that meant until now. Damien Bright has a private jet, like all billionaires, I suppose. Meanwhile, the only flight I’ve ever taken was to Florida for a spring break girls’ trip in college.

Damien notices the shock on my face and reaches for me, cupping my jaw gently. “I don’t want to overwhelm you,” he says, “But I do want to spoil you the way you deserve, Delaney. Let me.”

I can only nod and let him take my hand and lead me inside. The driver helps with our bags, neither he nor Damien letting me carry anything myself, and minutes later, we’re being greeted by a smiling flight attendant welcoming us aboard Damien’s private jet.

Even with my very limited plane experience, I know the jet is insane.Luxury doesn’t seem to encompass it. The seats are plush and comfy, practically armchairs. There’s a sofa towardsthe back that looks far comfier than the one I have in my apartment, and a blue velvet curtain separates the main cabin from something else at the back.

Damien catches me staring as we walk to the seats and gestures to the curtain. “There’s a bedroom back there for long flights or if we have to fly overnight. Jet lag’s a bitch, after all.”

I nod as if I’ve ever experienced jet lag, trying not to let my mouth hang open in awe as we sit.

“Will you tell me where we’re going now?” I ask hopefully.

Damien grins. “I told you I wanted to take you out for food. So we’re going to the best restaurant I know.”

I want to ask him more, but then the pilot comes out to greet Damien and introduce himself to us, and the flight attendant pours us drinks and gets us snacks as the pilot preps for take off. She runs through a safety demonstration, and then the jet engine is rumbling, and we’re speeding down the runway.

I clutch Damien’s hand as we take to the sky, equally filled with adrenaline and a little nervousness, but it only takes a few minutes before we level out, and I stop feeling like my stomach’s been left behind on the ground.

There’s an electronic ding, and then the pilot’s voice filters over the speakers. “Once again, welcome aboard. There’s clear skies and good winds today for our route to Paris, and our flight time will be around seven hours. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the flight.”

---