Page 7 of Billionaire Daddy's Girl

I gape at Damien, who’s grinning at me.

“Paris?!”I gasp.

“Paris,” he repeats back.

“But I-I didn’t pack clothes or bring anything with me, and I have work tomorrow.” Practicalities get in the way of my giddy excitement.

But Damien doesn’t look the least bit concerned, with a knowing glint in his eyes and a smile on his lips. “I told you I’d take care of you, pretty girl, and I meant it. I’ll take you shopping for clothes in Paris, and I’ve already spoken to the school.”

“You … you spoke to the school?” I pause, catching up to what he means. “You’re the Bright on the donor list,” I say, remembering the list of donors that always sends the school a generous sum at the start of the year for supplies and training and whatever else keeps the school going. It’s one of the best private schools in the area, largely because of the resources they can afford.

Damien nods. “I make sure to support Lola’s education any way I can,” he tells me. “It has the added benefit of getting to know the principal and your boss. I explained to him that you were going away on a last-minute trip and that you’d need cover for a few days. It’s taken care of.”

I choke on a shocked laugh. “You really weren’t kidding about looking after me.”

Damien’s eyes darken. “I would never joke about that.”

As I stare into his eyes, it feels like nothing else exists but us. A thousand feet off the ground, the weight of the world lifted off my shoulders for a few days. There’s a tug in the center of my chest pulling me to Damien, and I’m hopeless to resist.

I don’t know which one of us moves first but sparks fly over my skin as our lips meet. I moan as his hand sinks into my hair, and he takes over, kissing me so deeply I don’t think I’ll ever recover. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, asking me to open forhim, and I know I’d do anything he asked. I whimper as his tongue sweeps against mine, needing closer, needing more. I feel like I’ve been set on fire with need, and I grip his shirt in my fists, unsure what I’m asking for but feeling like I might combust if I don’t get it.

“Can I get you—oh!” The flight attendant’s sentence cuts off with a startled sound, and I pull away from Damien so fast my head spins. My face heats, and I duck my head, unable to look the woman in the eye.

Damien just chuckles, unperturbed. I try to squirm away, realizing I’m still straddling his lap, but he hooks his arm around my waist and holds me against him. The message is clear and only makes me flush hotter—he’s not embarrassed or ashamed. The flight attendant apologizes profusely, clarifying that she was just coming to ask if we’d like anything else and when we’d like our meal served. Damien answers her kindly while I bury my head in his shoulder and pretend to disappear.

I barely hear what Damien answers over the rushing of my own blood in my head.

“You okay, pretty girl?” Damien whispers into my hair, and I groan as I lift my head.

“Just not used to getting caught making out with someone,” I mumble, laughing a little at myself. “I don’t know how you’re so chill about it.”

“The entire world could be staring, and I wouldn’t give a shit so long as you’re in my arms, Delaney.”

“How are you so perfect?” I whisper, my thoughts coming out unbidden.

“Money and privilege,” he jokes, and I laugh at the expression on his face. I’m about to reply when my stomach growls, interrupting me. “Our meal’s on its way,” Damien assures me, placing a soft kiss on my lips before I pull away and settle next to him.

Minutes later, the flight attendant lays out a veritable feast in front of us. Pastries, sausage and bacon, pancakes, fresh fruit and champagne, and orange juice. I feel like I’m dining in one of those fancy brunch places I can never afford to go to rather than soaring through the sky.

“Oh my God,” I moan as I eat a bite of pancakes topped with blueberry jam. Damien’s eyes drop to my mouth, heat flashing in their blue depths.

I eat until I’m stuffed, drink champagne, and teach Damien the art of winning hangman by beating him in the game twenty times. I’m not entirely sure if he’s letting me win or not, but either way, I laugh so hard my cheeks hurt, so it doesn’t matter. The hours pass in a blur of happiness and good food and company, and by the time we’re descending into Paris, I can’t think of any other time in my life I’ve felt this happy.

Damien lets me squeeze his hand as we land, though the landing is as smooth as the entire flight has been. He keeps his fingers twined with mine as he leads me off the plane, through passport control, and straight to a sleek black car waiting for us at arrivals.

I expect to go straight to the hotel or wherever we’re staying, but instead, we’re driven to a beautiful boutique. There’s security on the door, who nods and shakes Damien’s hand, letting us in without a minute’s wait.

The boutique smells like expensive perfume, decorated with luxurious minimalism that highlights the racks of delicately, intricately designed dresses. It’s the kind of place I’ve looked through the windows of, admiring but never dreamed of stepping inside. I itch to run my hands over the gorgeous fabrics, but I’m too scared to touch them for fear I’ll damage anything.

“Ah, Monsieur Bright!” a light, welcoming voice greets, drawing my attention from the racks to the sales lady who approaches us.

Damien kisses her on both cheeks, his hand in mine as he introduces me as hisgirl.

“What is it you’re looking for today, Madame Bright?” she asks me, and butterflies explode in my stomach at hearing her address me with his name. I don’t correct her, and neither does Damien, sparks shooting across my skin when he squeezes my hand.

“Whatever she wants,” Damien instructs, and my mouth drops open.

“I can’t possibly … this stuff is so gorgeous, I can’t imagine how much it costs,” I blabber out.

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