What Lies Inside

Chapter 3: Elevator

Damian

The city had always been both bigger than he could fathom and all too small. Serena Woodsen was living proof of that. Damian took one final swig of his beer, looked out over the city one last time, and turned his way back towards its center.

As he hopped onto the bike, he caught a trace of her perfume. Elegant and sophisticated, yet warm and comforting. He sighed, tucking his head into his helmet, suffocating the scent out, and turned back.

He'd acted on impulse hiring Serena for his latest venture. It was enough to deal with the opening of The Labyrinth, appeasing the model, and tying up loose ends. Yet after Sam sensed Damian's mild distaste over the layout of The Labyrinth, he forced Damian to select a designer he might like.

Little did he anticipate seeing Serena's face appear on top of the lists.

"Message from Sam Gresham," announced his helmet's Bluetooth.

"Read it," Damian ordered.

"Miss Woodsen has returned to The Labyrinth. Will you be rejoining her?... Reply?"

"Tell him no," responded Damian, the lights of the of the Heights flittering past him as he wove through traffic. The valet rushed to Damian's side as he pulled into the driveway of his building in the heart of downtown. Damian tossed the kid his keys and pulled out his phone to write out another message to Sam.

"Make sure the girls get home safely. Meet me at my home office after."

Sam didn't take long to reply. "Understood."

The doorman greeted Damian with a nod, which he returned both to him and the concierge at the front desk, who opened the private elevator up to his penthouse.

As always, he let the city skyline views offered by the 2 story windows consume him for a moment. He poured himself a glass of single malt scotch, which never ceased to amuse him. When had he gotten so classy?

Damian stretched his neck, deciding to balance his snob of a drink with a cigarette, and went out to the balcony. It was cold, but that's what the bourbon and cigarette were for, right?

Fuck, he was getting restless again, like nothing settled him anymore. Money wasn't a problem these days, Sam was working on erasing any hint of his past, and his grandmother wanted for nothing. Was it the venues? Was it that nothing really represented the real him? Well, it wasn't like he even knew who that was.

That was why he hired Serena. She looked at him every now and again like she could see it—who he was. She needed a push though.

He smiled to himself, remembering how irate that made her.

She'd seen him before this. Before the company and the money. When everything was starting to go to shit.

She wouldn't have remembered, given how absolutely obliterated she was. Yet there she'd been, in the wrong place at a bad time, rambling about how she was going to find true love one day.

"You'll see mister gorgeous," the girl slurred, poking him firmly in the chest as she stumbled forward. "One day, somebody's gonna give me the same kinda love I'm gonna give."

Damian caught her as she stumbled into a fall.

"OOPS! Thanks..." her big brown eyes whipped up to him, like she suddenly discovered something. "You smell really good, what's your name?"

Damian could hear the crowd inside start to become restless. "Listen, you need to get out of here," he warned.

The girl pouted. "Well, my name's Serena and I'm not going anywhere. The universe... OOP!"

Damian caught her again, urgency piling inside his throat. Realizing that even if he convinced her to leave, she wouldn't get far in this state, he scooped her into his arms and walked off.

"Anyways, I was saying that I can't leave. The universe... the universe said I would meet my husband today!"

Damian couldn't help but chuckle. She was surprisingly endearing for a drunk girl. Shouts sprang from the corner. He ducked into an alley as several members stalked past. Muffled noises soon emerged beneath his hand. He lifted it from her mouth once he was sure they were gone.
"Your husband huh?" he ventured to tease. "And how do you know what the universe has to say?"

"I have an app!" she replied enthusiastically. He bit back another laugh. She pouted, shoving her phone into his face as though to prove it. "Look!" he was met with a black screen. Her brows furrowed as she cradled it back in her arms and pressed the power button. All that appeared was a red and empty battery. "It's dead."

She gasped as he began walking down the street again. "Are YOU my husband?!"

He rolled his eyes.

"No," she continued when he didn't reply. "Not very meet-cutesy," she seemed to agree. "Though you are VERY handsome. Did you know I'm gonna be an interior designer? I'm gonna make TONS of meet-cutesy places. Maybe you can meet me there."

She rambled like that until Damian had ordered an Uber for her and sent her to the address she had on her license.

He pondered as he took a drag of his cigarette, What the hell is meet-cutesy?

His phone buzzed, jarring him from his memories. It was still too early for Sam to make an appearance, which left Nadya. If it had been a normal night, he'd set her up in a nice hotel with some excuse and a room full of flowers and continue to unwind. But he was in a strange mood.

He walked into the foyer just as the doors slid open. She frowned at him, likely still annoyed at his introduction of Serena. No, more than likely at the way he couldn't tear his eyes from the way she looked in that dress.

"Nadya Alexandrina, supermodel... jealous?" crooned Damian, checking his phone.

"It's late. I'll meet you first thing tomorrow morning," read the text from Sam. Damian couldn't blame him. It was well past 3 am and Sam was an early riser. He slid the phone back into his pocket.

Nadya scoffed, dropping her bag on the floor as she stalked toward him. He assessed her as she slunk toward him, dropping her fur coat as she did so. To the media and to her, she was his girlfriend. To him, she was little more than a fling. It was mutual, if unspoken. He doubted he meant much to her outside of his money, reputation, and good looks.

She strung a finger up his throat, dragging it up his chin before grabbing it in between her thumb and forefinger, jerking it down to her. "Take me to bed," she purred.

He breathed, the hand in his pocket lazily reaching for her throat. He supposed he needed a distraction since Sam wasn't going to make an appearance.

She smirked at him, challenging him.

He surveyed the silver gossamer material doing too little to hide her body underneath, watched as the peaks of her perked nipples began to tent the fabric. His hand continued its lazy roll down to it, ripping the fabric in one deft movement and tossing it aside.

There was something to be said about the arousal of a beautiful woman, her pleasure at his whim. It never failed to thrill him.

He spun her, ripping off the gossamer skirt, and held her naked body against him by the throat, leaving her in nothing but her heels. Her pulse thrummed at his fingertips as he pressed her hips back into his.

"Those are going to stay on," he growled, tapping his toe twice to the heel so that she understood. She bit her lip as she nodded, her hands clinging to him as her eyes dimmed. "Good girl. Now get your ass upstairs," he purred as he released her, watched with predatory gaze as she did as he bade.

God, he loved women.