Don't Explain

seven.

As I wandered through Times Square, taking in the flashing billboards and the eclectic mix of people, I couldn't help but feel a sense of ease wash over me. I was just another face in the crowd, lost in the electric pulse of the city. The anonymity felt good, freeing.

I ducked into a small café to grab a coffee, the warm scent of roasted beans and fresh pastries filling the air. As I stood in line, waiting for my order, I noticed a guy near the counter giving me a once-over. He was tall, wearing a casual leather jacket, and had that effortless New Yorker confidence. When our eyes met, he gave me a half-smile.

"Hey, you from around here?" he asked, stepping closer.

I smirked slightly, shaking my head. "Just visiting," I replied casually, not giving away much more than that.

He nodded, his eyes lingering on me for a moment longer. "Figured. You've got a look about you—like you're not from around here, but you blend in pretty well." He leaned in a little, clearly interested. "What's a girl like you doing in Times Square alone?"

I chuckled softly. "Taking in the sights, I guess. Exploring."

He raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. "Well, if you need a tour guide, I'm your guy. Name's Jake, by the way."

His charm was easy and smooth, and for a brief second, I considered playing along, but I wasn't in the mood for company. I gave him a polite smile. "Thanks, Jake. I think I've got it covered for now, though."

He seemed to take the hint, nodding with a playful grin. "Alright, can't blame a guy for trying. Enjoy your day, though. Maybe I'll see you around?"

"Maybe," I said, taking my coffee as the barista called my name. I turned to leave, feeling his gaze linger on me for a moment longer before I disappeared back into the lively chaos of Times Square.

I smiled to myself as I walked away. It was nice to be noticed, even if I wasn't looking for anything. The city had its own way of making you feel seen, even in a crowd of millions.

***

As I wandered through the bright, airy halls of the Whitney Museum, I found myself captivated by the contemporary art on display. There was something peaceful about being surrounded by the creativity and boldness of the pieces, the way they challenged perspectives and emotions. It was a nice change of pace from the chaos of the city streets. I had been absorbed in one particular exhibit, a collection of vivid abstract paintings, when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I sighed, already guessing who it was.

Pulling my phone out, I saw Prince's name flashing on the screen. Without hesitation, I answered, and before I could even greet him, his voice cut through the line, cool and commanding.

"I want you dressed and ready for dinner at 7," he said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "I'll send a driver."

It was already close to 5, and I quickly did the math in my head. That gave me just enough time to finish up at the museum, head back to the hotel, and get ready.

"Okay," I replied, keeping my voice light, despite the sudden change of mood. "I'll be ready."

"Good," he said, the line going dead just as abruptly as it had started.

I tucked my phone back into my bag, taking a deep breath to steady myself. The peace I had felt in the museum started to dissipate, replaced by the familiar pull of obligation that came with being at Prince's beck and call. Still, I reminded myself of the perks—the shopping, the luxury, the excitement.

With one last glance at the artwork in front of me, I decided to cut my visit short. There were always more museums, more exhibits. But tonight, I had to make sure I looked the part for Prince's plans. Whatever they were.