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But anyways, the first thing I do now is call Mike. I needed to make sure everything was going to be okay. Of course, Mike is enthusiastically on board about the whole thing.
“But won't the other papers figure out that I’m not a stripper?” I asked Mike. “Won’t they realize I work for you?”
“I think y
ou’re overthinking that one, kiddo,” he answers, taking his time with his explanation. “Once we come out with our exclusives, we make sure to create a believable cover story for you. And don’t worry, as soon as I get off the phone, I’ll get some of the best people we have to set you up as Daphne Apple. Even if the Prince does a search of public databases, all he’ll see is a fake Facebook, and some government ID hits. Totally doable.”
I think that frightens me as to how easily I can become someone else.
There’s just one final last thing bugging me.
“And you’re sure what we’re doing is right? Tell me you’re sure, Mike?” And this is it. I was entering into something to find dirt on the Prince. Why? Because dirt sold papers. And our majority shareholder who happened to be the District Attorney wanted dirt. So she could most likely kick him out of the country. I mean, you saw, right? When he wanted to be, he could be charming and personable like he was at dinner. It almost makes me forget how much of an asshole he’d been to me so long ago.
Almost.
“Yeah, kiddo, I’m sure,” Mike said with a long sigh. I could tell he’s thinking this himself. “At the end of the day, this is our job. To expose the truth. We gotta do it.”
Okay. If he says it’s okay, then I’m in.
“Get some sleep, kid. But first, get me tomorrow’s story.”
That’s right! I’m getting another shot at Abby! Yay!
I hang up and pour myself a glass of wine and begin to type up my story on my laptop. About dinner. And Per Se. And his amazingly hot body. The smell of his cologne. His blue, soulful eyes.
Oh, my.
Derrick picks me up at 8 am that Sunday. He’s got a stretch Bentley. I roll my eyes. That’s exactly what I expected from someone that I call Prince Sin.
Jake calls again, but I push it to ignore and get into the car.
“Morning, love,” he says with a smile as he gets out. “Figured we’d go do a photo op helping at a soup kitchen. What you say?”
I can’t argue with something so blatantly altruistic. “Who came up with the idea, Your Highness?” I ask.
He takes a moment to smirk at me. “Actually, it was Pressly who suggested it to my lawyer. Thought it would be a good way to spend the day. And fuck me, if they didn’t call some press accidentally.”
Figures. I wouldn't expect someone as hedonistic as Prince Sin to come up with an idea like that.
I’m quiet most of the way down Manhattan and only when we crawl through the maze-like streets of Lower Manhattan does the Prince even look in my direction.
“Seriously, Daphne,” he says with no hint of mirth. “I don’t mind doing these things…. I just never get a chance to.”
I roll my eyes again. “Too buy getting kicking the girl out of your bed?” I ask.
He actually nods in agreement! “And hung over,” he adds.
Great. He doesn’t feel a lick of shame at his actions.
We board the Staten Island Ferry after some breakfast and the Prince takes me outside. It’s already close to 11 and it’s a nice morning and I watch the seagulls fly around the boat. It’s perfect.
I take a sideways look at the Prince, seeing what he’s doing. He’s gazing out soulfully towards Manhattan. I gasp, but try to keep it to myself. Gone is the arrogant smirk, the cocky demeanor. Instead is a man, struggling with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
I’m about to say something when I hear a scream.
My head turns immediately to the stern. There’s a woman. She’s flailing her arms and screaming.
“Help!” she yells. “Timmy! My boy!”
