lovin' a PLAYBOY

Chapter 2

The club, “Elysium,” was a contradiction in itself—a temple of hedonism nestled in the heart of a city built on restraint. It was one of Damon's own.

The doorman, a slab of muscle in a bespoke suit, led me through a pulsating labyrinth of music and light to a private elevator. As the doors slid open, the cacophony of the club was replaced by an almost unnerving silence.

I was in a plush office, a sanctuary of dark leather, polished wood, and understated gold accents. Just as the media portrayed him, he, Damon was a man of many personalities.

Across the room, a life-sized sculpture captured my attention. It was a man, carved from black marble, with the kind of powerful, athletic lines that made you pause.

The artist had captured a sense of coiled energy, a fierce determination in the set of the jaw. My eyes traced the chiseled features, the high cheekbones, and the full, almost arrogant mouth.

It was a perfect, realistic portrait of Damon Sterling. He was every bit as handsome as the pictures, a fact that both intrigued and unnerved me.

“He’s a good artist.”

The voice was low, rich, and utterly unexpected. I spun around to find a figure emerging from a hidden doorway in the back of the room. Damon Sterling.

He was dressed in a simple, charcoal-gray t-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and dark trousers. He moved with a predator’s grace, a silent, confident fluidity that made the hairs on my arms stand on end.

The photos didn’t do him justice. They captured his looks, but not the intensity of his presence. His eyes, a startling shade of hazel, met mine, and a jolt, sharp and undeniable, shot through me. The attraction was immediate, a visceral pull I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

He walked over to a bar, pouring two glasses of whiskey. “I’m told my statue has a better personality than I do. What do you think?”

“I think it’s a good likeness,” I managed, my voice a little too tight. My mind, the part of me that was a journalist, was already racing through everything I knew about him.

He was the subject of a thousand headlines, but one, in particular, stood out: his infamous 365 s*x Spree. The year he had set out to bed 365 women, one for each day. It was a self-destructive, public display of power and control. He had completed the arc, leaving a trail of broken hearts and shattered reputations.

He handed me a glass, his knuckles brushing against my fingers. The brief contact sent a fresh jolt through me. “Eleanor Vance. I read your work. You’re good.”

My cheeks flushed. “I was good. Past tense.”

He gave a ghost of a smile. “I’m offering you a chance to be present tense again.” He gestured to a pair of plush armchairs. “Sit. Let’s talk about our contract.”

We sat, the air between us charged with an unspoken understanding.

“The world thinks I’m a monster,” he said. “I want to show them that I don’t care. I want to shock them so much with this marriage that their little lawsuits and accusations get lost in the noise. I need a story bigger than theirs. I want to give them something to talk about, while silently, we work to uncover the deadly rumor spreading around.”

I nodded slowly, the words of his proposal already etched into my brain. The sheer arrogance of it was breathtaking. He wanted to use me, and I was willing to be used.

I thought back to the rumors that had swirled around his “365.” It wasn’t just the number of women that made it so notorious, but their status: models from Paris, a tech heiress from San Francisco, a powerful political analyst from London. It was the way he’d pursued clout, only to find the very public he courted began to turn on him.

“I know the stories,” I said, my voice steadier now. “The s*x-a-thon. The tabloids called it ‘The Fall of the Prince.’ They said you slept with a daughter and her mother on different occasions, with a minister’s daughter, even with women whose partners were in business deals with you, with the Queen of Bloomfield who was said to be married as a virgin by the royal household, with a Minister's wife who gave birth after nine months and made the world wonder who owns the baby. And all these wouldn't have been a problem if you didn't share the pictures.”

While I spoke, I licked his lips. He was enjoying it?

He took a slow sip of his whiskey. “Some of it is true. And some aren't. Starting with, the pictures… those were his doing.”

I knew he was referring to his former “one of his boys,” one of his thugs, the man who’d managed his public image, his public life. He’d been the one to leak the stories, to fan the flames. He was the one who, months ago, had wanted out. Damon had allegedly threatened him, and then, a week later, the man was found dead. Now, no one, not the media, not the public, and not the police, believed Damon Sterling didn’t kill him.

I couldn't say it to him. But there were too many enemies for him to point finger in one direction. Many wanted him dead for what he had done to the world of women and the ones who owned them.

My mind reeled, sifting through the facts. My firm had quietly put this case on ice months ago, deeming it too politically charged and dangerous.

It was not just a corporate lawsuit; it was a potential murder charge, with people of high profiles supporting the State's Council of Justice and funding it, just so that Prince Damon go behind bars.

It was a case that had already attracted some of the best minds in the world. I remembered the names from the internal memos: a cold-case detective from Scotland Yard, a forensic researcher from the FBI, and an award-winning investigative journalist from a German publication. All of them had hit dead ends.

And now, this same case, the one that had stumped the world’s elite, was being handed to me. Not to put me on top, but to make me the top.

Damon finished his drink and set the glass down with a quiet clink. He gestured to a small briefcase on the floor. “The documents are all in there. My lawyers believe they contain the proof we need to expose the real culprits. It’s a lot to take on. The stakes are everything. Your career, my life, maybe even our freedom. I need to know if you’re brave enough to step into this fire.”

He leaned forward, his hazel eyes locking onto mine, a flicker of raw desperation beneath their calm surface. He reached across the table and tapped my hand, the sudden contact a spark.

“Will you take this adventure with me, Eleanor Vance?” he asked, his voice low and intense. “Will you be my wife? Let's give the world something to talk about, and while we're at it, help me solve this case.” As he spoke, he slid a paper across the table.

An Exclusive Affair Contract between Prince Damon Sterling and Eleanor Vance.

“One question for you, Prince Sterling,” I said and leaned closer. He dropped his glass too and locked eyes with me. “Did you kill him?”

“No!” He wanted no seconds. “I swear, I didn't.”

“Then, I would have to read every page,” I whispered.

“Of course,” he answered.

Just as I was about to pick the file, the glass door to the office flew open. A small figure, a whirlwind of energy in bright pink leggings, ran in.

“Daddy!” she squealed.

My heart stopped. My journalistic brain, the part of me that had memorized every detail of Damon Sterling’s life, short-circuited. A daughter? The world didn't know he had a daughter. No one knew. Adopted or…

He turned and gave a genuine smile that I never thought he possessed, transforming his face.

“Lily, what did I say about running?”

Lily, no older than five, didn't seem to care. “But my doll, Duke, is gone! Did my last mommy take him?”

“No one is taking your doll, princess,” he replied. “He’s probably hiding under your bed.” He turned to me, his smile fading as a serious expression returned. “This is my daughter, Lily. Lily, this is Eleanor.”

Lily’s big, brown eyes, so full of her father’s fire, fixated on me. “Are you my new mommy?” she asked.

My throat tightened. Last mommy? New mommy?

I watched as Damon leaned close to her. “Sweetheart, we talked about this. You can’t ask people that.”

“But I need a mommy!” she pouted, a perfect little mimic of a grown-up’s frustration. She waddled over to me, her little hands tugging on my blouse. “You’re so pretty, mommy!”

“Oh, thank you,” I managed.

“And you have nice boobies,” Lily added.

“Oh!” My cheeks flushed as I instinctively adjusted the V part of my blouse, perhaps my boobs were hanging out.

“Mine will be like that when I grow up,” she said and grinned, revealing her small teeth.

“Oh, sure,” I managed and grinned back, followed by a sudden rush of emotion. How could such a bright, sweet child belong to such a man? A man who, by all accounts, was a monster.

“Will you be my mommy? The others yell when Daddy is not around. Be my final mommy so I won't need another one.”

I blinked countless times. To stop the welling tears.

Damon leaned closer and met my gaze. “There are things you don't know,” he said, his voice dropping. "Her mommy… her mommy went to sleep with the stars a long time ago and couldn’t come back. The men who took care of her told Lily that mommies were a game we play, that they are bought for the night and then they leave. She doesn't know that mommies are things assigned at birth.”

My heart ached. The man I knew from the headlines, the womanizer, was a grieving widower, and a single father. His reckless behavior was a facade, a coping mechanism born of loss and misplaced advice.

“So, you've tried to take new wives…”

“No, nannies,” he whispered.

“I can't just take a woman to myself for a wife. The models, the actresses… they were a cruel lesson to show me that I couldn’t afford to love again,” he said, his gaze hard. “She is the final piece of this bargain, Eleanor. She needs a mother figure. If I go down, the vultures will prey on everything I have, including her. I need you to fight for her.”

“Please,” Lily lisped.

A sigh escaped my lips. Lily didn't know. She couldn't. It's too much for her.

I looked at her, at her small, innocent world that had been warped by a man's misguided attempt to protect his heart. This wasn't just a business deal anymore. This wasn’t just a path to reclaim my reputation. This was about giving a little girl a stable home, about fighting for a father’s love, and about proving that the truth was more powerful than any lie. It was a monumental risk, but for the first time all day, I didn’t feel scared. I felt a renewed purpose.

“Please,” Lily lisped again.

With a smile at Lily, I took the pen and signed my name. I forgot the read the terms. A grave mistake.