Chapter 2 BECOMING HIS UNOFFICIAL DRIVER

DENOVA'S POV

Staring at my reflection at the hospital's restroom mirror, I realized just how little I knew about myself. If someone had told me that I would be able to witness another gruesome car accident without breaking down or losing my shit, I would have assumed they were mocking me and they would have been in my black list. Today, however, proved me wrong.

I was as calm as calm could be despite having just seen someone's bone stick out of their leg. My heart wasn't racing, and I wasn't reeling over. I even felt hungry.

You are capable of murder, Denova, I told myself as I left the restroom to join Cameron and Mr. Rolls Royce in the waiting room. I really admired him for waiting; I mean how many bosses waited for their employee to get out of surgery when they could be anywhere but?

Cameron's face was white as chalk when I met up with her again. She was sitting on one of the chairs there just staring out into space. I really felt bad for her; Cameron does not do well with blood.

"Are you okay Cammie?" At the sound of my voice, Mr. Rolls Royce turned to look at the both of us. He gave me a look that implied he wanted to say "She wasn't the one hit by a goddamn truck so why the hell wouldn't she be okay?"

I scowled at him and turned my eyes back to my best friend who seemed to have noticed the very much unappreciated look from Boss Man.

"I'm fine Denova. I think I just need to lie down for a minute." She stood up from the chair and held my hand tight. "I'll just go home now. I'll call you later."

Mr. Rolls Royce looked like he was going to stop her from leaving, but I came between them both, making sure he knew just how little I cared about where he wanted my best friend to be.

A call came in, breaking the cold silence that filled the waiting room after Cameron left. Mr. Rolls Royce was very reluctant to answer it; he wanted to keep glaring daggers at me, but the incessant ringing of the phone made him give up and answer it with as much venom as one could utter.

"What?" he spat. "Right now?...I'm kind of in the middle of something..." He took a quick glance at me before sighing and ending the call.

"Follow me," he said and started marching out of the hospital. Obviously no longer in control of my own limbs, I did as he instructed and hurried behind him, trying hard to keep up with his long strides.

"Do you know how to drive?" he asked once we got to the curb. I stared at him, mostly bewildered, because of how magical his voice sounded when he said 'drive.'

Sweet baby Jesus!

Even while covered in blood, his dark blue Bentorhys-Ciaga suit stained beyond repair, he still managed to look just as beautiful as when I first saw him. Even slightly messed up hair looked good on him.

"I can-"

"Go back to the scene of the crime and get my car. Bring it to BC headquarters," he said and tossed me the key.

"Excuse me?"

Who the hell did he think he was?

"You are excused," he responded coyly. "You do know where BC headquarters is right?"

"I have never driven a Rolls Royce before. I don't know if I'll be able to handle it," I said, ignoring his question.

"Well, miss..." he stalled, waiting for me to casually drop my name to fill in the blank. I did not. "I, too, have never had my brand new Rolls Royce inscribed on until this morning. I believe there's a first time for everything. Don't you?"

Without waiting for a response from me, he hopped into the taxi that just came up the curb. I watched as he left, utterly dazed, confused and mesmerized by the man who just left me, a complete stranger, and one who seemed to have a knack for destroying things, the key to his expensive ass car!

When I got to the underground parking lot of CBC department store, there were a few people gathered there with a couple of police officers. A yellow tape was strewn around there where the accident took place, indicating that people should not cross there.

Gingerly, I got in the car and sank in the gloriousness and lushness of the leather chair. Sweet mother of God, it felt amazing!

I can't believe that stupid Dinero gets to have that ass of his enjoy such luxury. The nerve! Evil people really don't suffer in this world.

I looked for the key hole in the ignition and found a button instead.

Of course it's a button and not a key, Denova. Jeez.

Carefully, I drove out of the parking lot and got on the main road. Luxury cars sure did have a different feel when driving than regular cars.

It took me about twenty minutes to get to the headquarters. I've always seen it in passing, but never this up close.

Covering at least 470,000 square feet, the enormous building stood five stories tall with panels of copper mesh sandwiched between glass panels to catch and reflect sunlight. Each panel was distinct in tone and color and this material produced a variety of chromatic effects in response to the natural light.

It was magnificent.

The parking lot was underground and so I drove there. It was only after I killed the engine did I realize I had no means of communicating with the owner of the car to let him know I had done what he asked. I thought of leaving it there, but I figured if something happened again then I'd be blamed for it.

I waited for him for hours, mad at him for wasting so much time and even more mad at myself for giving him so much of my time. There really was no need for me to wait that long for him, especially since he didn't ask me to, but I did, and it was frustrating as hell.

Finally, Mr. Rolls Royce showed up, looking dapper in a new suit, a lighter shade of blue than the former one. His dark hair was back to it's sleek glory and his eyes shone brighter than before. He looked almost...happy.

If a gourmet meal was a man...

"I'm glad you had the good sense to wait. Get in, we have somewhere to go."

He made to open the back door, letting me know instantly that he intended for me to drive him to wherever he wanted to go, and I stopped him, wanting him to know that none of that was happening.

"Mr. Rolls Royce sir-"

"Rhys," he said, interrupting me. He looked a little amused by the name I called him and I almost swooned.

"Mr. Reese, sir," I said, taking note of the correction. "I have somewhere else to be right now. If you could just take your car key back..."

"Really?" he said, snatching his hand away from my grasp as I attempted to return his key to him, and looked at his luxury brand watch on his left wrist. "I guess the jail cells will be open by this time of the day."

"I'm sorry, what?" At the mention of 'jail cells' I retracted my hand and held the key tightly.

"I mean, you did damage my property, and I can sue you for that. I believe if you have somewhere to be right now, it's there, unless you're free now and you can drive me to where I want to go."

He had on this devilish smile that irked me and intrigued me at the same time. I hated how distracted I was by his physical features. They were lost on a man like him.

"Where are we going sir?" I asked, flashing him my million-dollar smile.

You're such a suck up, Denova. I'm embarrassed for you

"The police station," he replied and got in the car.

"But you said-" I started protesting, following in his footsteps and settling in on the driver's seat.

"Not for you, Miss. You're not the only person that has wronged me you see." That last part was said with a bitterness that made me shudder. The smile he was harboring earlier was gone, and was replaced with a nasty scowl that made him look like a completely different person.

I drove him to the precinct, praying seriously that I wasn't taking myself to my own grave.

True to his words, he was there for a different reason.

I was asked to wait outside while he spoke to the commissioner, but I could still hear all that was said through the closed door of the commissioner's office.

"...this time around my friend was attacked," I heard Rhys say. "I was going to leave it, really, I was, cause I thought they were just playing around. It didn't seem quite important when all they did was send ridiculous notes and weak ambushes, but they crossed the line this time around.

"Miguel is in the hospital and he has a broken femur. He wouldn't be able to walk for a couple of months and breathing is going to be hard for him without a tube. His skull was cracked in and he has a concussion. Whoever did this has to pay."

That sounded like a revenge kind of 'pay' to me. I didn't think it was smart to tell a police officer that but I guess he didn't mind. Whoever this Reese guy was, it seemed he had friends in high places.

"I will get my best team on it sir, you don't have to worry about that," the commissioner assured him. I couldn't hear what they talked about after that since they decided to whisper about it. My guess is it was something not ethical especially for an officer of the law to be discussing with a civilian. I did however get the last part of Reese's statement:

"When you find them, bring them directly to me. I need to talk to them first before the law handles them. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

If my understanding was correct, he wanted to take matters into his own hands. That, I understood completely. Sometimes, dealing with stuff like this yourself was way better and much more gratifying than going about it the right way. Something Cammie never understood.

Outside, Reese stopped to answer another phone call.

"Why on earth is it that every time I step out of the office for just a second, you guys find a way to mess things up, huh?"

He was grinding his teeth and his fist was clenched. Today was obviously not a good day for him.

"...so what now? Who's going to replace her?" he listened to what the person on the other end of the line had to say. "Call our lawyers and have her sued for breach of contract..."

What is with this man and suing everyone? Somehow though, I envied him. If only I had as much money as he did, I'd have sued Chadwick and Mr. Dinero as well.

"...I want them to squeeze out every last penny from her little bank account and when that's done, call every media outlet we have at our finger tips and make them air a story. I want her so done, she wouldn't be able to step foot in another fashion house again, do you understand me?"

With his breathing raged and fists clenching and unclenching, Reese looked about ready to give someone a good beating.

"CBC department store," he ordered and opened the back door.

Even though common sense asked that I kept my mouth shut and obey, my stubborn nature refused to be ordered around by a seething mad man. Plus, I needed to change my clothes and shower. Why does he have that choice and I don't?

"Mr. Reese sir, with all due respect, I am not your driver. I cannot drive you anywhere you want just because -"

He had the rudest ways of interrupting someone when they were speaking.

Slamming the door shut, he turned his now black eyes at me, with a perfect brow raised, daring me to repeat the nonsense I just uttered. I gulped

"My driver is in the goddamn hospital right now with a broken femur, a concussion, multiple fractures and 6 broken ribs. He is no condition to take me anywhere."

"I understand that very much sir, but you're making it seem like it's my fault, and while it was indeed a tragic accident, I did not cause it."

Foolish boldness, where on earth do I get you from?

"You didn't ?" he asked, his eyes incredulous, probably surprised by my audacity. I was surprised by it too. "Have you ever heard of cause and effect, Miss? You see, let me lay it out for you: if you hadn't scratched my car, my driver wouldn't have had to stick around that parking lot any longer than two minutes and he wouldn't have been in this situation he's in. Do you understand that?"

I felt my eyes water, and my heart ache. His words hurt, a lot. To think that my actions put someone else in danger scared me to my bones. Cameron always told me that my impulsiveness would land me in trouble one day; I guess that day was today.

I was brash and reckless and unthinking, and because of that someone got hurt. Again.

It's like you were made to cause others harm, Denova. Jeez.

"You have thousands of dollars to pay for the damages you caused and I'm very sure you can't afford it. I'm in need of a driver pronto. The way I see it, we can help each other out."

My tears were falling freely now, but they were angry tears. I hated how he just concluded that I couldn't afford to fix his car. I hated how he accused me of causing his driver's accident and how I didn't say anything but accept it. I hated how his eyes stared into mine, daring me to just counter him and do what my impulsive side was suggesting. But for once in my 19 years on earth, I decided to be rational.

I couldn't afford to fix his car like he said, and this really was an easy way out.

Just until his driver was well again.

With a fake smile that I willed myself to display, loathing myself even more for being such a suck up, I gripped the key with all the anger I was feeling, hoping that it'll disseminate into the key and I'll be fine again, and said:

"Well, then, you don't want to be late now, do you?"