Daphne waited on the curb. She was wearing the red suit. She had pulled her hair back into a severe, sleek bun.
An engine roared.
A sleek, silver Aston Martin pulled up to the curb. It looked like a missile on wheels.
Charlton stepped out. He was wearing a fresh tuxedo, crisp and perfect.
He stopped when he saw her. His eyes widened slightly. He looked her up and down, lingering on the sharp lapels of the suit.
He opened the passenger door.
"Red suits you," he said. "It's aggressive."
"I'm done being passive," Daphne replied, sliding into the low leather seat.
Charlton got in and buckled up. "Where to first?"
"ABT," Daphne said. "I need to clear my locker before they throw my things out."
Charlton nodded. He didn't ask if she was okay. He knew she wasn't. He just put the car in gear and drove.
They wove through traffic toward Lincoln Center. The silence in the car was comfortable, heavy with shared purpose.
Daphne's phone rang.
It was connected to the car's Bluetooth. The name CAMPBELL flashed on the dashboard screen.
Charlton saw it. His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel.
"You can answer," he said through gritted teeth. "I don't mind."
Daphne pressed 'Answer' on the dashboard.
"Daphne, finally," Campbell's voice filled the cabin. It was patronizing, annoyed. "Stop this tantrum."
Daphne stared at the dashboard.
"I saw you used the AMEX at the pharmacy," Campbell continued. "It declined. You're broke, Daphne."
Daphne flinched. He was tracking her. He was watching her fail.
"Come to the hotel," Campbell said, his voice softening into a fake concern. "I can help you with ABT. I know people on the board. We can fix this."
It was a bribe. He wanted her as a mistress. He wanted to keep her on the side while he married Kandice.
Charlton's jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.
Daphne looked at Charlton. Then she looked at the phone.
"I don't need your help, Campbell," she said. Her voice was steady. "I have a new manager."
"Who?" Campbell scoffed. "That loser agent of yours?"
"No," Daphne said clearly. "My fiancé."
Silence on the line.
"Fiancé? Who?" Campbell laughed nervously. "You don't have a fiancé."
"Charlton Bernard," Daphne dropped the bomb.
"Charlton?" Campbell's voice went up an octave. "The guy you friend-zoned in high school? He's a joke, Daphne. He's a mess."
Charlton didn't say a word. He just kept driving, his eyes fixed on the road, but his grip on the wheel was lethal.
"He's the man I'm marrying," Daphne said. "Goodbye, Campbell."
She pressed the red button.
The call ended.
The car was silent. The engine purred.
Charlton looked over at her. His eyes were dark, intense, and burning with something that looked like pride.
"You enjoyed that," he noted.
Daphne leaned back in the seat. A slow, genuine smile formed on her lips.
"I really did," she admitted.
