𝐯.
𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐬
──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

The paparazzi trailed us for two blocks until Derek linked our arms, and swiftly guided us down a secluded side street before breaking into a full-out sprint.

My first thought was: I'm going to bust my shit in these heels.

The second: Derek Crimson is insane.

I don't eat any pavement though (or roll an ankle, thank god), and once we're another block away tucked into a small alleyway both breathless and panting, we simply stare at each other. Skin slick with a thin layer of sweat due to running in the summer California heat, his jacket clings to me uncomfortably. How I managed to run for so long in heels...?

Derek's the first to laugh.

A soft chuckle ripples through the air, gradually intensifying as a smile tugs at my lips. Before I know it I'm laughing with him.

We ran three, possibly four blocks. Earning some of the most outrageous stares from strangers casually strolling on the sidewalk.

"I don't think I've ever ran that fast for that long in heels before." I laugh as I clutch my side, lungs burning with each intake of breath.

Derek casually leans against a weathered brick building in the alley, crossing his arms.

"You run in heels often?" Genuine intrigue laces through his words.

I shake my head as a wry smile spreads across my lips. "No. Only when I'm late to shoots, or dodging paparazzi with rockstars in my free time."

He chuckles and bends down to tighten his laces. It clings to the air well after it leaves him, echoing through the empty alleyway.

Regret burns low in my stomach at the thought of what happened to put us in this situation. Humor is long gone. I swallow.

"I'm sorry," Escapes me before I can reevaluate my choice of words. He flicks his eyes to me, pulling at the cords of his left boot, "For putting you in that position earlier at the club. I should've asked how you felt about it before I dragged you out with me."

Loose black strands of his hair sway in tandem with each shake of his head. "Don't be. You're a badass, Elara Stewart."

With one final tug, he finishes retying his boots, stands to his full height, and walks toward me. Derek leaves about a foot of space between us.

My breath catches in my throat as I observe his every move, unable to put any more space between us with my back pressing firmly against the brick wall behind me.

He tilts his neck, brings his face even closer to mine, and slams me with a gaze I can't bring myself to meet. I'd probably get lost in those eyes of his. Or worse, keep staring at him until it makes him uncomfortable.

I resort to the plethora of tattoos that blossom across his skin up to his jaw, rather than risk any more humiliation tonight.

Getting those done must've hurt like hell.

But the intricacy of them, the impressive line work, and the skill that the artist put into every single piece must've made it all worth it in the end.

I have to refrain from reaching a hand out to trace them, reminding myself of his assertion at the very start of our first conversation: I don't fuck business.

Business partners don't touch each other like that.

Along with the fact that I've only personally known this man for about an hour now.

When I finally grow a pair and inevitably raise my eyes to his, he simultaneously grabs the fabric of the jacket he'd slung over my shoulders at the club. Alarm bells blare inside my head, every single one of my muscles tense at his sudden closeness.

On instinct, I press my back even further into the brick surface.

The edge of his lip twitches upward as he reaches inside the front pocket, searching for something.

For what? I have no fucking clue.

All I can think about is desperately wanting him to exit my personal bubble, while he takes his sweet time fumbling with whatever's inside.

He finally pulls out an unusual-looking oval metal box, along with a maroon-colored lighter, intricately carved silver trim hugging every corner. Dark strands of hair part from his forehead when he tilts his head, looking at the box as he opens it.

Two freshly prerolled joints lay at the bottom.

"You don't mind, do you?" Derek asks, opening the container to reveal a blunt.

"No."

I watch as he rolls it through his fingers, inspecting it before placing it between his lips.

Derek flicks the lighting mechanism and pulls the joint, illuminating his sinfully handsome face. Flame flits to nothingness, leaving a blazing cherry in its wake as he inhales a hit.

He exhales a puff of smoke, sees my questioning stare, and says, "Takes the edge off. You want?"

Normally I'd decline.

I should, seeing as we're in a random ass alleyway, and had just finished running a fucking marathon through the streets of downtown L.A. from a hoard of paps that—hopefully—got bored of chasing us. Tormenting another celebrity 'couple', or whatever else they do with their lives. But given all we just went through, I need something to take my mind off of those looming stares at the club.

Dozens of eyes peering, gawking, unable to break away. I have a feeling those eyes will follow me through my dreams for at least a week.

"Yes please."

I meet him halfway, taking the joint from him before he can get any closer than he already is. I take two hits before passing it back, suppressing the urge to cough. Ignoring the burn that dwindles in my throat, I blink up at Derek, who's studying me. "What?"

Amusement gleams in the eyes that stare back into mine. "You don't smoke, do you?"

"Are non-smokers a deal breaker for you?"

He shrugs. "No, nothing's a deal-breaker for me."

"Except 'business', right?"

He tilts his head in acknowledgment, touché.

"I haven't smoked in a long time. My tolerance used to be so high I could smoke a whole blunt and still need another to really feel the effects."

There's a pause. I watch Derek toke from the joint, and note a 777 tattoo across the side of his right pointer finger. Most likely an angel number.

"That so?"

"Yes, so. My bank account can attest to that. I spent way more than I should have."

"I'll hold you to it, then."

When I catch his drift, I shake my head.

"Oh, I—,"

"Since we'll be spending plenty of time together, you'll be able to get your tolerance back up." He takes another hit, "If you can out smoke me I'll put you on my next album cover."

"You're serious?"

His expression is answer enough.

"You're—serious."

"You'd pass at the chance at one-upping me? And the bragging rights you'd get? To say you either won, or lost against me," His words go straight through me. Something in his eyes shifts as they travel across the curvature of my face. "It's good isn't it?"

It's more than just good.

Those two hits alone are making me feel like I'm floating. But not in a holy-shit I'm so fucking faded type of high, but a soothing one, which could definitely turn into the latter if I take a few more hits.

I'm such a lightweight when it comes to weed, it's embarrassing. If I agree to any sort of bet with this man I'd lose in one singular, pathetic heartbeat.

"Just imagine being able to smoke it all the time." He gives me a look that I can't quite discern. Suggestive, but somehow—analyzing?

Is he... testing me?

What he said earlier sprang to the forefront of my mind. How I'd probably jumped at the chance at an opportunity like this, acting all high and mighty.

Now this?

"Do you really think that low of me?"

His brow perks. "Do I?"

I frown. "It's either that, or your ego's shoved so far up your ass that you only know how to spew conceited shit out of your mouth."

That same smirk he's worn all night is back. Pronounced, and absolutely mesmerizing. It makes him irritatingly hot.

"I like you."

The audacity.

At least he's not throwing a fit about my comment. If I'd said anything like that to Ryan he would've been pissed.

"And I take back what I said about you being nice." His smirk widens with each word that leaves my lips.

I clear my throat and check myself. Derek has the power to ruin my career with a flick of his wrist. He is power. Influential in every way, just as all celebrities are.

"I'll pass."

He shrugs his shoulders and takes a step back. "Suit yourself," Another hit, "Come on, I'll take you home."

Shooting him a displeasing scowl, I cross my arms. "I think I'll call a cab."

"It's the least I can do. Besides, it'd be better for us to be spotted out together rather than seen going separate ways."

As much as I hate to admit it, the egoistic prick has a point. Smoke whisps from the joint through the California heat, swirling and stretching until it dissipates a foot above our heads.

What did I get myself into?

"Fine."

He offers his arm, assuming I'll take it. I don't.

I brush past him and make my way back to the public sidewalk. But pause when I don't hear him follow. Swiveling back to find him extinguishing the joint on the side of his boot, I roll my eyes. The man's a multi-millionaire and can afford all the weed in the world, and yet he's saving half a joint that's practically a roach now?

A scoff escapes me, and I turn to stare at the busy street, heel tapping against the pavement with impatience.

A minutes passes. I watch car after car, groups of laughing college students barhopping, couples giggling and holding hands, several men in suits walking home after working long office hours.

Then, I hear every footfall of Derek's impending proximity. I immediately stiffen before he reaches my side.

It's not that he makes me uncomfortable—nothing like that. He's just, such an enigma, and takes up the entire room (or street in this instance) wherever he goes.

"So, how was your day, princess?" An arm snakes around my waist as he joins in stride beside me.

My responding glare makes him lift an amused brow.

"Not the princess type, huh?" His lips purse. "Sweetheart? Or how about—darling? That'd be fitting, since you're an actual Darling yourself." He teases.

His reference to my modeling contract with Darling Devils makes my heart convulse in my chest. He did his research on me. The thought prompts another question: what else does he know about me?

"How about none of the above?"

A pout twists onto his features. Just like that rehearsed smirk he loves to show, this too seems to come natural to him.

"Darling it is, then."

I'm about to hound into him for the weaponization of the brand I work for as a nickname against me, when he lets out an elated, "ooo!". I glare at him through my lashes, refusing to raise my head to look up at him.

"I love this truck," He nods his head to a food truck down the street. A crowd swarms the front of it, and a few stragglers from the sidewalk enter the line.

"Wait, I thought—,"

"Let's grab something. Their sherbet is to die for."

"I don't know..." After the overwhelming panic I felt back at the club, unsure if I can handle another publicity barrage.

"My treat."

"What about all of those people? Won't they recognize you?" Derek simply shrugs.

"They're nowhere near as bad as paps, trust me," He breaks away, starting for the truck. Derek turns and walks backwards a few steps, motioning me to follow.

"You're perfectly fine grinding on me in a club full of strangers, but can't come with me to get free food?" A couple walking nearby gives us both strange looks.

"Derek." I hiss, and ultimately give in, walking forward to catch up with him.

The couple continue to glare and I reiterate; "Ignore my friend, he's a little," I fold all of my fingers down except for my pinky and thumb, motioning toward my mouth to signify drinking from a bottle while mouthing the word, "Drunk."

When I'm by his side again, that damning smirk of his reappears. "You can grind on me in this crowd too, since that's what you're into. I don't bite."

My lip curls. "No thanks." I say through gritted teeth. "And just a heads up, I do bite."

"Interesting. What other kinks do you have?" Voice low, intrigue laces every word.

Gross. Just gross. In public of all places, too.

My face heats without my permission. Rude. I gape at him. I've never wanted to slap a man more in my life than in this very moment.

"Shut up De—,"

A smile breaks across his features, effectively cutting me off.

Little shit. The man is what—twenty-five? Twenty-six? Acting like a teenaged brat.

"Not funny."

His expression says otherwise. "Should've seen your face." He shakes his head. We finally stop at the end of the line, smell of delectable food wafts down the street, meeting my nose.

I'd rather not pay for an overpriced Uber or taxi (and I'm honestly starving), so I clamp my teeth down on my tongue. Play nice.

It's in a perfect place to get good business. With the amount of bars and clubs in the area, passersby could easily stop and grab something to eat. Whether it's a tasty greasy burger, or in our case, a cold treat to beat the summer's overbearing warmth, I can see the appeal.

A few minutes later we're walking away with two bowls of sherbet ice cream. I let him pick out a flavor for me; blue moon, which I've never had before.

"I'm not normally one for sweet things, but this? This is good." I jab my spoon into frozen deliciousness as I speak. Derek chuckles faintly.

"Just good?"

"Fantastic," I manage through a mouthful of sherbet, "Better?"

His chuckle crescendos, eyes pointed at my lips. My hand instantly shoots up to cover my mouth. "What? Did I get some on my face?"

The corner of his mouth lifts into yet another grin. He has to stop doing that.

Derek nods, and uses his own mouth as a guide, pointing at the bottom of his lip. I take a napkin from underneath the bowl in my chilled hand and wipe.

When he shakes his head, I frown, and try again.

"How about now?"

His features relax. "Gone."

He smiles, tender and genuine, realer than any of the other's he's given me tonight. One that he must not use as often as the others. It suits him. Yet somehow it looks foreign, like he's not used to showing this side of himself.

Just as quickly as it came, it left.

Derek casually directs his attention onto his own blue moon, but I caught what he thought I couldn't.

A sliver of unforced happiness.

Even if it was fleeting, it was there.

The sight of Derek giving me something other than a fake, rehearsed smirk, or grin, makes me think that he doesn't allow himself to feel this way. At least not in front of other people. And that thought upsets me more than it should, if I'm being honest.

What if his personality's been misconstrued?

God, I need to start writing these questions down to ask Julia later. I feel like the only person who doesn't know a single thing about this man, and yet... I do know one.

He's good at hiding.

"Derek?"

He lifts his eyes carelessly, latching them onto mine.

"Yeah?"

I freeze with my question at the very edge of my tongue. It's not my place to ask. Not yet.

"Um—," Think of something else to ask, Elara. Stop staring at him he'll think you're fucking crazy—, "Where's your car?"

"Huh?" He blinks back at me, confused, mid-bite of his sherbet.

"You said you'd take me home remember?"

He licks his spoon, clasping his lips at the tip of the plastic.

The action alone should be illegal. Especially when his eyes are still trained precisely on my own.

"Yeah. It's in that parking garage," Derek points with the same spoon he'd just violated, at a building further down the block.

A few light gasps and an elated, "Holy shit—," makes me turn to a group of girls we just walked by.

Derek turns as well.

Two brunettes and one ginger make their way back to their blonde friend, who's the one that stopped, shuddering as she says, "You're—you're Derek Crimson..."

A casual smile lights across his face. "I am. Who's asking?"

"Claudia," She glances at her friends, who're all watching starry-eyed, "I went to three of your shows on your Phantasia Tour; your music changed my life." At the blondes confession, Derek turns to her fully and opens his arms. The woman's eyes widen but she doesn't hesitate as he hugs her.

"Nice to meet you, Claudia. What shows did you go to?"

They part. She looks up at him in complete awe. "I saw you at both L.A. shows, and once in Denver."

"I'm glad you were able to go. Thank you for supporting what I do, and for going to three shows. That's insane. It means more than you know." At this, her friends visibly swoon, so does the blonde—who then holds her phone out to him.

"Could we get a picture with you?"

Derek smiles. "Of course."

They take a few selfies, but out of nowhere I interject. "I can take some for you too," All four snap their gazes to me, as if just noticing my presence. The blonde smiles, and says a quick thank you as Derek hands the phone to me, as well as his sherbet.

I practically spam the photo button, knowing they'll be grateful once they dive into the camera roll later, then hand it back to her.

They exchange more niceties until the girls leave with a memory I'm sure they'll never forget.

Once they leave we fall into a silence as we walk. A minute or two passes, and for some reason I'm desperate to break it.

"Does that happen a lot?"

Of course it does. Why wouldn't it?

I'm about to face-palm and apologize, but he beats me to it. "It does. I'm surprised no one else has come up to me yet."

"What's it like? To have strangers come up to you. It has to feel—otherworldly, right?"

"At first it did. It was like an out of body experience, hearing their stories, and how I've impacted people I don't know. It still is. I'm just desensitized to it now." A sense of melancholy washes over him. I tilt my head, studying him, just as he did to me back at the club. For any sort of tell that can tell me—well, anything about him.

"You don't like it?"

"I do. I love it. All of it. It can just be a bit overwhelming at times. That's all."

Definitely not all. But judging by that lost, conflicted look on his face, I know that if I push any more than I have already, I won't get very far.

"Thanks for the sherbet, by the way." I say, showing him my now empty cup before tossing it in a nearby trashcan. He'd finished his a minute ago. A good thing he did too, I probably wouldn't survive another spoon-lick.

"No problem."

A short answer.

And short answers is all I'll get from him for another thirty minutes. Until we get to his car, and he asks for my address.

Devil-may-care Derek is gone.

The Derek I met is gone.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

a/n
sorry for the long wait! i've been going thru a writing funk so if some things didn't make sense in this chapter, i've been on & off writing this chapter for a few weeks now, so that's why.

i'll rewrite this chapter soon don't worryyy