[Chapter 290: Anything, Anytime]
Daniel looked down at the soundly sleeping Deva.
He reached out and gently pried open the small hands that were tightly clutching him. Then he laid her flat on the pillow and pulled the quilt over her.
"You should get some sleep early too; we have to travel tomorrow."
Daniel stood up and smoothed out his wrinkled sleeves.
"Mr. Cross..." Monica called softly.
Daniel waved his hand, silencing her before she could continue. He opened the door and stepped out.
Click.
With the lock of the adjacent room turned, Daniel entered his own room.
...
After Daniel washed away the grim lingering from the Derry Town sewers, and before he could dry his hair, there was a knock at the door.
Knock, knock.
The sound wasn't loud, but perfectly rhythmic.
Daniel casually grabbed a bath towel, wrapped it around his waist, and went to open the door.
Standing there was Monica.
She had washed her face; her long wet hair draped over her shoulders, and her eyes no longer looked helpless as before.
Her gaze slid past Daniel's face and settled directly on his bare chest.
Undried droplets of water trailed down Daniel's neck, flowed over his firm pectorals, traced the ridges of his abs, and disappeared into the edge of the towel.
Monica's eyes instantly lit up, and her throat bobbed slightly.
Before Daniel could say a word, she suddenly stepped forward. Pressing both hands against Daniel's chest, she gave a sudden, forceful shove.
Caught off guard, Daniel stumbled back two steps, his back slamming heavily against the hallway wall.
"Monica, you--"
He barely got the words out before--
Monica rose onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips firmly against his, cutting off any protest.
It was a predatory kiss -- urgent, passionate, laced with the wild charm of a woman fully in control.
...
After a long moment, the room finally fell quiet.
Monica leaned against the headboard, pulling the sheet up to her chest; her face bore a lingering flush.
Daniel sat beside the bed, picked up a glass of water, and took a sip.
"Is this supposed to be a 'thank you'?" Daniel asked, setting the glass down and turning to look at her.
Monica ran her fingers through her hair and met his gaze directly. "Half of it is."
"And the other half?" Daniel prompted.
Monica smiled slyly, a hint of mischief in her eyes.
"Just now, I had a friend dig into you." She extended a finger, tracing the lines of Daniel's arm. "Not only are you a very powerful Exorcist, but you're also a shareholder of Marvel and Hollywood's top producer these days."
Daniel raised an eyebrow silently.
Monica continued with candid realism: "To survive in this world, there's always a price to pay. Rather than sleeping with pot-bellied, greasy old men who need medication to get by for the sake of resources..."
She looked at Daniel, her eyes shimmering with calculated honesty.
"I'd rather sleep with a handsome young man like you." She paused, a satisfied curve tugging at her lips. "Well, at least you have pecs and abs."
"And," she added with a teasing smile, "you can actually satisfy me."
Daniel's hand holding the water glass paused, caught a bit off guard.
After all that, he had become this woman's ideal catch.
He studied the woman before him.
Though over forty, time had been remarkably kind.
Her skin remained firm and fair, and that peak mature allure was something no young girl could touch.
She truly deserved the title 'Italian Goddess.'
Even in a moment like this, she was flawless.
Daniel put down the glass and looked her in the eye.
"Looking at it now, I think I'm the one getting the short end of the stick." He leaned back against the headboard. "So, you still expect some benefits from me?"
Monica smiled and slipped the sheet slightly lower, revealing a large expanse of snow-white skin.
"When you reach my age, you learn a few things." She leaned close, her voice soft but sure. "From now on, no matter the time, place, or situation -- I'm on call whenever you need."
Daniel looked into her alluring eyes and chuckled.
"Deal."
This was the unique advantage of a mature woman.
They knew exactly when to advance or retreat, how to be considerate, and just how to make a man's refusal impossible.
...
The next morning, the three of them packed up and left the old apartment.
This time, Daniel didn't take them flying through the sky or tunneling through the earth.
That was only for emergencies; using such powers routinely drained too much energy and wasn't necessary.
At Kennedy Airport, the three sat in the first-class cabin.
Deva sat by the window, clutching her restored Taylor Bear; though her face was still pale, her eyes had regained their sparkle.
"Uncle Daniel, thank you," Deva said softly, turning to him.
Daniel flipped through a newspaper and nodded. "Go back and rest well. No running around."
"Mhm." Deva nodded deeply.
Monica sat nearby and handed Daniel a glass of water, her eyes filled with gratitude.
...
Several hours later, the plane landed at Los Angeles International Airport.
It was afternoon, and the sunlight was sharp.
The three walked out of the terminal; Monica's driver waited at the curb in a luxury van.
The luggage was loaded into the car.
Deva leaned against the window, waving at Daniel.
Monica lingered by the door, opened her handbag, pulled out a room key card and a check, and slipped them into Daniel's suit pocket.
"Beverly Hilton Hotel, room 88." Monica met Daniel's eyes, her tone calm. "That's a suite I keep year-round."
Daniel felt the hard card in his pocket and looked back at her.
"Whenever you need, you can go there anytime." Monica adjusted Daniel's collar gently. "Call me when you arrive. No matter what I'm doing, I'll get there as fast as I can."
With that, she turned and slid into the car.
Daniel raised an eyebrow.
"Just this?"
Monica glanced back.
"What?"
"No scripts? No projects? No asking if there's a role for you?"
Daniel studied her.
If this had been Megan or Amanda, they'd have asked for a script long ago.
Monica smiled and shook her head.
"Goodbye, Daniel Cross."
She climbed inside and closed the door.
The black luxury van slowly merged into traffic.
Daniel stood on the curb, rubbing the room card between his fingers.
She hadn't made a single demand.
Hadn't seized the opportunity to ask for resources.
Hadn't hinted at work once.
Daniel watched the taillights fade into the distance and nodded to himself.
She was definitely a woman seasoned by years in this business -- far smarter than those impatient young newcomers.
Sometimes, not competing was the smartest move of all.
Daniel pulled the check from his pocket and glanced at it.
Eight hundred thousand dollars.
For him now, it wasn't much, but every bit counted.
He casually stored the check in the System space and strolled back to his Beverly Hills villa at his own pace.
...
Over the following days, Daniel's routine settled into a steady rhythm.
He handled paperwork at the villa during the day, and at night, he visited room 88 at the Hilton Hotel.
Monica always arrived before him.
There was always a warm body waiting and a bottle of red wine opened.
This Italian woman showed the utmost gentleness and submission; she never once asked for anything.
No roles, no money.
She didn't even steer the conversation that way.
She truly seemed to just be enjoying herself.
*****
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