8. Chapter Damian
I t has been decided—Aria Petrov is going to be the death of me. When I offered her this position, I brought her in because she’s very good at what she does. Don’t get me wrong, though, the woman truly has a natural talent and a trained eye for this type of work. She has undoubtedly exceeded my expectations. Her ideas are innovative and I’m more confident than ever that we’ll be able to scale the gallery in no time, just as I planned.
What I didn’t take into consideration is this uncontrollable need to be near her all the time, and bother her until she implodes with that fierce attitude of hers I’ve grown to like so much. It’s like moth to a flame, the way we act around each other. So unpredictable and so fucking entertaining.
I 'm such a masochist.
But what can I say? I love a good challenge. Once I set my mind to something, I have to accomplish it. I don’t know how, or what exactly I want from her, but the need to just be more nags at me constantly. All I know is that needling her with my presence and getting a rise out of her has definitely become my favorite hobby. On the flip side, her presence is a constant loom, hovering over me, and affecting my way of thinking. Around her, I lose total control. My mask slips when I least expect it, and she pushes me to my fucking limit. The bickering between us hasn't let up this past month; if anything, it's escalated. And in a masochist stupid way, it makes me fucking excited. It’s like a game where the ultimate prize is unknown.
But I can’t fucking wait to find out.
Today, I made the choice to wait for her in front of her favorite coffee shop, a warm cup of her favorite brew in hand. I know her order by heart now—if it’s too chilly, like today, she loves her vanilla latte with extra caramel drizzle. When it’s a warmer day, she always opts for an iced soy matcha with honey. With Chicago’s weather being so bipolar, I noticed the trend instantly.
I notice everything she does, not in a stalker way, of course. I’m just curious about her.
If I’m being brutally honest, when I wake up, my thoughts go to her and I instantly itch to get my fix, to see that beautiful bright smile and big hazel eyes that change color with whatever she’s wearing. I wonder what color they will be today? I hope they are that caramel light brown that blends with the light green and gold. That’s my favorite of them all.
I got the bright—more like stupid— idea to come to the coffee shop, because I also miss those days where she would find me invading her favorite space, ready to banter. I've been pretty spoiled, seeing her every single day. Those stolen glances at work are simply not enough anymore. I find myself craving more of her every day. Craving the ray of sunshine she brings into my gray, dull life with her fiery personality and all.
So here I stand, like some lovesick fool.
Aria turns the corner to get to the coffee shop, engrossed in her phone—as I’ve come to find out it’s her usual thing to do—looking incredibly beautiful. She has this endearing, quirky librarian look going on. It’s really fucking cute if I say so myself. She’s rocking a white long-sleeve tee with a brown cami dress, fuzzy white socks, and white Converse. Her hair is in its signature messy bun showcasing her beautiful gold freckles. She has little to no makeup today, except for her usual pouty red lips that would look so good around my cock— Nope . I’m not going to finish that thought. That’s incredibly inappropriate.
Great, now I have a boner at nine in the fucking morning.
“Hey, Darling,” I rasp .
My voice comes out shakier than I was planning because of the fucking impure thought and all. It's incredibly frustrating how good she looks all the time. I have no one but myself to blame though, since I can’t seem to take my eyes off of her every time she’s near me. She’s like a magnetic pull, my eyes just— accidentally— roam her from head to toe every single time.
She looks up, her eyes filling in suspicion as she looks me up and down. My gaze locks on hers, and I thank the heavens her eyes have a hint of that caramel brown I like so much. I could simply get lost in them. They’re the first thing I think about when I wake up, and the last thing I think about before going to bed. So bright and alluring like the stars.
“Following me again, are we?” she teases.
I extend the hand holding her coffee. “Why must you always think the worst of me?” I tilt my head in question.
She takes the coffee, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “I need to get one for Isabella too.”
I shake my head. “Already took care of it.”
She squints her eyes, dropping her gaze to my hands where I’m holding my coffee. “So where is it?”
“Dropped it off at the office and came back to wait for you,” I say honestly.
“Why?”
Her question throws me for a loop. “Why what?”
“Why did you come back here?”
The lie slips easily off my lips. “Well, to give you the coffee, of course. Didn’t want you to spend money on a drink I already got you. You know?” My voice comes out a little strained at the end, and I’m hoping it doesn’t give my bullshit excuse away.
Her eyes lock on mine, and God, her fucking eyes are so beautiful. They’re a welcome reprieve of the racing thoughts that go through my mind every second of the day.
She takes a hefty sip and groans in satisfaction. “How do you know my order?”
“I asked Isabella.” The lies just keep rolling off my tongue. I’m so infatuated with this woman that I know everything I could possibly have learned without crossing stalking territory.
Tilting her head toward the sidewalk with a smile, she replies, “Shall we? These paintings are not going to discover themselves.”
We start walking quietly toward the gallery, and while I typically take my car everywhere, I wouldn’t change this for the world. Any moment I get to spend with her outside of work is a blessing in disguise. I should be setting that hard professional boundary, but it’s been blurring more and more every day, and I’m not sure where I stand anymore.
“What did you think about the potential collection I sent you?” she asks, taking me out of my trance .
“It was too abstract for me, to be quite honest.”
She nods, swirling her cup of coffee as she ponders. “I actually agree for once.”
I stop dead in my tracks, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “I’m sorry. Did you just agree with me?” Closing the distance between us, I place the back of my hand on her forehead, checking her temperature. “Well, you don’t have a fever, but Hell must definitely be freezing over as we speak.”
She moves my hand out of her way jokingly, casting me a glare. “Have I ever told you how annoying you are?”
A smile plays on my lips. “No. But I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me.” I love bantering with this woman so much, and I just know she loves it too.
“Well, just for the record, you are,” she replies with a hint of amusement, crossing her arms.
Something unknown possesses me, and I find myself extending my hand, grabbing one of her hair strands, and placing it behind her ear. Her cheeks flush at my movement, her freckles looking adorably cute with the soft scarlet color all over her face.
“Noted,” is all I reply with a wink and continue walking. “But in all seriousness, I think I like the theme we’ve been sticking with. Impressionism is the way to go.”
It has been a transition ever since we started working together. We’re honestly still transitioning because our styles are so different, so we’ve had to come up with a middle ground. Aria is amazing at what she does and has the patience of a saint. I’m as picky as they come and she’s willing to work with me and has been helping me make this a reality, but also pushing those boundaries and making me expand to other styles.
She catches up to me, and bites her lip, clearly thinking how to respond. And the move is so ironically sexy, I almost bump into someone since I’m paying absolutely no attention to what’s happening in front of me. All my attention goes to her, always her.
“If you’re serious about wanting your gallery to resonate in the industry and make an impact, you need to open your mind, Damian. A mix of different styles. Be different for once.”
Arriving at the gallery, I open the door for her and nod, considering her words. “I guess you do have a point.” I sigh.
She stops in her tracks and turns around. “I’m sorry, did you just agree with me ?” she asks sarcastically, throwing me the same question as before. She goes to check my temperature, amusement dancing in her eyes and I indulge her, just for the hell of it. Her soft hand touches my forehead, and the touch is simple, and light, but it burns all the same, with that charged electricity that seems to happen between us every time we are near each other. Her touch affects me in every way possible, but it’s addicting nonetheless .
“You don’t have a fever either.” She hums. “Isn’t that weird?”
“Oh yes, so weird,” I reply with an amused tone.
She rolls her eyes and smirks as she takes her hand away from my forehead, then quickly goes upstairs to have her morning gossip with Isabella. They're getting friendly quickly, which I appreciate because I’ve known Isabella for a while now, and I’ve never seen her with any friends. I have a soft spot for Isabella, not that I’d ever let her know. I prefer to stay as the annoying asshole boss, but I’m extremely glad she’s finding some people to hang with.
As I walk upstairs, I overhear Aria ask, “Are you going out with us tonight? You didn’t go last time, so you owe me!”
Isabella nods, which makes Aria jump excitedly like a kid. “It’s going to be great! You’ll love Sophia. Just beware, she’s a little unhinged.” She giggles.
I lean on Isabella's desk, casually sipping my coffee. “I can confirm she is unhinged.”
She gapes at me in disbelief. “Don’t you dare speak about my best friend like that.”
I raise my hands in surrender with a chuckle. “You're the one who mentioned it; I'm just confirming. Where are you guys going?”
Aria side-eyes me and smirks. “Wouldn’t you like to know? ”
Consider me officially fucking curious. But I’ll drop it— for now .
I laugh, opting not to spar with her, wanting the nice moment we had during our walk to last. Leaving the girls to their gossip, I walk toward my office to get some very much-needed work done. As I close the door slowly, I overhear Aria saying they're going to a new club downtown.
A club? Where preppy stuck-up guys go to pick up women because they have nothing better to do and are so terrible they don’t know where else to pick up women?
Over my dead fucking body.
I shake my head, trying to escape the uncomfortable, stupid feeling. Why do I care? She's a grown ass woman, one who can make her own decisions. As I sit down, I try to ignore the sense of dread in the pit of my stomach. The idea of her going to a club, where men are going to be dancing with her, touching her hips, and getting too close for my comfort has my blood running hot. It suddenly gets too fucking hot in my office, and as I take off this suffocating tie to get some relief, an idea pops in my head.
I have to come up with an excuse to keep Aria here late. That’s reasonable, right? I’m her boss. I can ask her to stay late to complete a task or something. I pace around the office, trying to come up with an idea. Anything that’ll prevent her from going .
Finally, I find the perfect and truthful– ish excuse. We're missing one more piece for our collection, and there’s an auction happening soon in New York that’s extremely important and securing tickets to attend is a must. With this in mind, I stride to her office and knock before entering.
She looks up from her computer, her eyes flashing with a hint of irritation. I've noticed she despises interruptions, considering they disrupt her workflow or whatever the hell she calls it.
“The New York auction… I'm having trouble finding tickets.” I get straight to the point.
She frowns. “ The Damian Romano is having trouble finding tickets?”
Shit . I should’ve come up with a better excuse.
“Yes,” I answer dryly.
She drops her pen on the desk and massages her temple, letting out a sign. “Well, I’ll try to find something.”
Not good enough. It’s time to pull my annoying boss card. “This needs to be solved today.”
She shakes her head. “I have way too many meetings as it is.”
“Then, you’re going to have to stay later than normal,” I counter.
“I have plans.”
With a bored tone, I say, “Cancel them.”
She gapes at me in disbelief.
“Petrov…” I warn.
Her eyes light with fire and annoyance. A small laugh escapes my lips and this causes her back to stiffen, her eyes shooting daggers at me now.
“Romano,” she snaps, standing up from her desk and stalking toward me. “The auction isn't until next month, so we have time.”
I thin my lips, staying silent. She has a point, but I don’t fucking care. If this is what will keep her away from a club, I’ll be an asshole. It’s for her safety. Just a normal human being concerned for another normal human being. If anything, I’m being a good person, a saint for that.
You can keep telling yourself that sorry excuse. Doesn’t mean it’s true.
“I don't need reasons to want things when I want them,” I point out as I close the distance between us, amusement in my tone, despite the irritation in her eyes. “Get. It. Done .”
She offers a humorless laugh, then gives a sarcastic bow, saying, “Anything else I can do for you, boss ?”
I fix my cufflinks and reply, “No.”
“Okay.” She strides past me, a drift of her fruity perfume invading my senses. She smells like strawberries and a hint of sweet vanilla. It’s intoxicating, and something I could quickly become addicted to. She opens the door of her office, and says, “Can you please get out now, so I can get to my endless list of things I have to do? Including something I know you’re more capable of doing. ”
As I slide my hand into my pocket, I exit her office. I turn around to utter another word, and she murmurs something along the lines of asshole and raging dick before she shuts the door in my face.
I shake my head with a laugh, deciding to just leave her be and go to my office and get some very much-needed work done. I don’t fucking care what she thinks, I will go to any length to get what I want. She had to find out sooner than later. The sense of relief floods over me like a savory triumph.
I can't shake the possessiveness when it comes to her. It’s like a caveman feeling that sneaks up on me, grabbing on hard and throwing all rational thoughts through a window.
Like I said, she’s going to be the death of me.
Glancing at the clock, it's almost nine o’clock in the evening. Huh . Time sure flies when I have an endless list of things to do. Since Aria started working here, I've made it a habit to stay until she leaves, whether or not I've finished my work. Leaving her alone in the gallery just doesn’t sit right with me.
Lost in thought, I'm interrupted when she storms into my office, dropping some paperwork on my desk .
“I got you two tickets. So you can go and take whatever woman is dumb enough to go with you,” she says in an annoyed, dry tone.
I'm surprised at how quickly she managed to secure the tickets. Even though I used this as an excuse, I truly was having difficulty finding tickets—okay, that’s a lie. All I needed was to make one single call, but you know, it’s a good thing I didn’t try. This was the perfect excuse.
“How did you get these so quickly?”
“I have my ways.”
I nod, then make a decision. “You're going with me. I can use your eyes on this collection.”
And if I’m being honest, I would love nothing more than to spend time outside of the gallery with her, even if it’s slightly work-related.
I’m officially losing my fucking mind here.
“I can't. I have too much to do here.”
I remain firm, saying, “This is not up for discussion, Aria. Now go home; it's late.”
She checks her watch and protests, “It's barely nine. I'm going out.”
I maintain my composure and casually ask, “Where?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Who are you? My keeper or something?”
Fuck.
“Just making conversation,” I reply nonchalantly.
“Right. Because you’re such a conversationalist. They should hire you to do a speech class with how much you talk,” she replies sarcastically.
I glare at her. “Do you just sit down every day and write down jokes at my expense?”
“ Yup . I keep a diary and all,” she winks, “Well, gotta go. Party awaits.” She waves, walking out of my office.
Exasperated, I release a sigh and lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples. This woman pushes me to boundaries I didn't realize existed, and she's oblivious to it. Grabbing my belongings, I head out, deciding to text the one person who might have the information I need.
Me: You know of any club openings happening tonight?
Enzo: Always.
Me: Picking you up in twenty, so get ready. We’re going.
Enzo: Who are you and what did you do with my cugino ?
Me: You think you're so hilarious. I mean it, be ready.
Not sure what possesses me to make this rash, stupid decision. I’m not the type of guy that goes out, much less clubbing . I’m Damian-fucking-Romano, for God’s sake, if you see me out, it’s always about business. When it comes to her though, all my logical senses get dulled. I make decisions that are not entirely in my control, just what my stupid heart decides to do at the spur of the moment. The idea of her being in a club, getting touched by strangers makes my heart beat out of my fucking chest and gives me an empty sense of dread in the pit of my stomach. It’s an uncomfortable and unfamiliar feeling that I don’t understand, but this doesn’t mean that I won’t act on it—damn all the consequences.
So I guess I'm going to a fucking club opening tonight.