Chapter 8
I offerDamon one final glare as he reaches me before turning my attention to the space before me. The god-awful music was one thing to overcome, but dealing with him and his arrogance, mischievousness, and all the other words evading me right now may not be as easy of a task. As if any of this is easy. Though, as I inspect the room, I’m reminded of why I’m here and the possibilities that lie before me.
Slowly but surely, my anger gives way to hope. I move farther into the space, taking in the raw wood floors and brick walls, same as the first floor except mine are the natural red tone you see on the exterior rather than painted black. The space itself is rather on the small side, a bit narrow. But it has a good-sized storage closet I can use to store my inventory, a bathroom, and charming character in the way of the antique brick, wood floors, two fireplaces I know must be original to the property, and the three sets of French doors, which open onto the balcony with the most exquisite ironwork.
I move about in silence. It’ll require a lot of work before it’s operational. The floors have been sanded but aren’t stained or painted. Speaking of paint, I’m not sure how this red brick will work with the kind of inventory I plan on stocking. I want this place to be a romantic haven for women, an escape just as much as a place to buy a cute dress or piece of lingerie. I’m thinking pastel pink or lilac walls, maybe mauve-painted floors for a touch of warmth. The fireplaces I’ll paint white and top their mantels with gold-framed mirrors, bouquets of flowers and some candles. Perhaps I could even sell the scents I choose to burn. Hmm. My mind runs wild with possibilities, so much so I put Brinkley down to do some exploring of his own while I process my thoughts.
I could put a clothing rack on the back wall, a few tables throughout for more clothes, intimates, select shoes, handbags, and, of course, jewelry. I’ll use my connections with designers to bring in a variety of things—some more affordable and others more luxury. And, like all the finest establishments I’ve shopped at, I’ll have complimentary drinks and treats for my customers. Champagne and macarons, anyone? This will be perfect. I’ll have the most stylish and Instagrammable shop in town. Although, where to start?
I find Damon staring at me as he props himself up against the wall between two sets of the French doors. What a way to ruin a gorgeous view? Realizing that those windows offer my only natural light, I make a mental note to shop for chandeliers.
“Can I help you?” I ask, acknowledging his unwanted presence. He smirks and pushes himself off the wall. As he takes a few steps toward me, my brows furrow, and I bristle at his advance.
“Calm down,” he says, noticing the shift in my stance. “I just need to go over a few things per the terms of the lease, and then you’re on your own.” It’s then that I notice the slip of paper in his hand. Oh, right. I give him a nod as he tells me how to access the security system and lists off my restrictions. No structural changes, no smoking, and on and on. None of his demands draw any complaints from me. That is, until he reaches the pet policy.
“Excuse me. I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?” I ask. Damon pauses as I cross my arms over my chest, and his eyes shift just past me, drawing my attention to the back of the room. I gasp. “Brinkley, no!” I say, rushing toward him. But I’m too late. Assuming the position, he drops the biggest deuce of his life, and the smell rivals that of the New Orleans stench. “Aw, Brinkley!” Ignoring me, Brinkley takes a few steps away, kicks his feet, and then runs off to stand between Damon and me, waiting for me to clean up his mess. I guess it’s my fault. I never did find him a place for his morning poo. I thought there would be better options along the way to the shop, but it was a shorter walk than I expected.
“Yeah, so, like I said, no pets. Given the nature of the tattooing process, the little beast is a walking health code violation, and I’ll be damned if I’m shut down because of him,” Damon says, pointing at Brinkley. My skin still hot from our earlier altercation, I’m not willing to fight with him again, at least not today. So, I ignore the dig at Brinkley to pull out his paperwork from my wallet. I hand it to Damon. “What the Hell is this?”
“It’s a fuck you to your pet policy,” I say. “Brinkley is a certified emotional support dog, and therefore, he must be with me at all times.”
“Yeah, right,” Damon scoffs. “Who’d you pay off to get this forged?”
“Excuse me?” I mean, I did have help getting Brinkley approved, but how would he know that? I shake my head. It was just an off-handed, rude remark, Anastasia. Nothing more.
“Nothing.” Damon shakes his head, handing me back the slip of paper. “Fine, just keep the rat up here with you. You can use the stairwell off the back to take him out to relieve himself throughout the day.” Okay, that does it. Beast? Rat? Damon moves toward the back of the building, opening a door with a bright red exit sign over it.
“Don’t call him that! He’s not a beast or a rat. He’s a purebred Pomeranian and he has better manners than you.”
“Really?” Damon asks, turning toward me with an arched brow. “He just shit all over the floor. I guess the bar for manners is real low around here.”
“He couldn’t help himself,” I say. “We couldn’t find any grass on our way here, and even where I live, I’m surrounded by nothing but concrete.”
Damon rolls his eyes. “Well, problem solved.”
I step in front of him as he holds the door open for me. I peek outside without actually stepping onto the iron landing of the stairwell I’m sure is as old as the building itself. I do spot the perfect place for Brinkley below. Set up like a courtyard, there is tons of gravel with pockets of flower beds, shrubbery, and grass. Though the sight of the stairwell gives me anxiety. Both because I’m the slightest bit scared of heights and because I fear my heels will get stuck in the intricate design of the steps.
“Are you sure this is safe?” I ask. I could kick myself for the amount of worry I hear in my own voice.
“Of course it is,” he says. Though just as much as I hate the fear in my voice, I’m surprised by the gentleness in his. It’s then that I take note of how close he is to me or I am to him. I feel the warmth radiating off him as he stands just inches behind me, so close our fingers nearly touch. As the wind kicks up, it brings another whiff of his cologne to my nose. His scent reminds me of our encounter in the stairwell. He was so close his scent flooded me. I felt his breath on my chest and the muscles just beneath his shirt as I grabbed on to him. And the way his hands gripped my hips, it both scared me and… I don’t even know how to process it, honestly. My thoughts give rise to the hairs on my arms and legs, casting a chill across my body. I step away from him then, escaping to the other side of the room.
“Well, that about covers it,” Damon says from behind me. I can hear him close the door and make his way toward me, but I have my attention focused on the balcony. The sunlight streaming in through the French doors warms my skin, chasing away the chill he and the cool breeze left me with. What is it about him? I know I have a short fuse and I’m no stranger to confrontation, especially when it comes to my brother. But there’s something about Damon Dupont that gets underneath my skin in a way I’ve never experienced before, and I’ve only been in his presence a mere half hour. I don’t know what to do with it or how to process it. “I guess I’ll leave you to it then.”
At that, I turn. Just as Damon reaches the exit, I say, “Are we going to have a problem, you and I?”
Damon stands tall. When he turns back to me, he wears a devilish smirk, the kind that lets me know his style isn’t the only thing about him that’s different from the men I’ve known. “Oh, most definitely,” he says.
“Hmm.” I nod, closing the distance between us. “Well, you should know, Mr. Dupont, I always get what I want.”
Damon’s smirk draws into a full smile as he shoves his hands in the pockets of his black jeans. He leans forward, bringing his lips so close to my ear his breath tickles my neck. “Well, we’ll see about that, princess.”