Chapter 5 Damian
Damian
A strange feeling burrows under my skin. It’s been like that all day.
I’ve spent the day going about my normal routine.
Protein shake in the morning, followed by a couple of hours in front of my computer, getting shit done.
After that, I changed into a pair of sweatpants and hit the gym that is installed in my penthouse apartment with every intent to shake this gnawing feeling.
But I can’t seem to sweat it out no matter how many miles I run or reps I do. It’s still there.
Asking the new hire, Brielle, to be my date tonight was a bad idea.
Even worse, she isn’t just a Valentine’s Day date, but someone I have to pretend to be enamored with for the sake of this godforsaken deal.
I’m starting to think it isn’t worth it.
Call Cardinal West Outdoors a loss and move on to other opportunities, but that thought just unsettles me more.
I know Walter Bruke is gunning for them just as much as I am.
It’s all the motive I need to keep this charade up just to make sure he doesn’t get this contract.
Besides, quitting isn’t in my DNA. Then again, neither is lying. I’ve never had a reason to. I show up as I am, I tell it as it is, and if someone doesn’t like it, they can join the Satan Sucks fan club. I’m sure they have T-shirts.
This isn’t solely resting on my shoulders though. Brielle will need to pull her weight, too. She’ll need to be convincing as being head over heels for me.
I should have added that as a clause to our agreement.
No, that wouldn’t be fair. Technically, she requested the additional day off as compensation for going to this dinner. Just showing up is enough to meet those qualifications.
I didn’t get her phone number yesterday before we parted. A rare oversight on my part, considering I also failed to get her address.
The company HR files are stored in a cloud-based application that I can access anywhere. I find her employee record and plug her cell number into my phone before sending her a message.
Me: This is Damian Edgerton.
A reply comes back only seconds later.
Brielle: Hello, Damian Edgerton.
Me: State your name so I confirm I’m speaking to the correct person
Brielle: You messaged me…
That almost sounds snarky, but people don’t snark at me, so maybe I’m reading it wrong.
Me: Name
Brielle: Brielle Elizabeth Collins
She’s managed to change her text font to a swirling script. Something about seeing her full name written out makes me feel weird, but then again, I’ve been feeling that way all day. I swallow roughly and shake myself out of this strange stare.
Me: Was that so hard?
Brielle: I believe you meant to say thank you for being so accommodating.
I snort laugh.
Christ, I can’t remember the last time someone other than Louisa was snarky with me. She clearly doesn’t know who she’s dealing with. Maybe picking the new girl was the right idea after all.
I confirm her address, and after more haggling than necessary, she agrees to let me pick her up from her apartment. It isn’t too far from the office, but far enough that it puts her in another part of the city that’s less than thriving.
Me: Be ready for 5:00 p.m.
She likes my text with a thumbs-up. I tap my phone on my leg as a smirk tugs at my mouth. I type out one more message for her benefit…
Me: Thank you for being so accommodating.
I pull up to the old brick building just before 5:00 p.m. All of the windows seem to be covered in a filmy fog, iron grates covering them to protect them from being broken.
There isn’t anywhere to park, so I continue down the street until I can turn around and come up from the other side.
I pull my black Mercedes Maybach up to the curb, where a presumably homeless man is sitting in the doorway of the apartment building next door.
“Nice ride,” he calls as I exit the car.
“I’ll give you a hundred bucks to make sure it’s still a nice ride when I get back to it,” I tell him.
He laughs, and I notice that he surprisingly has all of his teeth.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. You’re good,” he says, waving his hand away.
I pull out a hundred-dollar bill anyway. “Make sure no one else bothers it.”
He looks at my outstretched hand for a moment, but he’s smarter than to turn away money when it lands on his lap like this.
“And spend that on a room for the night. It’s fucking freezing out here,” I tell him.
Brielle didn’t give me her apartment number, only confirming the address, so I enter the building and head straight for the mailboxes. It only takes me a second to find one that says Collins/Wells. Apartment 4D.
I glance around for the elevator, unsurprised to find there isn’t one.
After the three flights of stairs, I find the apartment with 4D stuck to the door with stickers and knock.
Feet stomp around on the other side of the door, and I can hear people talking, almost clear enough to make out what they’re saying, but not quite.
The door is pulled open in front of me, and my mouth goes dry.
Brielle is standing in the doorway, trying to block me from seeing inside. Except I am much taller than her and can easily peek over her shoulder.
A Black woman is standing behind her, her eyes doing an obvious sweep over me from head to toe.
“Damn, girl. I thought you said this was a work thing?”
“Hols,” Brielle hisses at her roommate. “It is. He’s just my… uh… ride.”
“Let’s hope so,” she says, her eyes dancing with mischief.
The corner of my mouth twitches, but I school my features, looking back to Brielle.
She looks stunning. The red dress she’s wearing is molded against her curves, the heart-shaped neckline showing off the swell of her breasts.
Thin straps hold the dress up on her otherwise bare shoulders, and an image of me pulling that strap down her arm appears sharply in my mind.
She isn’t tall by any stretch of imagination, but somehow, in this dress, her legs look endlessly long, the dress barely coming to her mid-thigh.
How did I not notice how beautiful she is when we were in the office?
I noted that she had a pretty face, full lips in a bow shape, button nose.
But the woman standing before me… she’s the kind of stop-your-heart beauty that I’ve rarely ever seen.
The kind that, if I saw her across a crowded room, I would make my way over to her with every intention of taking her home.
But she’s not a stranger across the room. She’s my employee.
“You were supposed to text,” she huffs.
Her adorable annoyance pulls me out of my wandering stare.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
“Yeah, I just need my purse.”
She grabs a small black bag with a long strap and drapes it over her shoulder, making her way toward the door.
“What about your coat?”
She looks down at her outfit. “It doesn’t really go with the dress.”
Who gives a fuck if it goes together? It’s twelve degrees outside, and she’s barely wearing any clothes as it is.
I scowl at her, refusing to move from the doorway when she tries to get past me.
“Get your coat, Brielle.” My voice is low and quiet.
She looks up at me with those wide blue eyes.
Her red-painted lips open on an inhale, and for one half second, I think I see heat flare in her gaze.
But before I can blink, it’s gone. She expels a heavy breath and pulls a long sky-blue puffer jacket from a hook on the wall.
“It was nice to meet you,” her roommate calls as I hold the door open for Brielle. There is a man standing next to her now. I was so focused on Brielle, I’m not even sure when he came into the room.
I dip my chin at the both of them before guiding Brielle into the hallway and closing the door. My hand skims the silky fabric on her lower back, itching to fist the material in my grip.
These thoughts are inappropriate at best and dangerous at worst. I shake my head and drop my hand from her back, shoving it into my pocket as we make our way back down the three flights of stairs.
The strappy heels she’s wearing don’t seem to slow her down at all.
Her delicate, slender foot is perched at a pretty little angle, her toes painted the same shade of red as her dress.
“Why would you wear those shoes?” I snap as we get closer to the door. Her feet are going to turn to ice as soon as I open it to the outside air.
“I’m not sure if you remember, but I’ve known about this dinner for less than twenty-four hours. That didn’t give me a whole lot of time to figure something out. You’re lucky I still fit into this dress from a few years ago as it is,” she says, her voice snippy and clipped.
Based on our interactions to date, I have a feeling that Brielle isn’t one to take my bad attitude with deference and compliancy. A fission of attraction warms my blood at that thought.
Brielle throws her coat on before we head outside.
I walk her over to my car. The homeless man is still sitting in the doorway.
He glances up at me, but his eyes quickly shift over to Brielle.
Her coat is open, her dress a revelation of ruby red underneath.
I step in front of her to block his view as I reach for the car door.
“You look very nice, Ms. Collins.” He grins.
A radiant smile beams across her face. “Thanks, Pete. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day. You enjoy your evening now.”
I shut her in the car, feeling irrationally irritated that he told her she looked nice and wished her a happy Valentine’s Day before I did.
I don’t think I’ve uttered the words “Happy Valentine’s Day” in my life. I’m not going to start now, and it isn’t like this is an actual date. I’m not trying to impress her or ply her with flattery.
Is it flattery to tell her she looks beautiful if it’s true?
I round the car and get in, cranking the heat up and adjusting the vents to the footholds.
“You do look nice,” I tell her, glancing at her from the side of my eye.
“Thanks. Except for the shoes, right?” she teases.
“I never said I didn’t like them.” They’d look amazing wrapped around my neck.
Shut it down. That train of thought isn’t going to get me anywhere.
“You look nice, too.” Her voice is quiet, almost shy. “What’s the plan for tonight?” she asks, changing the subject.
“We’re meeting Leon and Pam Vitale. They own—”
“That outdoors company,” she interrupts. “I remember their names from my report. They owned…” She pauses, searching her memory for the right business. “Was it Cardinal West Outdoors?”
I look her over, trying to figure her out. I like that she remembers that. It shows she was paying attention, actually reading through the information and not just copying and pasting bits and pieces.
She must misinterpret the look on my face at being upset at the interruption. “Sorry, continue,” she says, sinking back into her seat.
“Yes, they own Cardinal West. An outdoor supply and activities company. They’ve been expanding into more of the activities side of the business with guided and non-guided tour offerings for a variety of sports.
They’re interested in taking those offerings further north and west, expanding the market they currently operate in. ”
“Okay. But who are they? Like, as people?” she asks.
“What do you mean?”
She pulls in a breath, her chest rising in a way that my body seems to be reacting to, only to let it out in a huff.
“Never mind. I’ll figure it out when I meet them.”
We sit in silence for a moment. Brielle is playing with the hem of her dress underneath the bulk of her heavy coat. Her bow-shaped lips pulled tight as she fidgets with the dress, her hair, the coat.
“Leon is one of those classic outdoors kinds of guys. A man’s man,” I say. Brielle’s head snaps toward me, but she doesn’t say anything. “He’s successful at the size he’s at, but he lets his emotions lead the way too much. He has no poker face, especially when he gets excited about something.”
“So, he’s kind?” she asks, a smirk playing at her lips as she eyes me in a challenge.
“Sure. He’s kind. But that doesn’t make for a good businessman.”
“Says who?”
The man who’s taught me everything I know about owning a successful business. My father. If it weren’t for his divorce some years back, he would have an empire in the media and advertising industry. Like the one I’m trying to build now.
Instead of saying any of that, I move on. “Pam is his wife. Like Leon, she’s apparently all about relationships and people. Except, unlike Leon, I get the feeling she doesn’t give anyone the benefit of the doubt first.”
“Smart woman,” Brielle says. “What about us? You said that they think we’re together, right? Should we have a story prepared?”
I hadn’t really thought about the optics of bringing Brielle to dinner tonight, but the idea of walking in with her on my arm sends a shock of possessiveness through me.
“Yes,” I reply, my voice deep. “We met at a party. I asked for your number, and like a good girl, you gave it to me. That was six months ago.”
A shiver runs through Brielle, whether from the skimpy dress or not, I can’t say. But I like to think it was for me. Not that it matters when she’s my employee and fake date for the evening.
We’re nearly at the restaurant when I pull over to the side of the road.
“What are you doing?” Is it my imagination or is her voice breathier than it was before?
“I don’t show up early. It makes you look desperate and foolish,” I tell her. “Besides, we need to finish this conversation.”
Brielle wets her lip, my gaze glued to the peek of tongue poking out. When I lift my eyes to hers, I find her looking at me expectantly.
“How do you know I didn’t ask for your number?” she smirks.
“I wouldn’t have given you the chance,” I tell her.
She laughs like she thinks I’m kidding, and maybe I am. If I saw Brielle Collins just like this—a bright smile, humor dancing in her eyes, laughter bubbling up so easily—I would stay well clear of her. Someone like her could make a man want things he has no business wanting.
A few minutes have passed, so I maneuver back into traffic and pull up to the valet.
Time to put on a show.