11. Damien
11
DAMIEN
I know now.
The second I read her text—the one about running into me in the hallway—I know.
Sasha Caldwell. The brunette I ran into at the elevator, and the parking lot. The one who left an impression.
I go still, my grip tightening around my phone as my mind replays the moment.
She ran into me today. In the office. She was helping one of the Ryans move out.
It has to be her. I barely even looked at her—barely registered them at all, too caught up in my own thoughts. But now that I know?
Now that I’ve pieced it together?
I feel like a fucking idiot.
All this time, I’ve been searching for her. Narrowing down names, going through employee records, playing a guessing game?—
And she’s been right under my nose.
I lean back in my chair, exhaling slowly, trying to process the information.
She’s the one crawling into my head at night.
The one texting me things that keep me awake until morning.
The one who—without knowing who I am—has made me crave things I have no business craving.
I lean back in my chair, phone still glowing in my hand, my mind running through everything all over again.
The moment I suspected my mystery texter worked for me, I narrowed down my options.
It was the mention of Ryan that tipped me off. I knew he was my clue to find her, but I didn’t know what to do until she told me he had asked her out. I knew I couldn’t let him have her, in any way.
I didn’t know which Ryan.
But it didn’t matter.
Because the thought of her—my mystery texter, my printsessa—going out with someone else made something in me snap.
So I handled it.
All five Ryans were transferred this afternoon.
One to the finance department, one to legal, another to compliance, and the last two? I sent them to an office in another building entirely.
I didn’t care which one was the right Ryan.
I wasn’t going to take any chances.
I knew she would notice.
Knew she would text me about it.
And tonight, she did.
I should leave it alone. I should let this be the end of it—now that I know, now that I have what I wanted.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
I sit in my office, the city glowing through the windows behind me, my mind circling back to her.
Sasha Caldwell.
Young. Ambitious. Completely unaware that she’s been pulling me into her orbit.
And now, I can’t stop thinking about her.
I tap my fingers against my desk, staring at my phone. I haven’t texted her back since she told me about running into me. Since she told me she was helping Ryan move out.
The thought of it still grates.
Ryan asked her out. Ryan.
A man I barely looked at, a man who doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as her.
My grip tightens on my phone.
I should text her back.
I should say something, anything, just to see what she does next.
But I don’t.
Not yet.
Because now that I know who she is, the game has changed.
And I need to decide what I’m going to do about it.
* * *
I take the employee elevator on purpose.
I never do this.
The top-floor elevator is mine, separate from the rest, ensuring that I don’t have to share space with anyone beneath my level. That’s how it’s always been.
But today, I wait.
Because I know she’s late.
Sasha Caldwell is always running late.
She’s told me as much in her texts, half-joking, half-frustrated with herself.
I swear my alarm is against me.
I’m practically an Olympic sprinter every morning just to make it on time.
And so, I wait.
And as I step into the crowded elevator, conversations die mid-sentence. Employees stiffen, eyes widening, shifting awkwardly to create space that doesn’t exist.
They weren’t expecting me.
I barely acknowledge them.
Because a second later—she appears.
Sasha rushes forward, breathless, just as the doors are about to close.
She stumbles in, adjusting the strap of her bag, her face slightly flushed from hurrying.
Then she notices me, and she freezes.
I can see the moment recognition hits.
Her lips part slightly, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. She quickly lowers her gaze, but not before I catch the way her breath hitches.
I smirk, settling against the back wall, watching her from under heavy lids.
She’s so oblivious.
Has no idea that the man she’s been texting, the one she’s shared her filthiest thoughts with, is standing right in front of her.
And if I have my way, by the time we step out of this elevator—she won’t be able to forget me.
The floors tick by, and employees gradually step off, one by one, until?—
It’s just us.
I straighten, the air suddenly thick, charged.
Sasha stares ahead, determined not to look at me.
Her hands fidget slightly, her body wound too tight.
She feels it.
I know she does.
The heavy awareness between us, like a live wire waiting to snap.
I let it stretch, let it simmer, watching her from where I stand.
Then—I move.
With one deliberate motion, I press the emergency button.
The elevator shudders, halting.
Sasha’s head jerks up. “What?—”
I don’t let her finish.
In two strides, I’m on her. I pin her against the elevator wall, my hands bracketing either side of her face, caging her in.
Her breath stutters, eyes wide, lips parted in shock.
I don’t give her time to think.
I take her mouth.
Hard. Deep. Unrelenting.
Sasha gasps against my lips, and I take advantage, pushing deeper, swallowing any protest she might have had.
She tastes like coffee and something sweet, something uniquely her.
She should push me away.
She should protest, call me insane, remind me that I’m her boss.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, her hands clutch at my shirt, her body melting into mine.
I groan into her mouth, grabbing her waist, kneading her ass as I press flush against her, letting her feel exactly what she’s doing to me.
The air is heavy, charged, like something irreversible is happening.
Something neither of us can stop.
And fuck—I don’t want to.
I angle her head, deepening the kiss, my tongue sweeping against hers, coaxing, demanding more.
She gives in.
Completely.
Her tits graze my chest, soft against the hard lines of my body, and the contact sends a sharp, raw heat spiraling through me.
She whimpers, her head tilting back, giving me more.
More of her mouth. More of her body.
I take it.
I trail my lips down her jaw, along the delicate line of her throat, my teeth skimming over her pulse.
She shudders, her fingers clutching my arms, desperate for something to hold on to.
I suck on her neck, hard, just below her ear.
She gasps, pressing closer, her hips barely restrained under my grip.
Fuck. She’s perfect.
Perfect and mine.
I move back to her mouth, my tongue sweeping against hers, coaxing, demanding more.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, her nails scraping the back of my neck, making me groan against her lips.
I need more.
I need to feel her bare.
I grip the hem of her blouse, sliding my hands beneath it, up her waist?—
Ping.
The elevator doors slide open.
I blink.
I’m standing exactly where I was, hands tucked into my pockets, back pressed against the wall.
Sasha is still across from me, adjusting the strap of her bag, completely oblivious to the fact that I just had her moaning against this very wall in my head.
Fuck.
I inhale deeply, willing the heat in my body to settle, to subside.
It doesn’t.
She steps forward, walking toward the open doors, her scent trailing behind her—something soft, warm, fucking intoxicating.
And then?—
She looks up.
Right at me.
Her dark eyes are wide. Searching.
I don’t move.
Neither does she.
There’s no reason for her to look at me like this.
Like she feels something. Like she knows.
She doesn’t. She can’t.
But for a second, I wonder if she does.
If she can feel the pull just as much as I do.
Her lips part slightly, like she wants to say something?—
And then she’s gone.
She steps out of the elevator, her heels clicking against the floor as she disappears into the hallway.
I let out a slow breath, rolling my shoulders. Then I shift, subtly adjusting my pants, easing the pressure against my already aching cock.
Jesus Christ.
This woman is going to ruin me.
* * *
I should be working.
My desk is stacked with reports. Emails sit unread on my monitor. Somewhere, Oleg is probably pacing, wondering why I haven’t responded to whatever crisis of the day needs my attention.
But instead?—
I’m watching her.
Sasha Caldwell.
The security feed flickers in real time, a bird’s-eye view of the main office floor. Employees go about their day, most of them hunched over computers, absorbed in the monotony of their tasks.
But my focus is fixed on one screen.
The one showing her.
She’s at her desk, one hand absentmindedly tapping a pen against her keyboard, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she stares at whatever is on her monitor.
Oblivious.
Completely unaware that she has my full attention.
I lean back in my chair, rolling my glass of whiskey between my fingers, studying her.
She’s too young.
That thought has been nagging at me since I put a face to my mystery texter.
Young enough to be my daughter, if I’d made different choices.
A familiar, bitter memory uncoils in my mind.
Nina.
I exhale slowly, gripping the glass a little too tight.
Twenty years ago, I could have had a child.
I found out too late.
By the time Nina told me, it wasn’t a confession—it was a past event. A decision she had already made without me.
She ended it.
And I let her walk away.
The thought should remind me to stop this now.
To delete Sasha’s number, to let her drift out of my focus before it’s too late.
But instead?—
I smirk.
Because I’m already in too deep.
And if I’m going to hell, I might as well have fun on the way down.
I pick up my phone and type out a message, still watching her on the screen.
Me: Daydreaming at your desk, printsessa?
I watch her reaction in real time.
The way she blinks at her screen, lips parting slightly in surprise. The way her fingers hover over her keyboard for a second, like she’s considering her response, savoring the moment.
Then—she smiles.
It’s small at first, barely there, but it grows—spreading across her face, lighting up her dark eyes, transforming her entire expression.
And just like that—I know I’ve won.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
Shouldn’t be watching her, shouldn’t be playing with her like this.
But I am.
And I’m enjoying it.
A moment later, my phone buzzes.
Sasha: Busted. How long have you been spying on me?
I smirk, still watching her as she bites her lip, her fingers drumming absently against her desk.
Me: Long enough to know you weren’t working.
She shakes her head at the screen, laughing softly to herself.
I watch her type, then pause, retyping something.
Then—her response comes through.
Sasha: I was thinking about working. That counts, right?
I chuckle, shaking my head.
Me: Thinking doesn’t pay the bills, printsessa.
Sasha: And here I thought my charm alone would be enough.
I raise a brow.
She’s flirting with me.
Knowingly or not, she’s inviting me in.
Dangerous.
For her.
For me.
But I don’t stop.
Me: It’s a good start. But I’d suggest focusing on something a little more…productive.
I see her roll her eyes, shaking her head slightly before responding.
Sasha: Like what? Writing another soul-crushing report? Organizing another spreadsheet? Let me guess—maybe I should do it with enthusiasm too?
Me: You don’t strike me as the enthusiastic type.
Sasha: Depends on the activity.
Fuck.
The way she said that—casual, teasing, completely unaware that she’s playing with fire.
I glance at the screen, watching her shift in her chair, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her smile lingering.
She has no idea that I’m watching her right now.
That I can see the way she bites her lip, the way she tugs at the hem of her blouse absentmindedly, the way her shoulders relax as she texts me.
She’s getting comfortable.
And I like it.
I decide I’ll keep this up—stretch it out longer, enjoy it bit by bit.
That’s the plan, at least until the afternoon.
By mid-afternoon, she’s nowhere to be found.
I don’t notice at first—not consciously. But as I sit in my office, flipping through reports, something feels off.
I check the cameras, instinct more than anything, expecting to see her at her desk.
Except she’s not there. Her seat is empty.
I frown. Where the fuck did she go?
I don’t like not knowing.
I try to ignore it. I have better things to do than track her every move.
Except—I don’t.
I grab the remote for my security feed, flipping through the office cameras, searching?—
And then I find her.
In the kitchen.
And she’s not alone.
My jaw tightens as I zoom in.
Ryan.
The same Ryan I transferred out.
The same Ryan who had the audacity to ask her out.
The same Ryan who should be in an entirely different department, away from her, away from me.
Yet here he is.
Standing too close.
Talking to her like they have unfinished business.
Sasha laughs at something he says, tilting her head slightly, and I feel something dark and possessive coil in my chest.
My hand tightens around my coffee mug.
Then—
Crack.
The ceramic shatters in my grip, hot coffee spilling over my desk, splattering against my wrist.
I don’t react.
I don’t even blink.
I just stare at the screen, my jaw locked, my entire body wired tight.
Fucking Ryan.
I moved him. I made sure he was out of the way.
And yet—here he is.
Hovering.
Lingering.
Testing my fucking patience.
Oleg chooses that moment to step into my office.
He pauses when he sees my destroyed coffee mug, his gaze flicking to the mess on my desk, then to my face.
“…Problem?” he asks slowly.
I don’t look at him, just clench my jaw and keep watching the screen.
Because in about two minutes, there’s about to be one.
Oleg clears his throat.
I don’t move.
I don’t acknowledge the broken mug, the coffee seeping into the papers on my desk, or the fact that my palm is still stinging from crushing it in my grip.
I just keep watching the screen, because Ryan is still there.
Still talking to my printsessa.
Still standing too goddamn close.
Sasha is smiling.
Laughing, even.
At what? What the fuck is so funny?
Ryan leans in slightly, gesturing with his hands like he’s telling some charming little story.
Sasha tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, nodding along.
She’s comfortable.
She’s relaxed.
And it makes me fucking livid.
Oleg, still standing in the doorway, exhales and mutters something in Russian.
“You need help, boss.”
I finally tear my eyes away from the screen and level him with a look.
He glances pointedly at the mess on my desk, then back at me. “You want me to get you another mug?” he deadpans. “Or maybe send the Ryan kid on an extended business trip to Siberia?”
Oleg found out. He doesn’t know all the details, but when he found out what I was doing, overseeing staff transfer—something I’ve never done before, he obviously had some questions.
I push back from my desk, standing, grabbing a napkin to wipe my hand.
He watches me carefully. “What are you doing?”
I roll my sleeves up. “Getting more coffee.”
He snorts. “Right. Sure. That’s what you’re doing.”
I don’t respond.
I’m already walking out the door.
When I arrive in the kitchen, they’re both still there.
Still talking.
But they go silent when I enter the room.
I step closer, reaching for a new coffee mug from the shelf.
Neither of them move.
Neither of them breathe.
Ryan is pale, shifting awkwardly, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.
Good.
I take my time pouring coffee, the silence stretching.
Then—
I finally acknowledge him.
“Is it supposed to be lunch break right now?”
Ryan straightens. “I—uh. Just catching up with an old colleague.”
I sip my coffee. “Is that so?”
Ryan nods quickly. “Yeah. Just, you know, adjusting to the change.”
“Adjusting,” I repeat.
A slow nod.
Ryan looks vaguely ill.
Sasha glances between us, her brow slightly furrowed, like she’s trying to figure out what exactly is happening.
She doesn’t understand.
She doesn’t realize that she’s the reason Ryan isn’t in her department anymore.
That I put his transfer in motion the moment he dared to ask her out.
And that if he doesn’t walk away right now, I’ll find an excuse to get rid of him for good.
Ryan clears his throat. “I should—uh, I should get back.”
Smart.
I take another sip of coffee, watching as he mumbles a quick goodbye to Sasha before practically bolting out of the kitchen.
Now it’s just us.
Sasha shifts her weight, rubbing her hands down the front of her skirt.
Her voice is softer when she finally speaks.
“You, uh…drink a lot of coffee, huh?”
I smirk, tilting my head slightly. “I don’t like distractions.”
Her lips part slightly, and her fingers tighten against her skirt.
I take a slow step forward.
She doesn’t move.
Doesn’t look away.
She feels it again, that pull.
And for a second—I almost close the distance.
Almost reach out, tip her chin up, make her look at me properly.
Instead, I lean in slightly, lowering my voice.
“Be careful who you spend your breaks with, printsessa.”
Her breath catches.
Her eyes widen.
I step back, taking my coffee with me, and leave the kitchen without looking back.
Because she’s already exactly where I want her.
The game has gone on for too long. She needs to find out.