Chapter 12
D amien is dressed down this morning—well, as dressed down as I’ve seen him so far.
His slate-blue linen suit fits him with effortless perfection, the lightweight fabric a clear nod to the sun-drenched weekend ahead.
The crisp white button-down underneath is open at the top, the deep V revealing defined muscle beneath. It’s sexy—just enough of a glimpse to remind me exactly how hard he works in that private gym of his.
The blue suit makes his eyes so vibrant it’s hard to look away.
I smooth my hands down my darker-blue summer dress, its flowy silhouette a perfect complement to his suit.
It hadn’t been intentional, but when Damien’s eyes drag over me in that sharp, assessing way of his, something flickers in them. Approval, maybe.
The thought shouldn’t thrill me the way it does, so I push it down.
A black metal tumbler of coffee is waiting for me on the kitchen counter, lid already on.
I lift a brow. “Breakfast on the go?”
“Seemed efficient,” he replies simply, taking a sip from his own.
There’s a blanket folded neatly beside it.
Before I can stop myself, I nod toward it. “And that?”
“It can get chilly onboard.”
I narrow my eyes slightly. Onboard what?
It’s early—the city still wrapped in that muted, pre-dawn quiet—and I curl my fingers around the warm tumbler, savoring the rich, perfectly made coffee.
Of course, he got it right.
Of course, he knows exactly how I take it.
“Time to go.”
He leads the way, and I follow him to a door just off the kitchen. I hadn’t even noticed it before.
We exit into a long hallway. Stairs that lead down. A service elevator for the staff. Then, at the end of the hall, another elevator. Damien steps inside, pulling a small silver key from his pocket.
He inserts it, twisting smoothly, and I catch sight of the illuminated H with a circle around it just as the elevator doors shut.
A helicopter.
My stomach dips slightly.
“We’re flying?” I ask, perking up despite myself.
Beside me, Damien’s mouth pulls into something resembling a real smile—relaxed, effortless.
“We are.”
It’s only a few floors up, but when the doors glide open, I realize exactly what that means.
An impressive black-and-gold helicopter sits waiting for us, its polished exterior gleaming under the soft glow of the rooftop lights. The Wolfe Industries emblem is emblazoned on the side—sleek and powerful.
I let out a low whistle. “Very fancy.”
Damien doesn’t acknowledge the compliment right away, but I don’t miss the way his lips twitch slightly at the corner.
“I’m glad you like it.”
I can tell he really does—that he enjoys this more than he’s letting on.
A flight attendant greets us, handing over two headsets as Damien moves ahead, opening the door and gesturing for me to climb in.
Not the side door, where the guest seats are situated.
The front. As in, next to the pilot’s seat.
I step inside, settling into the buttery leather seat, but before I can reach for the harness, his hands are there first, buckling me in with calm efficiency.
“Comfortable?”
I lift my chin slightly. “I was before I climbed into the front.”
His lips quirk, and I expect him to shut the door and walk away. Only, he doesn’t.
Instead, he reaches for the blanket, spreading it over my lap, his movements smooth and attentive.
I glance up at him, brows lifting slightly. “I didn’t peg you as the doting type.”
He scoffs, adjusting the fabric with a little more attention than necessary.
“I’m not. Just making sure you don’t freeze to death and give me a poor satisfaction rating with Lucian.”
A laugh bubbles up before I can stop it, but I smother it with a sip of coffee. “Consider your rating safe—for now.”
He shuts my door, walking around the front of the helicopter to the other side.
And that’s when I realize—all the attendants are stepping back. Their positions close to the wall, near the door. They’re waiting for us to take off.
I blink. “Wait… you’re flying us?”
Damien chuckles, the sound deep, boyish, and entirely too self-satisfied.
“I am.”
I stare at him, half expecting him to admit he’s joking. But instead, he rounds the aircraft, climbing into the pilot’s seat, completely at ease as he adjusts the controls.
“Just picked up the license yesterday,” he adds smoothly, cutting me a quick side glance laced with amusement.
I narrow my eyes. “Funny.”
“Only if you doubt my abilities.”
He winks— actually winks —before shifting into full focus, his confidence almost maddening as he maneuvers the controls.
I fumble slightly with my headset, settling it over my ears just as his voice comes through the connection.
“I’ve flown for several years now,” he says, flipping a few switches. “You’re in good hands with me.”
Oh, I know exactly how good those hands are.
But instead of saying that, I take a slow sip of my coffee and check out the rest of the cabin.
There are two seats behind us, then a bench seat at the very back. It’s lavish.
Made for comfort on short jumps when the Wolfe of Fifth Avenue needs to arrive and make an impression.
The blades whir louder, a steady rhythm slicing through the quiet morning air.
“Ready?” He quirks a brow at me, and I nod, smiling.
Damien maneuvers the controls, and my stomach drops to the ground as we rise.
My hand flies to the armrest of my seat on instinct.
I take a deep breath, watching the city shrink below us as we ascend, my eyes flickering to the horizon just as the first sliver of sun crests over the skyline.
It’s breathtaking.
Stunning in a way that makes my chest tighten, something warm settling beneath my ribs as I take it all in.
I feel the weight of Damien’s gaze and turn my head just slightly.
Damien isn’t watching the view.
He’s watching me.
The atmosphere crackles in the small space, thick and dangerous.
Then, just as quickly as it happens, he turns away.
Focuses on the controls.
And I turn back to the sky, pretending I don’t feel his gaze still lingering on me anyway.
F orty-five minutes later, we land smoothly at the private airfield near the Hamptons.
Damien is a wonderful pilot. Without question, he puts his every effort into the excellence of flying, and it’s impressive.
Part of me thinks it was a show on my behalf. The logical side of me—the business side that knows this is a temporary arrangement—reminds me it’s simply the fastest way to travel.
With powerful men like Damien, time is money.
The transition from his helicopter to the sleek, waiting town car is seamless, and by the time we pull through the gated entrance of the Calloway estate, my shoulders have finally relaxed.
I’m in Ledger mode, the perfect Companion, ready for whatever the weekend ahead will demand of me.
It seems Marcus arrived just before us, sans James.
I think he’s going to open my car door, but Damien beats him to the handle, and I don’t miss the teasing look Marcus gives him or the look of warning Damien returns.
“No James this weekend?” I ask, genuinely disappointed.
“Photoshoot in L.A., unfortunately.”
Marcus tenderly touches my upper arm, pressing a false kiss to my cheek as if we’re old friends.
It looks convincing to the observing Calloways, who are making their way toward us.
The estate is stunning—floor-to-ceiling windows open to a sweeping ocean view, sheer curtains billowing softly in the salty breeze. The air is thick with the scent of sun-warmed wood and sea spray, and for a fleeting second, I let myself take it in.
If this were any other weekend, any other situation, I might have actually enjoyed it.
But then, just as quickly, the moment sours.
Because over Damien’s shoulder, lounging on a sun-drenched chair like he owns the place, is Adrian Kingston.
His drink swirls lazily in his hand, dark eyes locked on me with a smirk that makes my stomach twist.
Fuck.
I was hoping the weekend away—him remaining back in New York—would give Lucian time to figure out what’s going on and throw me a lifeline.
He was my first call as soon as I left the country club, just before I texted Damien.
Hold tight, he told me.
Well, with the grip I have on my purse, I can’t hold any tighter than I am right now.
This is bad.
Really fucking bad.
An attendant walks ahead of us, showing us to the private bungalow we’ll be staying in for the weekend. Damien refuses the man’s help with our bags, carrying them both with one hand while his other holds mine.
Since it’s only Marcus walking with us, I don’t tell him the physical touch is unnecessary. I just walk alongside them, listening to their low conversation about Adrian.
Apparently, he was a surprise to them as well—inviting himself in at the eleventh hour and interjecting unfounded concerns into Mr. Calloway’s mind.
The bungalow is a spacious two-bedroom, two-bathroom beachfront home. The flower arrangement and welcome basket aren’t just thoughtful but beautiful. The open floor-to-ceiling windows bring the cool ocean breeze inside.
“You’ll be okay for a while on your own?” Damien asks, setting my bag down on the bed in the guest room after I refused his offer of the primary bedroom.
“I’m fine. Good luck at your meeting.”
I dismiss him and Marcus, who head off to the first of several closing conversations with Mr. Calloway.
Debating whether I should unpack his bag along with my own, I decide against it and instead try to call Lucian again.
After leaving another voicemail, I give Eve a ring.
“Hey, girl. How’s the contract going?” she answers quickly. The thumping bass of music in the background tells me she’s working out—something we do together often when we’re both around.
“It’s a shitshow.”
“No! What’s going on?”
The music turns down, and I imagine her sitting down, her brow creased in concern.
Eve is a fellow Ledger Companion. We started on the same day, both a little terrified, and were best friends in an instant.
“Adrian fucking Kingston is what’s going on.”
Her gasp is expected. Eve is the only person who knows everything about me—even what happened between Adrian and me.
“What did Lucian say?”
“To hold tight. Now he’s ghosting me.” I tip my head back, closing my eyes, and release a strained breath.
“No, things are blowing up at The Ledger.” Her tone turns dark. “Someone hurt one of the girls.”
Blood drains from my face, and I sit on the edge of my bed.
We all know the risks of a job like this. But Lucian goes to great lengths to protect his employees.
One of his girls being harmed by a client means retribution.
And Lucian will handle it personally.
That means I’m on my own with Adrian.
My problem is a big deal, but harm coming to a Ledger Companion is bigger.
So, I’ll have to figure this out by myself.
Eve must sense my frustration because her voice softens. “Hey, Lucian will handle it. You know he will.”
“I know,” I sigh. “But this weekend just got a whole lot more complicated.”
“Because of Adrian?”
“Yes, but…” I hesitate, and she picks up on it immediately.
There’s a beat of silence before she hums, teasing but perceptive. “Or is it because of Damien Wolfe?”
I roll my eyes, but my heart betrays me with a little stutter.
“It’s a high-stakes contract, Eve. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh.” There’s amusement in her voice. “It’s Damien Wolfe, Elena. The Damien Wolfe.”
I rub my temple. “I’m aware.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
Eve makes an exaggerated scoffing sound. “You’re lying to me. I know that tone.”
“I’m not?—”
“Oh my God,” she gasps. “Don’t tell me you have a crush on your contract.”
I laugh at that—actually laugh—because the idea of having a crush on Damien Wolfe is absurd. He’s a client. This is business. There are rules.
But then my laughter dies in my throat.
Because there are also exceptions.
And we’ve already made one.
Eve hears the silence stretch and knows. “Wait… no way.”
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “It was before the contract started. I didn’t know he was him .”
“Shut up,” she breathes, utterly scandalized. “You slept with Damien Wolfe before the contract even started?”
I groan. “Eve?—”
“Oh my God, this is so much better than anything I was expecting. I thought maybe you were crushing, but no, you fucked him. Elena, that’s?—”
“Dangerous,” I cut in. “It’s dangerous, Eve.”
She sobers, quiet for a second. “Yeah,” she admits. “It is.”
We both know what this means. The job works because of boundaries. Clear-cut lines.
This is a professional arrangement—it has to be—and yet, I’ve already blurred it.
“And now?” she prompts. “Is it just business?”
I exhale. “It has to be.”
“Does it?”
I don’t answer.
Because we both already know.
I just don’t want to admit it.