32. Gabriella
Gabriella
T he outfit Damien had chosen for today consisted of high-waisted wool slacks, a long-sleeve blouse with tight cuffs and flowing arms, and high-heeled boots, much more comfortable than yesterday’s shoes. By the time our breakfast arrived, I was mostly dressed and fixing my hair. My degree of dress didn’t matter because Damien was present to open the door.
Now, about seven hours later, I was standing before the coalition and rethinking my assessment of the boots. For the last three hours, I’d been the main speaker. I laid out the campaign objectives and my ideas for early results, and then spent most of the time answering questions.
“As we are all aware,” I said, “This campaign is a new endeavor. As such, it’s truly a fluid entity that will require constant assessment. Some of the ideas may fail. A great businessman” —my gaze went to Damien— “once told me that success isn’t possible without failure. When that failure occurs, I’ll reevaluate and make the necessary adjustments.”
“What you have described seems like a lot of work for one person to take on,” Cynthia Broche said.
I feigned a smile. “I agree. It is a lot, and I’m excited to get started. Especially now that I have faces to all the names. I’ll keep you informed as to my connections and where I’ve promoted your respective companies. I’d like to be updated with the results you see on your end. It could be profit, but there are many other measurable indicators, such as increased website visits, inquiries to your salespeople, and stock prices.”
“Cynthia is right,” Dwain Welsh said. “Maybe this is too much for one person.”
Julia was the one to speak. “I told you about Ella’s resumé, her background in pharmaceuticals. That gives her a head start.”
“With Sinclair,” Mr. Welsh said dismissively.
“I’m aware that you each have different products,” I said. “My time at Sinclair laid a groundwork that will help me understand your needs once I’m given more information.”
“How can we be assured you won’t share our information with a competitor?” Robert Ayers asked.
“Your success is Beta Kappa Phi’s success. And as I said before, I am willing to sign an NDA.”
“What if you decide you need help? Will that person also sign a nondisclosure?” Lauren Cade asked.
“If the campaign goes as we hope, I will need help,” I admitted. “And you can be assured that any Beta Kappa Phi representative will be thoroughly vetted by the fraternity and once the person is chosen, he or she will sign an NDA.” I took a breath, looking from Robert Ayers to Dwain Welsh, the two people with the most questions. I avoided looking at Damien because when I did, when I saw his grin, my focus faltered, thinking about what he’d told me he would be thinking about. It was nearly impossible to discuss the implementation plan and think about riding his cock in a dark room. When no one else spoke, I turned to Julia. “Thank you for inviting me to speak and for allowing me to sit in on your business meeting. I believe it has increased my understanding of this unique coalition.”
Julia stood. “If there isn’t any other business, I move we adjourn, spend a few hours enjoying the Wisconsin sunshine, and we will see everyone tonight at seven at our home. We promise all festivities are inside and you will stay warm.”
The room filled with soft laughter.
Once the room began to clear and I was with Damien, I whispered, “What did you think?”
His lips quirked to a smirk. “What was I thinking about? I could repeat it.”
“What did you think?” I repeated.
He spoke as he helped me with my coat. “You were fabulous.” Once we were out on the sun-drenched sidewalk, headed toward the hotel, he took my hand in his. “Welsh and Ayers were giving you shit because I brought you. You handled them perfectly.”
“I’ve had practice handling assholes.”
Damien shot a quick glance my direction. “Is that a reference to me?”
“If the shoe fits.” That comment earned me a sexy smirk.
“How do you feel about the campaign?” he asked.
“I’m even more excited about it now that I’ve met everyone. I truly see the possibilities for mutual benefits.”
“I like mutually beneficial endeavors.”
Inside the hotel, riding the elevator up to the fourth floor, I asked, “I take it that Mr. Ayers and Mr. Welsh aren’t married, or did their wives not want to join them this weekend?”
“Bob was married. I think she was number four.”
I scrunched my nose. “Four marriages?”
“If he starts looking at you for number five, I may have to violate the terms of the coalition and punch him.”
“Bob must be in his sixties.” I reached for Damien’s arm. “Besides, I’m not looking to be anyone’s number anything.”
He covered my hand with his. “About that?”
About what?
His blue stare swirled with deeper shades. “I had an idea while you were wowing the coalition.”
“An idea about…?”
“I’m still mulling it over in my mind.”
“If this idea includes me, I should be hearing it.”
“It does.” Before I could reply, he added, “Hear me out.”
I opened the door to my hotel room. “You better come in and explain.” As we walked through the threshold, it hit me how drastically things had changed in a relatively short period of time. A week ago, I was hesitant to allow him in my room. As I took off my coat and kicked off my boots, everything felt natural—a way I never thought I’d feel again, especially not with Damien.
Removing his jacket, he eyed my untouched bed. “I could explain in bed.”
Without thinking, I scanned from his brown loafers up his long blue-jean-clad legs and higher to his light blue sweater—one that fit exceptionally well, showcasing his toned torso, wide shoulders, and muscular arms. By the time I made it to his handsome face, his smirk let me know he caught my gawking. My cheeks lifted as I grinned. “Why did you wear jeans, and I am your dress-up doll?”
Damien came close, snaking his arm around my waist. “Saturdays with the coalition are more casual.” Navy swirled in his blue orbs. “I like dressing you.” His eyebrows danced. “I prefer undressing you.”
There was a pair of jeans in the suitcase.
I laid my palms on his chest and met his gaze. “Talk to me.” Inside the little refrigerator was the ridiculously expensive drink options. Taking a step back, I pointed toward it. “Do we need a drink for this?”
Damien threw his suit coat on the bed and took a seat on the sofa. “I haven’t lied to you.”
My stomach twisted as I sat at the far end of the sofa. With one leg beneath me, I hugged my other knee. “That’s a rather frightening way to start a conversation.”
He shifted, turning toward me. “When I saw you at the airport, I almost didn’t believe it was you. I tried to move on—in all aspects of life—after you left, but Ella, letting you go was the worst decision of my life. There were so many times I’d dreamt of you. At first, seeing you take that barstool, I thought you were a mirage.”
I recalled that afternoon. “I thought I’d pulled one over on you.”
His lips quirked in a lopsided grin. “Until you walked on the plane.” He laughed. “Your expression was priceless.” He exhaled and laid his head back against the wall. “This is going to sound like an elaborate plan.” He lifted his head up and met my gaze. “It wasn’t. I didn’t even think of it until this afternoon.”
A sense of dread crept into my chest.
There was something in the way he was speaking—his tone or volume. It sounded uncharacteristically vulnerable.
What was he going to say?
This was why I didn’t want to renew anything with Damien. I didn’t want to end up hurt.
“What are you talking about?”
“On the plane, you asked if I was married, engaged, or seeing anyone.”
A knot in my chest twisted. I sat taller, my eyes opening wide. “You are. You’re what…which one?”