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“No.”
“Let me ask you this...” He pauses, and I take that brief moment of silence to eye him up and down. Faded black jeans, black shirt.
He’s so hot.
I’m sitting on my legs, on his couch, with a red hoodie of his that he lent me to stop my shivering. Now the fireplace is on, and I’m toasty warm.
“What do you want out of life?”
I think about his question. I’m scared, so scared, to bare myself to him.
“Let’s start with career...” he says, wrapping his arm around me. I lean into his touch, and I’m warm all over, but I’ll never say so. The smell of his spicy cologne on his hoodie soothes me.
I’m really here. In his arms. Talking about the future.
“I always saw myself as a conservation biologist. So I might do a masters in conservation biology... or business.” Working for him opened a whole new area of business that I didn’t know I could ever love.
“Office setting or field?” He’s looking at me like he wants to hand me my dreams in the palm of his hand. I’m positive I’m staring at him as if I want to let him.
“As a biologist? I would’ve said both. But... I like my job. I love drafting reports and working for you...” I trail off. “It’d be nice to try on-site projects too.”
“We offer scholarships to masters students who work with us.”
I drink my bourbon. What if this ruins my career? What ifthis doesn’t work out or I end up getting fired? I really need the money, and I truly want the experience.
“Hey, look at me...” My chin is over his thumb, and the intensity portrayed in his eyes makes it hard to believe he doesn’t want to pursue this further. “No matterwhathappens, I’m telling you, you’ll always have a place at our firm.”
Ourfirm. Nothisfirm.
I don’t doubt this for a minute; he doesn’t seem like the petty type.
But me? Would I want to work for him all the while having thesefeelingsfor him? And what about Harvey? Would he be okay if he knew? Would he want me to quit?
I’m done my second bourbon of the night. It doesn’t taste like beer, but I have to admit, I’m enjoying the burn seeping into my throat.
I place the glass back down, and he scoops me into his lap, my side leaning against his chest while his hand traces my back. I could be wearing hundreds of layers and I’d still feel his touch.
The sting.
The zing.
The electricity that filters through me when he touches me.
“And you, Damon? Is being CEO what you want to do forever?”
His other hand moves to my ankle, and he massages it. It feels good. I don’t think he realizes how happy he could make a girl if he ever chose to.
I can tell he’s thinking my question over and answers when he’s ready. “Possibly. I want to acquire more in the science world.”
“And your love life?” I ask, hopeful, taking the hand that’s wrapped around my ankle, to lightly trace it.
“Nonexistent.” His stare is cold, calculated, on a lifelong mission to scare me.
He’s waiting for my rebuttal, daring me to refute his claim.He wants the message to go through my brain with clear-cut precision. Except it doesn’t.
I don’tbelievehim.
What I feel—I feel it because of what he does to me. It’smore. More than touches and kisses. It might not be love, but it’s more than lust.
