Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
I blanch at her knowledge of my name but she’s already turned to another guest with a golden pin. I wave off the waiter, an easy decision considering how well tequila and Damion went nine months ago. I intend to stay crystal clear and sharp to enjoy this journey and an evening that rewards me for my hard work.
With a calming breath, I step into a room of old-world money with leather and high back chairs and dim lighting. It’s not long before I’m in one conversation after another with some of the biggest names in our city and state. Even the mayor is present, and quite welcoming. I notice that there are people who murmur about his politics both pro and con, but I avoid those stories.
A lesson from my father: Talking politics is about as risky a gamble as guessing a woman’s age or weight and landing the wrong direction. These are all good ways to die.
I don’t want to die, be it literally or professionally.
I continue to work the crowd, and so far, Damion is nowhere to be found. I wonder if he simply decided not to attend. That’s power. You have it. You don’t need to be told you have it. You don’t need to wear a gold pin for everyone else to be clear on that point. Still, my nerves are now dancing with disappointment. Some crazy part of me wanted to see Damion. The sane part of me, at least, knows I’m better off without him.
Eventually, I end up on level two, where I find myself in a circle of eight or so future leaders, meeting each without much warmth or acceptance. That’s when things go south. That’s when there are jabs punched my direction.
“Don’t you sell real estate, or something like that?” One blond dude with glasses asks. “My dad made our real estate agent quit.”
The two girls on either side of me giggle like schoolgirls, not future leaders.
That’s when it happens.
Damion steps in front of me, shoving the guy with the glasses slightly as he does. “Hello, Alana,” he says, in a deep, raspy voice that says he’s all man now.
But I know that already.
I know so much about Damion West that the rest of the world does not know.
The problem is, he knows me that well, too.
Chapter Eight
Alana
Some might think my present encounter with Damion is a new and improved version of a meet-cute. A re-meet-cute. And how could they not? Damion stands there, blue eyes fixed on me, wearing the kind of six-thousand-dollar suit you’d imagine of a billionaire meet-cute experience.
And it looks good on him.
Gray. Pin striped. Perfectly fitted with a blue-ish gray tie that pulls the blue in his eyes.
“Hello, Damion,” I greet, every part of me alive and prickling with electricity from his mere existence in the same room.
“Will you be my real estate agent?” he asks.
“I’ll be your attorney,” I offer. “I’m fairly certain you’ll need me more in that capacity over acquisitions.”
His lips curve. “Always busting my balls.”
Somehow that statement, which he’s made often to me, has more meaning now than it did before we had our hands all over each other. “Because it’s always deserving.”
His lips curve. “I resemble that remark.”
“You know each other?” the blonde next to me asks, giving Damion the kind of up and down inspection that says she wants to climb that tree.
“We grew up next door to each other,” I reply, giving her a sideways look.
“Oh, right. I heard that from my dad. Your father serviced his family’s real estate needs. They went to tracks together.” She sips her champagne and smirks.
I draw in a deep breath and wait for what is to follow. Waiting is necessary. It’s about letting the fish come to you, when you can reel it in. But in this case, it’s a bit like watching the knife about to stab you in the heart in slow motion, aware you’re about to die, but there’s nothing you can do to stop it from happening.
“Apparently your father doesn’t know when to stop gambling. He lost his ass that day. I bet that’s why he sold the house.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, and touch her arm.
She grimaces at me and jerks her arm back. “What you are you sorry for?”
“It didn’t happen that way. I’m just…sorry. You should talk to your dad.” I lower my voice and tilt my chin to keep things on the low for her ears only. “Tell him just to tell you. That you can handle it.”
She pulls back and looks at me. “What are you talking about?”
I lift my hand and wave her off before I turn back to the group and end up in the beam of Damion’s eyes, and there is nowhere to hide from his prying eyes. My lips trembles and my fingers curl into my palms, or they’d tremble as well. The blonde, whoever she is, hurries away. I’ve reversed her snark and re-snarked her. It’s a skill I’ve learned over the years, but I don’t like it. It feels dirty, but sometimes necessary in this crowd.