Evelyn spent the rest of the day replaying Damien’s offer in her mind. A partnership. It made sense—financially, strategically. But trusting Damien Knight? That was a risk she wasn’t willing to take.
Still, his words lingered longer than they should have.
"But tell me… if this is just business, why haven’t you stepped away yet?"
Damn him.
By the time evening rolled around, she needed a distraction. A drink. Something strong.
That was how she found herself at The Monarch, an upscale bar known for its privacy and impeccable whiskey selection. She ordered a bourbon neat and settled into a dimly lit corner, the low hum of jazz filling the space.
She had just taken her first sip when a familiar voice interrupted her solitude.
“Drinking alone? That’s not like you.”
Evelyn closed her eyes briefly before turning.
Damien.
He stood there, tall and devastatingly composed in a navy suit that fit a little too well.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, swirling the amber liquid in her glass.
He slid into the seat across from her, completely unfazed. “Same as you. Unwinding after a long day.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You followed me.”
“Maybe,” he admitted with a smirk. “Or maybe we just have the same impeccable taste in bars.”
Evelyn exhaled sharply. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?”
“Not when I want something.”
His gaze locked onto hers, dark and filled with something far more dangerous than business.
The bartender approached, and Damien ordered a scotch, neat.
For a moment, silence stretched between them, thick with tension. Then, he leaned in slightly, voice low.
“Have you thought about my offer?”
She took a slow sip of her drink before answering. “I have. And my answer is no.”
Damien tilted his head, studying her. “Because you don’t trust me? Or because you don’t trust yourself?”
Her grip on the glass tightened.
“I know exactly what I want, Damien. And it’s not you.”
He smirked. “You sure about that?”
She should have walked away. Should have thrown her drink in his face and left. But she didn’t.
Instead, she met his challenge head-on. “You think you can rattle me?”
“I think,” he murmured, fingers brushing lightly over hers on the table, “that we’ve been dancing around this for too long.”
Heat coiled in her stomach at the contact, and she hated that he noticed.
“This is dangerous,” she warned, voice quieter now.
His thumb traced a slow, deliberate circle against the back of her hand. “Then tell me to stop.”
Evelyn knew she should. Knew this was reckless, knew it would complicate everything. But she didn’t pull away.
Instead, she whispered, “You never do what you’re told.”
His lips curved into something almost victorious. “No, I don’t.”
Before she could second-guess it, before she could remind herself that he was the enemy, she did something even more reckless.
She leaned in.
And just like that, the last of their restraint snapped.
Damien’s lips crashed against hers, the kiss searing, desperate, inevitable. Years of tension, of battles, of unspoken desire, all igniting at once.
Her hands fisted in his suit as his pressed firmly to her waist, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss.
This was a mistake. A beautiful, intoxicating mistake.
And neither of them wanted to stop.
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