Chapter Six: Close Quarters
The elevator ride the next morning was silent—but not comfortable. Damon stood beside me, immaculately dressed as always, his jaw tight and unreadable. The kind of silence that had weight. Gravity. Heat.
I hadn't slept much the night before. Not after what he'd said.
"Because I'm not sure I want you gone."
I kept replaying it. Not the words themselves, but the way he said them—like a confession that scared even him.
"Stop fidgeting," he said, eyes forward.
"I'm not fidgeting," I lied.
"You're breathing like someone who's hiding a secret."
I turned to him. "You'd know all about hiding things."
He gave a tight smile. "Touché."
---
By noon, the sky darkened with an unexpected storm. Heavy rain lashed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Wolfe Enterprises tower, and the air felt charged.
I was organizing files in Damon's office when the thunder cracked loud enough to make me flinch. A folder slipped from my hands, scattering documents across the polished floor.
He glanced up from his desk. "Nervous?"
"Just startled."
He stood, walked over, and knelt to help pick up the papers. I reached for the same sheet he did, and our fingers brushed.
The air shifted.
I looked up—and he was already looking at me. Closer than I'd ever been to him. Too close.
"You work hard," he said quietly. "Harder than people with ten times your privilege."
I blinked. "Are you saying something nice to me? Should I be worried?"
He didn't laugh. His gaze dropped to my lips, then snapped back to my eyes.
"Maybe you should be."
He stood, handed me the paper, and stepped away—but the space between us didn't feel any wider. Not really.
---
By the end of the day, the storm had knocked out part of the city's power grid—including the subway line I used to get home.
Marissa appeared in the doorway with her usual frostbite expression. "All trains are down. You'll need to wait it out."
I sighed. "Great."
Damon appeared beside her. "There's a guest suite on the top floor. You can stay there until the storm passes."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"It's not a request," he said. "You'll stay. It's safer."
I didn't have the energy to argue. A free bed in a skyscraper was better than sleeping in the lobby or getting drenched outside.
The suite was sleek and surprisingly warm—marble floors, velvet chairs, soft lighting that didn't feel like his usual brand of cold efficiency. There were even books on a shelf.
A knock came fifteen minutes later.
When I opened the door, Damon stood there holding a mug of tea.
"I figured you wouldn't take one unless someone made you," he said.
I stared. "Did you make this?"
He smirked. "Don't be ridiculous. The kitchen staff did."
I took it anyway. Our fingers touched again.
"You don't have to be nice," I said softly.
"I'm not being nice," he replied. "I'm trying to figure out why I keep thinking about you when you're not in the room."
I froze.
He didn't wait for a reply. Just turned and walked back into the hallway.
---
That night, I lay in the massive bed, staring at the ceiling.
This wasn't a crush. It wasn't curiosity. It was something much more dangerous.
Because the more I got to know Damon Wolfe, the more I saw the man hiding beneath the power, the control, the cold walls.
And the scariest part?
He was starting to see me too.