Before Damien could respond, the power flickered.
The overhead lights dimmed, then surged brighter, casting long, exaggerated shadows over their faces. Thunder cracked across the sky, loud enough to rattle the windows.
Damien’s gaze lifted toward the floor-to-ceiling glass, brows narrowing. “Storm’s getting worse.”
Ellie glanced at her phone. “It’s supposed to pass by midnight. But you know how this city gets when it rains… Everything shuts down.”
“Except him,” Isabella muttered under her breath.
Damien’s eyes snapped to hers, amused. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” she said, picking up her fork.
He leaned forward, voice dropping an octave.
“You’re not afraid of storms, are you, little dove?”
Isabella bristled. “Of course not.”
“Good,” Ellie chimed in, pouring herself a glass of red
