THE DEVIL'S ASSISTANT

The Gala

Selena:

I told myself I was only going because it was work.

I repeated it the entire cab ride over. While I smoothed down the black dress I'd borrowed from my neighbor. While I stood outside the glittering entrance of the Grand Meridian Hotel watching Manhattan's most powerful people filter inside like they owned the night.

Just work. Just survival. Just a job.

Damien was waiting at the top of the steps.

Dark tuxedo. Hair swept back. Jaw sharp enough to cut glass. He looked like he'd been carved specifically to make women forget their own names.

His eyes found me immediately. Like he'd been watching the entrance.

Like he'd been waiting.

He came down two steps — just two — and stopped in front of me. His eyes moved over me once. Slow and deliberate and completely unashamed.

"You came." His voice was low.

"It's work." I said.

The corner of his mouth moved. "Of course."

He offered his arm.

I took it.

The warmth of him came through his jacket sleeve immediately and I focused very hard on the steps ahead.

Damien

She was breathtaking.

I had seen beautiful women in rooms like this my entire life. Women dressed and styled and presented like weapons. None of them had ever made me forget what I was supposed to be doing.

Selena wore a simple black dress and looked like she belonged here more than any of them.

We moved through the room together and I felt something I hadn't felt in years — awareness. Not of the deals being made around me or the hands I needed to shake. Of her. The way she held herself. The way she smiled politely at people she'd never met and somehow made them feel immediately comfortable.

At one point Senator Hargrove cornered me for twenty minutes about a merger I had no interest in discussing. When I finally extracted myself I turned and found Selena across the room deep in conversation with three board members who were laughing loudly at something she'd said.

Board members didn't laugh. Ever.

I crossed the room.

"Stealing my assistant?" I said as I reached them.

"Remarkable woman." Hargrove's colleague said. "You should promote her."

I looked at Selena.

She looked back at me with those careful eyes and that almost smile.

"I'm considering it." I said.

Selena

We ended up on the balcony at 10PM.

The party hummed inside behind the glass doors. Out here it was just the cold night air and the city spread below us like scattered diamonds and Damien standing beside me close enough that our arms almost touched.

"You didn't tell me you were good with people." he said.

"You didn't ask."

"I'm asking now."

I looked out at the city. "My mom was sick a lot when I was growing up. I learned early how to make people comfortable in uncomfortable situations." I paused. "Hospitals teach you that."

Silence.

Then — "I'm sorry." Quiet and genuine. Nothing performed about it.

I turned slightly. This version of him — softer, unguarded, just a man standing in the cold — was so much more dangerous than the CEO in the boardroom.

"Don't." I said softly. "I don't need sorry. She's still here."

He looked at me for a long moment. Something moved behind his eyes. Deep and slow like something shifting underneath still water.

He turned to face me fully.

"Have dinner with me." he said. "Not work. Not the gala. Just dinner."

My heart knocked hard against my ribs.

"Damien —"

"Just dinner Selena."

I looked at him. At the city. At my own hands on the railing.

Every sensible thought I had said no. Said remember why you're here. Said don't.

"I can't." I said quietly.

His jaw tightened slightly. The only crack.

"Can't or won't?"

"Both." I whispered.

He held my gaze for one long painful moment. Then he nodded once — slow and controlled — and looked back out at the city.

We stood in silence for a while after that.

But he didn't move away.

And neither did I.