Chapter 21
909 Words
The rooftop buzzed with soft music and glimmering lights, the city skyline stretching endlessly behind it. Laughter spilled from clusters of colleagues, glasses clinked, and the hum of polite conversations wove between velvet drapes and chilled champagne.
Rhea stood near the railing, sipping sparkling water, half-listening to a junior analyst talk about market shifts. She nodded politely, but her attention was elsewhere.
Across the terrace, Damian stood tall in his black suit, surrounded by executives. He wasn’t talking much, just listening with a strange detachment, eyes flicking from speaker to speaker as if everything bored him.
But then his gaze shifted.
And landed on her.
It didn’t linger. Just a moment. But she felt it. The quiet awareness. The weight of it in her chest.
She turned away before he could see how her breath caught.
“I’m going to get some air,” she said to the analyst, who quickly nodded and turned to speak with someone else.
Rhea stepped past the string lights and moved to a quieter corner. Her heels clicked softly on the concrete floor, and the night air brushed her shoulders, cool and clear.
“Didn’t peg you for the type who needed space at a party.”
The voice came from behind her, smooth but clipped. Damian.
She didn’t turn around.
“Didn’t peg you for the type who noticed what I do.”
There was a pause before he stepped beside her, keeping just enough distance between them. She could smell his cologne—clean, sharp, familiar now in a way that made her stomach flip.
“You were quiet during the pitch today,” he said.
“Because Catherine was doing the talking,” she replied. “I didn’t need to repeat what was already working.”
“Smart answer.”
She glanced at him. “You sound surprised.”
“I’m not.”
But his eyes said otherwise. Something about the way he looked at her now was different. Less guarded. Less cold. Like he was trying to see something he hadn’t before.
She leaned back against the railing, crossing her arms. “You don’t trust me.”
“You’re new,” he said plainly.
“So is half the team.”
“You’re different.”
There it was. No sarcasm. No sharpness. Just those two words, steady and strange and lingering in the air between them.
Before she could respond, a voice sliced through the moment.
“Damian.”
Naomi Lancaster, wine glass in hand, lips curled into a polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“I was hoping to grab a word about the Camden timeline,” she said, stepping between them like it was natural.
Rhea moved aside, not missing the way Naomi’s glance swept over her, dismissive and smug.
Damian’s posture shifted instantly, back to business. “We’ll talk Monday,” he said, not quite meeting Naomi’s eyes.
Naomi blinked, then smiled tighter. “Of course.”
She turned to Rhea. “Enjoying yourself?”
“I was.”
Naomi tilted her head. “Don’t let it get to you. Parties like this are harmless. Unless you let them confuse you.”
Rhea’s smile didn’t reach her eyes either. “Don’t worry. I don’t confuse easily.”
Naomi hummed and walked away, her heels clicking with satisfaction.
Rhea turned to leave, but Damian caught her arm.
“She gets under everyone’s skin,” he muttered.
“You let her,” Rhea replied, pulling her hand away.
He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She faced him, eyes steady. “You’re the one in charge. If she keeps pushing limits, it’s because she thinks she can.”
Damian looked at her, jaw tightening, but he didn’t argue.
The party went on around them, but neither spoke again.
Later, when most of the guests had filtered out and the sky had turned deeper shades of black and navy, Damian found himself outside the building, coat in hand.
Rhea stood near the valet, scrolling through her phone.
“You shouldn’t wait alone,” he said.
“I’m fine.”
“It’s late.”
She didn’t respond.
“Get in. I’ll drop you off.”
“No, thank you.”
“Get in the car, Rhea.”
She sighed and followed him into the sleek black sedan, slumping slightly against the seat.
He didn’t speak as he drove. Not until they were halfway across the bridge.
“I don’t dislike you.”
She looked at him, startled.
“What?”
“You think I’m rude because I dislike you. I’m not sure that’s it.”
Rhea blinked, unsure how to respond.
“You irritate me,” he added.
“Wow. Thanks.”
“You’re sharp. Confident. Not afraid to challenge me. It’s… distracting.”
She turned toward the window, heart thudding.
“So you’re rude to cover it.”
He said nothing.
Silence filled the car again. But it was different this time. Not cold. Not angry.
Just heavy.
When they reached her apartment, he didn’t get out.
Rhea turned to him.
“Goodnight.”
But before she could open the door, he said softly, “You don’t confuse easily. That’s what you said.”
“I don’t.”
“I think I do.”
She didn’t answer.
Because she wasn’t sure what scared her more. The fact that he was starting to say things like this… or that she was starting to want to hear them.
- Writer
