DAMIEN
.
.
Asking her out felt like a monumental task.
Me, Damien, the man who gave orders, who took what he wanted.
Asking.
It felt unfamiliar.
I even went to Clever, and it actually felt absurd, seeking dating advice from the man who probably managed my social calendar better than I ever could.
I called him to the penthouse one afternoon, after Elena had left. He arrived, prompt and quiet, a stack of files under his arm.
Clever walked in while the sound of his footsteps was so quiet and in a more diligent way than anyone else, a man who moved with a purpose I barely possessed anymore.
“Clever,” I started, the words feeling clumsy, awkward, scraping against my tongue. “Hypothetically.”
He paused, looked at me with that calm, knowing expression that always made me wonder e
