Part 1: Chapter 12

Damien encouraged Anne, his tone steady, trying to ease the obvious tension that radiated from her. This presentation was a big deal for her, and he understood her nerves all too well. She didn’t have to prove anything to him—least of all to him. But Anne wanted to prove herself, so that’s what they were going to do.

“That’s easy for you to say because you do this a lot,” she disputed, her voice laced with frustration. “While I’m not all that terrified of public speaking, I haven’t given a formal presentation since college. And I definitely have never given one to a room full of hundreds of people where I’m the supposed expert.”

“There's no ‘supposed’ about it,” Damien assured her, stepping in front of her with purpose. “But I am going to offer you some constructive feedback.”

“Be my guest,” she replied, defiance and resignation mixing in her tone.

Leaning against the back of the sofa, Damien crossed his arms over his chest, contemplating the best way to approach the situation. He started with a simple critique. “Try to look up from your notes a little bit more. You know what you’re talking about; you just have to remember the order it all goes in. It doesn’t have to be word for word.”

A gentle smile unfolded across his face. “And while you don’t have to look at anyone in the audience in particular, they like to think you’re looking at them.”

Anne’s skepticism was evident, and Damien couldn’t blame her. Speaking to a crowd was easier said than done, especially for someone without experience in it. Still, he knew she had the potential.

“Let’s try this,” Damien suggested, hoping to ease her mind. “Let’s have a conversation, and not think of it as a presentation.”

He guided her to one of the sofas, taking a seat across from her, adopting a relaxed posture. “Talk to me,” he said, gesturing with a slight nod.

Anne began hesitantly, her voice carrying both knowledge and a hint of anxiety. “When we analyze data, conduct market research, and gather customer feedback, we can gain valuable insights into their evolving needs and expectations.”

Damien nodded, affirming her point. “By leveraging these insights, we can develop products, services, and communications that resonate with our target audience,” he replied in his usual authoritative tone, confident but measured. “This ultimately drives customer satisfaction and loyalty.”

“It’s not just about meeting their needs, but anticipating them,” Anne added, her voice steadying as she continued. “By staying ahead of the curve and proactively addressing emerging trends and preferences, we can position ourselves as trusted advisors and industry leaders.”

“By continuously monitoring market dynamics…” She glanced down at her notes, her fingers gripping the edges. “...and listening to our customers, we can adapt our strategies—”

“Look up at me,” Damien interrupted, his voice calm but firm.

Anne looked up briefly but quickly dropped her gaze back to her notes. “We can adapt our strategies and offerings to stay relevant and competitive—”

“Look. At. Me,” Damien reiterated, his voice low and commanding, dripping with playful dominance.

Anne’s eyes snapped up, and in them he saw a flicker of uncertainty. But there was something else, too—subtle but unmistakable. Was it excitement? Was it attraction? He couldn’t be sure, but whatever it was, it sent a jolt of electricity coursing through him. Intense and sudden. The way she looked at him was intoxicating.

There we go, his brain commended. Good girl.

He leaned in slightly, catching the faintest scent of lilac and the warmth of her skin. He fought against the sudden, overwhelming urge to let his gaze travel down to where her neck met her collarbone. It was exactly where he wanted to place his lips and teeth, to trace his name onto her skin with his tongue until she begged him for more—everywhere.

Do you enjoy it when I take control? he wondered.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” Damien said, his clipped voice low, gravelly, and hungry.

Her focus remained on him, her intense gaze locking him in place. Something stirred in her eyes again, and when she bit her lip, it only made the tension between them more palpable.

“Good,” he said, smirking slightly. Her reaction was exactly what he had expected: a heady mix of curiosity and nerves. The space between them felt charged, like a taut wire waiting to snap.

His fingers flexed absently, a subtle but telling gesture of anticipation. The magnetism she held over him was undeniable, simmering beneath his skin like a live current. Adrenaline surged through him.

“Look at me, Anne, and don’t you dare look away,” he demanded, his tone authoritative but laced with amusement.

She didn’t falter, her gaze unwavering. The intensity of their locked stare sent jolts of awareness through his body, and he had to fight the pull of his own desire, resisting the urge to glance at the cutout of her V-neck and the curve of her breasts that teased him from his vantage point.

“Now start again,” Damien instructed, his voice smooth and confident, masking the riptide of desire that roiled beneath the surface. Surely, he wasn’t imagining the chemistry crackling between them.

Anne took a steadying breath, her composure returning as she began again. He watched with a growing sense of pride as she found her rhythm, delivering her lines without glancing at her notes. “By continuously monitoring market dynamics and listening to our customers, we can adapt our strategies and offerings to stay relevant and competitive in today’s ever-changing landscape. And by putting the customer at the center of our decision-making process, we can ensure that every initiative, from product development to marketing campaigns, is aligned with their needs and preferences.”

“Absolutely, Anne,” Damien replied evenly, his voice steady and authoritative. “By truly understanding our customers and delivering value that exceeds their expectations, we can lay a foundation for long-lasting relationships built on trust, loyalty, and mutual respect.”

He studied her intently, captivated by the depth of her gaze. Her lips parted slightly, and the sight nearly undid him. How he desperately wanted to take her bottom lip between his teeth and stake claim to her mouth with his own.

This was dangerous territory, the line between professionalism and intimacy blurring too easily. He felt the blood pounding in his ears, his mouth dry with anticipation. He licked his lips and closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to reset.

Leaning back into the sofa, Damien waved his hand to emphasize his next point. “Building lasting relationships with customers is the cornerstone of any business’s success. It’s more than just making a sale of your product. You can’t make a sale unless you’ve forged meaningful, lasting connections.”

He tilted his head in her direction, his gaze steady.

Come on, Anne. Have you learned your lesson? Don’t make me tell you to look at me again, as much as I’d enjoy it.

She didn’t break eye contact this time. It took her a moment to find the words, but when she did, they came with confidence.

“By prioritizing a customer’s experience at every touchpoint, we can turn satisfied customers into our advocates. There’s a lot to be said for brand loyalty, and in order to do that, we must exceed expectations and earn trust.”

Well done, he commended, offering her a nod instead of words, his expression approving. “Whether it’s giving customers personalized recommendations, resolving issues quickly, or simply being willing to listen and acknowledge them, every interaction is an opportunity to bridge relationships and build that loyalty.”

Anne responded immediately, her next point delivered with the same conviction. “That’s right, Damien. It’s not just about what we do, but also how we do it! Customers can sense when we genuinely care about their needs and preferences. By demonstrating empathy and authenticity, and a lot of humanity and commitment to customer satisfaction… that’s how we build long-term loyalty and repeat business.”

Her improvisation brought a small, genuine smile to his lips. It was clear she was settling into the conversational flow he’d been trying to coax out of her all along. The more conversational nature was already coming out. “Just like in any relationship, communication is key. By staying engaged, asking for real feedback, and seeking ways to improve experiences all around, we can ensure that our relationships remain strong and symbiotic,” Damien finished.

He watched as Anne let out a wavering breath, her gaze expectant. He held her eyes for a long moment, noting the faint red that colored her cheeks. The tension between them coiled tightly in the air. He wanted her to feel it as acutely as he did—the electric charge, the restrained hunger that had him wound up tight like a spring, itching to close the space between them. He wanted her to sense the battle he was waging, fighting every primal instinct to lean in and beg for more.

But then, she broke the stare. It wasn’t discomfort he saw in her, but her own kind of restraint. From what?

He couldn’t help but smile, rubbing his hands together between his knees to expel some of the restless energy building within him. The intensity of it all left him impressed—if only at his ability to maintain composure. Standing, he moved to the mini fridge, pulling out a bottle of sparkling water and tossing it to her.

“You need to remember you know what you’re talking about,” he reminded her, resuming his seat across from her. “You do this every day, but in actions and not words. I only do a fraction of it—typically with the shit that comes hand-delivered by Charlie, with the info that you and your team surely curated for him. That’s why I asked you to do this with me.”

He leaned back against the sofa, spreading his arms along its back, turning to glance at the television screen. The slide they had been rehearsing remained frozen in place, its bullet points glowing softly. He couldn’t keep going like this, his thoughts clouded by desire. He needed a break, a chance to gather himself. Facing her again, he pulled his wallet from his pocket, withdrawing a twenty and offering her a small smile.

“Let’s take a break. Head down to the canteen and get whatever you want, and grab me a biscotti—chocolate, preferably, but whatever they have is fine. I’ll make us some coffee, and we can continue this conversation over that. But while you’re shopping, I’ve got some emails I’ve been putting off.”

Anne nodded subtly. “Sounds good,” she said, standing and heading toward the door.

Damien watched her walk away, appreciating the gentle sway of her hips as she moved. Once she was out of sight, he pulled out his phone, scrolling through emails as he tried to refocus his thoughts.

Moments later, there was a knock at his door, followed by the sound of it opening a crack.

“Forget something?” he asked without looking up.

“Can’t say I have,” came Cathy’s familiar voice, her tone light.

“Well then, what can I help you with?” Damien straightened, setting his phone aside.

Cathy entered, crossing the room to sit where Anne had been moments earlier. She exhaled deeply, her expression serious but calm.

Cathy walked over and sat where Anne had been seated moments earlier. She took a deep breath. “Permission to speak freely, Damien?”

Damien squinted at her suspiciously. “I know that tone of voice. You’re about to deliver me something serious. Yes, go on.”

“I obviously can’t tell you what to do. It’s not my place to do so, but I am here to tell you to be careful.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Anne, Damien.”

He froze, considering his words. “What about her?”

“It’s in your eyes.”

“I only have one eye, Cathy,” he deflected. “Well, one real eye at least.”

“The way you look at her, Damien. I may be old, but I am far from blind.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Poor choice of words,” she said, scrutinizing him with her own eyes that held years of wisdom beyond his. “Are you aware of how you look at her when she doesn’t know you’re still looking?”

There was a gentle smile on her face—something motherly and warm. A look he had known for many, many years.

Technically, Damien supposed he didn’t know how he looked when she had walked away, but he did know that even before their trip to San Francisco, after each one of Anne’s visits he thought about her long after she had left his office. That remained true, but now there were just more ways he thought about her. Some with her wearing clothes, others without.

“I’m not about to claim to know anything about how this corporate system works beyond scheduling your appointments and meetings and the like, but I do know that you are entering very unethical waters, and I’m telling you this because I care. And telling you before HR, or a certain president of marketing, finds out.”

He didn’t bother telling her that he suspected Charlie was already picking up on whatever connection Anne and he had. He wanted to tell Cathy she was crossing a line, but the problem was, Cathy didn’t cross lines. She only called them as she saw them. And so, maybe she was right. Maybe he was the one crossing the line. He amused himself by thinking he’d make a SWOT analysis later, and even more amusing still, he’d ask Anne from Domestic Marketing to make it with him. Naked. One limb in each quarter, like a game of Twister.

“Damien, you are a young and handsome man with a lot of power in this company, hell, even this world if you ask me. I’d be willing to bet that there is not a young woman in this building who has laid eyes on you and not developed a crush on you at least once. If they didn’t, then they’re the blind ones. And while I don’t know if she is one of them crushing on you, she is certainly one of those lovely young women with a bright future, and is someone who you have clearly developed a close friendship with. Since she’s joined you on the regular, I’ve loved seeing the way you smile, in a way I haven’t seen you smile in… years.”

“You have two fully-functioning eyes,” he said dryly. “What do you see? What’s your take on her?”

“I don’t know her the way I know you, so I truthfully can’t tell much beyond the routine. After all, I generally only see her in passing. But I do know that friendships between people like yourselves don’t tend to stay that way, and I get the feeling you know that’s a very high possibility. You are incredibly smart, Damien, and she’s lucky to have your eye…”

He gave her the most exaggerated “really?” expression he could muster.

“...and you’d be lucky to have a woman like her. She seems like an incredibly intelligent, lovely woman. She’s also vulnerable, and you understand power dynamics, imbalances, and professional optics better than anyone I’ve ever met. I also know that you aren’t ignorant to the way relationships can end too.”

She stood. “I know you. And I know that if you let yourself go down this path, it won’t be casual. If HR and the board find out, it wouldn’t be good for you either. Questions of professionalism, company morale, favoritism, these are all things that you hold in high esteem here.”

She moved over to the office door again, pulling it open a crack before pausing and letting it close again. “I won’t say anything more to you again, or anything to HR or other potentially interested ‘parties,’ but I just thought you should know that if I’ve picked up on it, other more astute people have too.”

And then Cathy was gone, leaving Damien stunned, tased by a reality check.

Cathy was right. Erik was right, because of-fucking-course he was. His own dick was right. There was no denying it anymore, since the desire had moved from his thoughts and his blood-thirsty appendage to where everyone could see it—his eyes, well, eye, and the rest of his face. The lines between professional and personal that he had carved into his life so meticulously were blurring, rapidly eroding altogether. Anne had done that to him with unprecedented speed and precision.

It was all because he made the foolish decision to look up from his phone and ask the woman with the kind eyes who he’d shared the elevator with if she, too, was having a late day at the office.

How could he have been so stupid? There was a reason the women remotely around his age had been kept at quite a few arms’ lengths, and the ones who weren’t? They were just Cathy—one of only two people who ever saw through him.

His professional life had gotten a lot more precarious, and he knew that his only option was to tread lightly. Sarcastically, Damien admired Cathy’s timing at coming in when she did, right after he had called a break because of how his dirty thoughts had started to spiral the way they had.

Who was he kidding? Clearly, his lizard brain had picked up on something about Anne that he found enticing subconsciously, otherwise, he would have held his forked tongue in that elevator. Finding someone superficially attractive usually wasn’t enough to trip that switch, because he was plenty capable of admiring from afar. It was much safer that way. Nobody got hurt that way.

He got lost in a haze of thoughts, contemplating what he could have been keyed into in that elevator that day. Had he been in some susceptible mode? What had happened that day, before he had stepped foot in the elevator? It was all so long ago. All he remembered was her in the corner of the glass box, silent until they locked eyes and smiled at each other. Or had he smiled at her?

“Late day at the office for you too?”

“Looks like yours is far from over.”

A fateful conversation. How far they’d come, and what a tangled web they’d weaved.

“Damien?”

Anne was standing just inside the door of the office, clutching a paper bag. She walked over to him and tried to hand him the remaining dollars and change from her trip downstairs. He brushed it away.

“Keep it,” he said, trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain. “I certainly don’t need it. Consider it a delivery tip.”

A somewhat perplexed and sour expression flickered across her features before she glanced over at the television where their presentation still sat, suspended on the one slide about building relationships and lasting connections.

“Should we pick up from where we left off?” she suggested, and then indicated the couch.

He nodded. “Let’s do it,” he agreed. “Coffee first.”

Damien brewed the coffee—or rather the machine did—and not without Anne delivering a teasing but truthful blow about the sustainability of disposable espresso pods. As their eyes met over the tilt of their mugs, her lips curled into a peaceful, sweet smile.

The lust he had felt earlier had evaporated, and in its place was a forceful current of mounting anxiety that he hoped she couldn’t sense. Cathy’s warning reverberated in the back of his mind, reminding him of the delicate balance they were treading.

“Okay,” he said with a big exhale. “Where were we?”

Cathy’s words niggled at Damien long after their rehearsal, eating away at him as he drove home with the cool air from the A/C blowing on his face. He felt unbearably hot.

“You understand power dynamics, imbalances, and professional optics better than anyone I’ve ever met. I also know that you aren’t ignorant to the way relationships can end too.”

Cathy. Erik. And himself. He could handle Erik, and he could ignore his own feelings, but Cathy? That was one too many people he trusted pointing out the truth he was so evidently keen on denying. Their collective fingers had found the pulse of his longing and loneliness.

It wasn’t just lust. It was so much bigger and more complicated than that. His heart began to race, and he pulled off his tie, freeing his neck from the constricting collar. His breathing became labored, and his heart rate climbed higher. The anxiety attack was closing in on him like a South Pearl streetwalker when rent was due. He blew past his exit and continued speeding up the highway toward Troy, his foot nearly flattening the accelerator.

"Racing" to Erik’s place was an understatement. Damien parked haphazardly, the rear of his car jutting into the street, and bounded up the stairs to Erik’s apartment, pounding on the door.

“What is the emergency?” Erik asked as he pulled open the old wooden door, letting Damien inside.

Damien stormed into the living room, pacing like a caged animal. “You were right. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You were right.”

His chest felt tight, and he struggled to breathe.

Erik observed him for several moments, his green eyes tracking Damien’s frantic movements before stepping forward and grabbing him by the shoulders. “Stop, Damien. You’re going to have to be more specific because I’m always right.”

The humor drained from Erik’s face as he fully took in Damien’s disheveled state—hair tousled, skin slick with anxious sweat, and his face red, the stress seeping from every pore.

“Jesus Christ, Damien. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you this… this… strung out. What is going on? What am I right about?”

“Anne, Erik. You were right about Anne.”

“What about her?”

“I… I…” Damien stammered, unable to form the words. He was completely out of breath.

Erik studied him, crossing his arms. “You’re finally accepting you have feelings for her, and not just a desire to bed her. Which you also repeatedly denied, for the record.”

Erik’s tone was maddeningly matter-of-fact, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. Damien could only nod.

“Finally.”

Damien shot him a glare, but Erik’s expression remained free of humor. Instead, Erik pulled him into a tight hug. “Breathe, Damien. Breathe. Four, seven, eight. Do it with me.”

Erik guided him through the breathing exercise, counting steadily until Damien’s heart rate slowed, and his breaths came more evenly.

“I really think you could benefit from some therapy to work through this, D.”

Damien exhaled sharply through his nose, but his expression was much softer. “I don’t need therapy, Erik.”

Erik grinned. “Of course you do. Everyone needs therapy. I love therapy.”

Damien rolled his eyes. “And why exactly do you need therapy, again?”

There was a long pause before Erik spoke, his eyes and smile on the outskirts of devilish. “I’ve got you for a brother, don’t I?”

Damien gave him a weak glare.

“Look, I’m glad you finally let someone in after all these years,” Erik said gently, releasing him once Damien’s composure returned. His eyes shone with kindness and unwavering support. “This is good, Damien.”

“No, it’s not.”

Erik raised an eyebrow.

“I’m the CEO. That’s not just a faux pas, that’s…” Damien trailed off.

“Unethical. And that’s not in you.”

Damien shook his head. “Just sleeping with an employee would be bad enough, but I can’t date one either. The implications of that—it’s a minefield.”

Erik ran his fingers through his hair, the wavy blond strands falling shambolically. “How does she feel about you? Does she, like, ‘like like’ you?”

Damien blinked, processing the phrasing. “I know she likes me, as a friend, but I don’t know if in the ‘friend-zone’ is where I sit.”

“The ‘friend-zone’ doesn’t exist, Damien,” Erik countered.

“You’re focusing on the semantics,” Damien replied sourly.

“No, I’m not,” Erik argued. “It’s something we men made up because more often than not, we tend to think attraction is binary. But it’s not binary. For women, it’s considerably more nuanced and complex than that. It’s…” he paused, searching for the right word, “ternary at the absolute minimum.”

“I didn’t know you knew the word ‘ternary.’”

“I know a lot of things you don’t give me credit for.”

Erik’s tone gave no hint of irritation, leaving Damien to wonder if the remark had hit home.

“Fine. As you were saying.”

“Of course you want the romance kind of love and the sex that comes with it, but even if she doesn’t feel that way in return, that doesn’t mean that those feelings she has for you aren’t something rich and a different kind of love. You’re a smart, good guy, and I would argue have some degree of emotional intelligence.”

There it was again—that phrase. Anne had used it to describe Erik, and now Erik was using it to describe him.

“There’s much more to you that she might feel improves her life in some way. That her life is better with you in it.”

“Right,” Damien said, though he didn’t fully grasp the point. He trusted Erik to know what he was talking about—Erik spent far more time around women, both clothed and unclothed.

“The only way to find out is to have an adult conversation before you make a move, or make a move and then have an adult conversation. But if she rejects you, you have to be prepared that she might pull away because of the expectation she’ll be met with hostility—especially since you hold all of the power in your company. I like to think I know you well enough to know you’re a more complicated guy than the kind that goes, ‘fuck me or I won’t talk to you again.’ Or the kind that says, ‘if you don’t fuck me, you’re fired.’”

Damien pursed his lips. “I’d like to think that too.”

Erik nodded, his tone softening. “The conversation needs to happen with honesty and sensitivity. Anne deserves that, regardless of the outcome. If she rejects you, respect that and offer to remain friends—if that’s something you want.” He gave Damien a pointed look. “And I think it is. You wouldn’t be in this state otherwise.”

Damien’s lizard brain was starting to catch on.

“Don’t worry about ethics until you do something unethical.”

“I don’t think that’s the order in which things are supposed to go.”

Erik grinned. “Eh, they can’t all be golden nuggets of dating wisdom. But seriously, you need to express your feelings. Talk about it. Be an empathetic adult if she says no. Then deal with the ethical implications if she says yes.”

He sat Damien down on the couch and disappeared into the kitchen, reemerging with a glass Coke bottle and a small tin. He popped the top with a flick of his forearm and handed it to Damien.

“That never stops being impressive,” Damien admitted.

Erik shrugged, taking a seat and giving Damien a once-over. His expression turned droll. “Take the damn jacket and vest off, Damien. You look like a tool. I can’t take you seriously when you’re dressed like a lord in the serfdom.”

Damien rolled his eyes but complied, draping the articles of clothing over the arm of the couch.

“It’s a waistcoat, not a vest,” he corrected.

Erik opened the tin and pulled out a joint, lighting it and taking a deep drag. The ember glowed bright orange as he offered it to Damien.

“This indica or sativa? You know sativa makes me paranoid.”

Erik’s brows knit together as he searched his memory. “Indica-leaning hybrid, I think.”

Damien shrugged and inhaled deeply, the calming effect almost instantaneous as he exhaled the plume of smoke. He handed it back to Erik, who took another quick drag before setting it in an ashtray on the coffee table.

Damien did a double take. “Erik, is that ashtray a vagina?”

“Vulva, Damien. Get your terminology right before you dive into Anne’s, please. Don’t embarrass me.”

Damien massaged his temples. “I can’t believe I’m related to you.”

“Don’t be such a prude.”

“Where’d you even get that?”

“It was a gift from a co-worker for doing such a good job.”

Damien winced.

“Now tell me about her. Really tell me about this woman who has you fucking terrified.” Erik gestured for him to continue. “Start at the beginning.”

Damien sighed and began to speak, recounting every moment with Anne, from the elevator to now. It was cathartic, laying bare his fears and uncertainties. Erik listened without judgment, offering the occasional comment or chuckle.

“She sounds like a complex, lovely woman who’s clearly had a profound effect on you,” Erik said when Damien finally finished. “She’s smart, sassy, passionate, compassionate, and challenges you. And she clearly turns you on. So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want to abuse my position of power or make her uncomfortable,” Damien said, taking a swig of Coke.

Erik sighed. “Spare me the subordinate employee excuse. There’s solutions to that. You just need to navigate it together.”

“It’s not that simple, and you know it.”

There was a long pause, his eyes narrowing like he was waiting for cogs to slot into place. “You’re right,” he said, dragging out the word as if it had gotten lost in his mouth after speaking it. “It’s because you don’t let anybody in. You find excuses to keep laying bricks. You’ve closed yourself off and do not let anybody in. First Gavin and now—

“Those are two completely different things, Erik,” Damien snapped. “Not remotely comparable.”

“You’re right,” he conceded again. Anne’s different. She terrifies you. You want to let her in, but your job and past relationships have you too scared to do it.”

“So what do you suggest?”

Erik smirked. “If you insist on keeping your walls up, then build a gate.”

Damien raised an eyebrow. “A gate?”

“Yeah,” Erik said, gesturing loosely. “It’s still fortified, but you can see through it. You can talk to her. Eventually, give her the key, so your stubborn ass can keep the rest of the fortress intact.”

Damien huffed a quiet laugh. “I love it when your poetic side comes out.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Erik shot back with a grin. “But seriously, D—you’ve spent so long hiding behind your walls, you’re scared to let anyone in, and have been in denial of that for so long. This doesn’t have to be all or nothing. You don’t have to bulldoze the whole goddamn thing overnight.”

“I don't have a CDL anyway.”

Erik’s grin faded into a smirk. “I might even write a song from your perspective. Something angsty.”

Damien huffed a quiet laugh, despite himself. “I’d love to see you try.”

Erik tilted his head, the smirk on his face softening into something closer to thoughtfulness. He didn’t fire back with a quip, which immediately put Damien on edge. Erik was always quick with his comebacks, but now he seemed to be chewing over the idea like it carried more weight than he’d expected.

“Yeah,” Erik said slowly, his voice quieter now. “Might be worth it.”

Damien frowned, studying him. “What?”

Erik shook his head, dismissing the thought with a flick of his hand, but Damien caught the way his gaze flickered down and to the side, like he was considering something too delicate to say outright. “Just thinking,” Erik muttered, standing and meandering over towards the window. He leaned against one of the sides of the oriel window, gazing down at the street below, his arms crossed. Outside, the faded brick homes on Erik’s street had turned a dull purple, sitting in the liminal space between late sunset and when the streetlights flickered on. He let out a long exhale, his eyes drifting to the street below. His fingers began tapping lightly against his bicep, a rhythm that seemed unconscious, like he was working through an equation in his head.

Damien opened his mouth to press further, but Erik cut him off with a lazy grin. “Don’t look so serious, D. You’re gonna scare the neighbors.”

“You’re acting weird,” Damien muttered, his eyes narrowing.

“Pot, meet kettle,” Erik shot back, his tone light but his gaze still distant, his grin faltering just slightly.

The world immediately outside the window became bathed in a pale yellow as the lamps began to glow, but the space beyond it remained muddy and dark, absent of light in the spaces in between. 

The silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint sounds of traffic outside. Damien felt his stomach twist as Erik straightened, his shoulders rolling back like he was bracing himself. When Erik finally spoke, his voice was measured, deliberate.

Erik shook his head, turning only his head to look at his brother. “I’ve been at your side through everything—your speeches, that monster of a master’s thesis. And I’ll never forget how you pulled through after the accident—losing your eye and still pushing forward like nothing could stop you.” He paused, his voice softening. “You’re resilient, D. You always have been. And now you sit at the top of this mega company and breeze through even the most stressful days that make my most stressful days seem like naptime at Pre-K.”

Damien let out a quiet laugh.

“But Anne,” Erik said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “Anne has your nerves jangled in a way I’ve never seen before.”

Damien stayed silent, the weight of Erik’s words settling over him.

“It kills me to see you in so much distress,” Erik admitted, turning back to him fully now, his green eyes locking onto Damien’s with a rare seriousness. “And yeah, it makes me want to write a song, but the usual stuff—grit, dreams, screwups, late nights with booze or the occasional bump of cocaine—none of that fits here.” He gestured vaguely. “Despite all of your realizations just now—this isn’t just about wanting her. It’s not infatuation, or some passing thing. You’re rattled because it’s bigger than that.”

Damien, in his own brand of denial, tried to steel himself. But even bracing himself for it didn’t make the kick behind his ribs hurt any less. It didn’t make it any less terrifying. Damien’s breath hitched as Erik delivered the final blow, his voice gentle but firm.

“Damien, you’re falling in love with her.”