Part 1
The room was bathed in the soft glow of morning light, a serenity that contrasted starkly with Anne’s internal state. She stood in front of the mirror, her hands trembling ever so slightly as she steadied them to apply her eyeliner. The makeup had to be perfect—neutral smoky eyes and nude lipstick—because today, every detail counted. Her outfit, meticulously chosen and pressed black slacks paired with a warm-toned geometric blouse, was meant to project confidence while concealing the nervous energy that sent her heart racing. She straightened her necklace, the little starfish sitting dead center of her clavicle.
She looked good, but more importantly, she needed to feel prepared. This wasn’t just a presentation; it was a culmination of her hard work, a chance to demonstrate her worth and leadership. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself. Nerves buzzed in her stomach, the familiar queasiness threatening to overthrow her composure. Without food and caffeine, she knew she risked a potentially mortifying episode in front of Damien.
Her eyes flicked to the clock on the bedside table. Any moment now, he’d arrive. On cue, a rhythmic Shave and a Haircut knock rapped against the door. With a final glance at her reflection, Anne tossed her lipstick into her purse and snatched her phone before heading to the door.
When she opened it, Damien stood there, backlit by the hallway light, his suit as crisp and tailored as ever. He exuded an effortless authority, his confidence tangible, and Anne’s mind raced as she tried not to stare too long. He held a cup of iced coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other, the aroma of an egg sandwich wafting from it.
“You look like someone who could conquer the world today,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “But let’s start with breakfast—a little fuel for the fight.”
“Why, thank you,” she said, taking the iced coffee. “When did you have time to do this?”
“I woke up before the alarm,” he replied casually. “Extra cream. Extra sugar.”
He took her hand, placing a small packet of salt in her palm. Anne raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance despite the way her heart skipped at the brief contact. “What’s this?”
“Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to try it with a little salt. Trust me, you’ll learn to love it.”
“You wouldn’t have it any other way, would you?”
He shook his head, offering her the paper bag next. “I will convert you.”
“Have I converted you yet?” His voice was low, his mouth against her neck, his hand sliding into her pants. Breath caught in her throat, a shiver racing up her spine.
A real shiver spiraled up her vertebrae, jolting Anne from her intrusive thoughts. She sipped the coffee, fighting to keep her expression neutral. The flutter in her chest wasn’t just from the caffeine.
“You always know just what I need, Damien from C-Suite.”
“You are most welcome, Anne from Domestic Marketing.”
His familiar tone steadied her nerves, though it did nothing to quiet her libido.
Not now. Focus.
“Can you eat on the go?” he asked.
“Sure, I have two functioning hands and one functioning mouth I know how to use.”
She knew exactly how that sounded, and when his mouth quirked into a sly smirk, Anne held his gaze, the flirtation settling between them like a charged current.
Ball’s in your court, Damien.
He cleared his throat, breaking eye contact. “Well, then, let’s hit the road.”
The Miami Beach Convention Center stretched along Washington Avenue, its serrated overhang resembling a rolling wave—a deliberate design choice, no doubt. The glass panels, already green-tinted, reflected the vibrant blue sky in a hue reminiscent of the Caribbean waters that surrounded the peninsula. Outside, the August sun beat down relentlessly, unseasonably cool for Miami but still oppressive.
Inside the sprawling, city-block-sized building, the air was crisp and cool. Anne knew, however, that it wouldn’t stay that way for long. As more attendees filed in, their collective energy and movement would churn the air into a slow-building warmth. Already, the steady hum of voices filled the space, punctuated by bursts of laughter and animated discussions as people flitted between displays like bees among flowers.
Damien checked his phone, then turned to her. “We’ve got a couple of hours before the AV check. What talks do you want to catch?”
Anne shrugged, opening the pamphlet they had been given upon walking in.
“These are a dime a dozen for me,” he added, clearly unenthused. “What you want to see is what matters.”
After scanning the schedule and weighing her options, Anne decided on two talks—one on ethical marketing practices and another on clean energy marketing.
“Sounds good,” Damien agreed.
“After our own presentation,” Anne continued, “we can wander the booths until I get tired of carrying useless shit around.”
Each of the talks they attended offered starkly different experiences. The ethical marketing presentation, for example, had been a masterclass in monotony. Though the speaker didn’t rely on note cards, their droning delivery made it feel like they were. Anne’s notebook remained nearly empty; her frequent zoning out left her with little to jot down, but much room for her brain to fantasize about.
“Have I converted you yet?” he whispered in her ear, fingers between her legs.
By contrast, the clean energy marketing talk was lively and engaging. The speaker’s humor kept the audience rapt, even drawing Damien’s attention away from his phone. His laughter, rich and genuine, revealed the faint dimples that appeared around his mouth.
“I hate to break it to you,” he whispered in Anne’s ear, his breath warm and carrying the faint scent of cedar and caramel, “but I don’t think our talk is this funny.”
Anne bit back a smile, playfully nudging his shoulder. “One of us would have to be funny in the first place.”
Damien’s mouth flattened into an exaggerated pout, charming in its mock disapproval.
As each hour passed, Anne’s nerves grew more restless, swirling like a ball of fire ants. By the time they rose from the second talk and made their way to the reserved hall, her stomach was in knots.
The attendees around her no longer felt like colleagues or compatriots but an audience with expectations. Damien, meanwhile, exuded his usual confidence, striding with purpose and ease. To him, this was second nature. He moved as if he owned the space, his presence commanding attention.
Anne envied him, even as she marveled at how seamlessly he navigated these waters. His tailored suit emphasized his broad shoulders and upright posture, projecting an image of control and self-assuredness.
She caught herself watching him, momentarily lost in the way he carried himself, before her attention was drawn to two women at a nearby booth. They were stunning, both with sleek hair and perfectly tailored outfits, their eyes unmistakably fixed on Damien. One of them leaned toward the other, whispering something, and they both laughed softly, their gazes lingering on him.
A sharp pang of jealousy pierced through Anne, quick and unexpected. She hated how small it made her feel. These women were clearly the type who had confidence radiating from their pores, the kind who wouldn’t hesitate to strike up a conversation with someone like Damien.
Her mind spiraled. What could someone like her possibly offer him that they couldn’t? They were poised, polished, and probably knew how to command a room just as effortlessly as he did. She wasn’t even in the same league.
Damien slowed suddenly, and Anne, lost in her thoughts, walked straight into him.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, laughing nervously.
“No, sorry, that was me,” Damien said with a low chuckle. He fussed with a button on his vest, then met her eyes, the warmth in his gaze momentarily melting her insecurities.
“I’m thinking we should grab a quick snack before we take the stage,” he suggested. “I don’t want to get hungry in the middle of the talk.”
His smile was tight, but it grounded her, reminding her that, for now, she had his attention.
“Should we get another coffee while we’re at it?” she offered.
Damien shook his head. “You can if you want, but I don’t want to be too…” He wiggled his hands in an exaggerated tremble.
“You have a wired setting?”
His smile softened, his posture relaxing just slightly. “Battery-powered, actually. At some point, I need to recharge, and it’s time away from people, not coffee, that does it.”
“The plight of the introvert,” she teased, forcing herself to focus on their banter instead of the lingering doubt gnawing at her self-esteem.
“I knew you’d understand.”
“You’d think a man of your socioeconomic status would be able to afford a commercial-grade battery. Come to think of it, I hear we make them.”
He shot Anne a look, amusement dancing in his expression. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
“Should I add that to my LinkedIn?”
His eyes rolled as he said, “Sure. I’ll endorse you,” but the smile accompanying his words made her heart skip.
Damien’s joke about needing a recharge, as playful as it may have been, resonated deeper with Anne than he probably intended. While it had operated as a lighthearted comment, it was a small, honest admission cloaked in humor. It nudged open a door to his inner world, one that he seldom left unlocked. She’d caught a glimpse of it the night before, seated together in the sand.
As he handed her a croissant from a nearby coffee stand, Anne’s thoughts lingered on his vulnerability from the night before, the way he described the energy required to maintain the polished mask he wore. She made a mental note to ask him later how—and how often—he recharged. Inhaling their pastries, they hustled to the assigned hall for their sound check.
The green room felt smaller by the second. Anne paced back and forth, her steps a metronome ticking in time with her racing heart. Damien watched her from the sofa, his expression unreadable. The chatter of the gathering audience buzzed behind the door, a murmur like rushing water. Any moment now, the emcee would quiet the crowd and introduce them. Then everything she was—everything she’d worked for—would be on display for a couple of hundred people. Whether they saw an expert or an amateur, that was in her control.
As if on cue, there was a knock on the green room door. The muffled noise of the attendees grew louder as one of the tech staff opened the door with a smile.
“You’re up!” he said, stepping aside as the emcee’s voice echoed through the PA system.
Damien stood and moved to Anne’s side, positioning himself in front of her. His hand on her elbow was the only thing grounding her to reality.
“Look at me, Anne,” he urged softly, his voice steady. Her eyes met his, and she searched for the confidence she felt slipping away. “Do you trust me?”
She nodded.
“You belong here. Every step you’ve taken, every challenge you’ve faced, every absolutely aggravating fucking thing Charlie has ever said to you. You’re an expert, and your knowledge is valuable. Speak to them like you speak to me. No, like you will speak to me—clear, passionate, undeniable. I’m right here with you.”
His assurance was a lifeline.
“Okay.”
Damien released her arm.
“Now let’s go kick ass.”
The emcee called their names, and together they stepped through the door and onto the stage.
As they left the stage, the applause still ringing in Anne’s ears, a warm flush of accomplishment surged through her. She couldn’t help but smile—though that word hardly captured it. She was beaming, the relief and triumph almost overwhelming.
The audience questions during the Q&A had come fast, but she’d handled them swiftly and with a calm she hadn’t felt internally. Her responses had flowed like she’d rehearsed them a thousand times. And perhaps, as Damien might have said, she had—just not on note cards, but in the cumulative experience of her career.
Damien caught her eye as they moved away from the spotlight and back into the green room. His expression was a mix of pride and something softer—an almost tender relief of his own.
“You were exceptional,” he said, his voice cutting through the residual murmur of the dispersing audience. “Especially when you tackled that one tough question about market sustainability. I thought it was going to stump you.”
Anne’s laughter was light and genuine, buoyed by the warmth in his praise. “I was just following the lead of my brilliant co-presenter,” she teased, though her heart swelled at his words.
The smile that spread across Damien’s face was megawatt, melting the usual seriousness that so often defined him. His left eyebrow quirked playfully. “Brilliant, you say? Now you’re just kissing ass.”
“Yeah, well, you know what they say about climbing the corporate ladder,” Anne joked, but the moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. A flicker of something passed across Damien’s face, his smile faltering ever so slightly.
“What?” she asked, her tone hesitant.
Damien opened his mouth as if to respond, then seemed to reconsider. He shook his head. “Just wondering how you’d like to spend the rest of your day.”
Anne told him she wanted to walk around, catch one more presentation of interest, and then head out. In truth, all she wanted was to spend more time with him.
“I hope you don’t want to go anywhere super fancy for dinner,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “Because you will not catch me in anything but jeans after six.”
“I hope you like Cubanos,” Damien replied, his voice casual, “because I know a hole-in-the-wall place that makes a mean sandwich and mango smoothie.”
“You sure you don’t want to change? Won’t you be warm in that?” Anne asked as she stepped out of the convertible by the hotel’s front door, gesturing to his three-piece suit. The golden hour light bathed everything in long shadows, and she caught sight of a pearl of sweat rolling down his temple.
“Nah, I’m fine,” Damien replied with a shrug. He flipped down the visor, as if that would do much with the car’s top down. “If the suit comes off, I’m staying in and going to bed.”
The suit can come off. We can stay in bed. I’m okay with that.
“Suit yourself,” Anne said. Realizing the pun, she tried to play it off by giving the most awkward finger guns imaginable.
Damien tilted his head, eyes rolling upward, and groaned. But Anne caught the faint curve of a smile, one that lingered all the way to the Cuban café.
Damien’s taste had once again proven true, with a Cubano that hit all the mouthfeel marks—the pork shoulder was juicy and fresh, the Swiss melted and fatty, the bread warm and crispy, the pickles crunchy, and the mustard sour but not overpowering. While Damien opted for the cool, sweet relief of a mango smoothie, Anne chose something new—a guarapo, its fresh cane juice carrying a sweetness that lingered.
Twilight cloaked the sky as a cool breeze settled over Ocean Drive. Damien cruised slowly down the lively boulevard, the sidewalks bustling with women in tight dresses and heels and men in casual button-downs strolling by the seaside. Live music poured from doorways, and laughter bounced along the pavement, harmonizing with the rhythmic hum of the car’s engine.
He hadn’t wanted her to miss this Miami staple. Neon lights from the rows of iconic art deco hotels, clubs, bars, and restaurants painted their faces in a kaleidoscope of magentas, blues, yellows, and greens. More than once, Anne caught Damien watching her rather than the vibrant architecture. His soft, lingering gaze sent a flutter through her chest, leaving her breathless.
Part of her longed to step out into the nightlife, to coax him into something more casual and drag him onto a crowded dance floor. She imagined moving to the pulse of a reggaeton beat, his hands firm on her hips as she ground into him. But after a long day, she doubted Damien would want to go out, and truthfully, the cool kiss of the hotel AC sounded more inviting. The introvert in her won this round of the Ambivert Olympics.
Even so, she wasn’t ready to sleep just yet. In the quieter, dimly lit hotel bar, she suggested a nightcap to the handsome man in the perfectly tailored suit who’d been at her side all day.
“You know,” she said, her voice casual, though it did little to distract her from the stray thoughts swirling in her head, “I honestly wasn’t sure we’d pull it off today—well, that I’d pull it off today.”
Damien tilted his head slightly, his brows knitting together as he gave her a pointed look. “We didn’t just pull it off. We nailed it. You nailed it.”
The compliment sent a ripple of happy embarrassment through her, and she glanced down at her glass, momentarily bashful. “You’re too kind. It’s your name that was in the program as the headliner. You were the star. They came for you, Damien.”
He exhaled a soft chuckle. “That may be true, but they stayed for you.”
Her cheeks warmed, and the wine in her system left her emboldened yet relaxed. She raised her glass toward him, strands of hair falling lightly over her shoulder. “To a job well done, then.”
To teamwork.
He clinked his glass against hers with a delicate touch, his cobalt eyes, almost black in the dim light, fixed intently on hers. “To you.” His tone carried an edge—inviting, daring.
Their conversation meandered, shifting from the success of the day to the vague terrain of what lay ahead at HuGES. Yet Anne found herself barely hearing a word about the company. Instead, her focus lingered on the way the dim patio lights cast delicate shadows across Damien’s face, deepening the intimacy of the moment and stirring something thrilling, something dangerous, within her.
The night grew deeper, and the air cooled to a comfortable, gentle wrap around them. She leaned back, letting the chair cradle her, her gaze never fully leaving him as he spoke. His voice was steady, grounding, but there was something beneath the words—an undercurrent of the unspoken. Something deeper.
It couldn’t be just her imagination.