Part 1
Damien watched Anne lean back, her face partially illuminated by the gentle glow of the patio lights. Her eyes were on him, attentive, reflecting a cocktail of emotions he found increasingly difficult to ignore. The evening had unfolded with ease, their conversation flowing as smoothly as the wine they sipped.
He continued to talk, outlining future strategies for HuGES, but his mind was partly elsewhere—caught up in the way Anne’s smile lingered when he made an attempt at humor, or how her laughter seemed to resonate perfectly with the night’s casual serenity. He loved the way the ambient light tossed a soft glow down the curve of her neck into her collarbone and down into the space between her breasts.
He paused after a remark, the Miami breeze wafted over them, and for a moment, Damien allowed himself to simply enjoy the peaceful setting before tossing a grenade into their conversation.
“And I’m sorry that it’s been so hard for you to do your job, and honestly for marketing managers before you. You’ve been met with undue resistance and hostility, and that’s not okay.”
“Thank you.”
“There’s something I need to tell you, something important.”
He watched her tense right as she asked, “Am I being fired?”
The chuckle he made was involuntary; sharp, more like a bark. “No,” he reassured. “I certainly wouldn’t have fired you at 10:00pm over a glass of wine on a patio in Miami.”
He was almost offended that she went straight to the worst case scenario, probably in much the same way it offended her that he went to the worst case scenario with his eye the night before. It made him wonder what sort of man she thought he was, that she thought a termination was news he would deliver in an environment like this.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s about Charlie,” Damien began. “I made a decision after considering…”
What consideration? It was impulsive.
“...how he’s been handling the rebrand proposal and the unnecessary pressure he’s put on you and the domestic marketing team. God knows how he was treating International.”
He watched as the realization slotted into place.
“You fired him?” Her voice was a whisper, barely audible, something said more to herself than to him.
Damien’s jaw tightened slightly, his voice firm. “Yes, I did. His actions were not only undermining our values, but directly impacting our ability to perform—your ability. I couldn’t just stand by and watch that happen.”
His gaze was intense, searching Anne’s for a reaction. He could see a variety of expressions wash over her. First he saw relief, then vindictive satisfaction, and much to his surprise, irritation.
“Damien, I asked you not to escalate things. I told you I’d rather handle Charlie myself.”
“His behavior was increasingly hostile—not just towards you, but towards me as well. There was a growing insubordination I couldn’t ignore, and it was affecting the entire company. Not just you. It was in my role as CEO to act.”
“I didn’t expect you to take such a drastic step,” she admitted, voice tinged with apprehension.
“I know you didn’t,” Damien acknowledged with a slight nod. “But his actions undermined our core values and goals.” He hesitated, then added, “Plus, his assumptions were starting to interfere with professional dynamics.”
“Are they baseless?” Charlie scowled. “Your little meetings where nobody knows what goes on.”
The last comment was said in an almost off-handed manner, as if it was just another point on a list, but the weight of it hung in the hair. Damien didn’t dwell on it.
Anne searched Damien’s face. “I appreciate you looking out for the company, and for me, I guess,” she responded after a moment. “But it’s hard to not feel like I’m now in the spotlight for all the wrong reasons… again.”
Damien nodded, understanding coloring his strong features. “I get it. I’m sorry for any additional pressure this might cause you. But I believe this will ultimately benefit everyone, including you. And I need you to help guide the team through this as I search for a new President of Marketing that will gel with all of you, and me, and the international side, and help propel the company forward.”
Damien hoped that the responsibility he just bestowed upon Anne wasn’t too overwhelming or too immense. He wanted her to feel empowered, and wanted her to know he believed in her capabilities enough to involve her directly in the aftermath of such a massive change in the structure.
“When did this happen?”
“Last week.”
He waited as she considered the information.
“Before you were in my office asking about the solar farm project.”
“Yes.”
“So you lied to me.”
It was a statement, not a question.
“I have no obligation to let you into the workings of the executive suite. And it was only until I figured out how to proceed. I did not enjoy keeping you in the dark about this.”
“So you were the one who got me the contact in International?”
Damien nodded again. “I’ll have you know that finding that contact was unnecessarily challenging. I really need to have HR put together a fluid corporate directory where I can categorize by department and not just by last name. Because I had to find the contact by going through his emails—searching international, comma, marketing, comma, manager and scrolling incessantly.”
“And you know how Outlook’s search function is on vacation more often than a nepo baby without a work ethic.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Damien laughed with a snort. When the laughter quieted down, he said, “I'm here to support you, Anne. Not just as the vague leader who sits at the top of the corporate tower. I genuinely believe in your potential and importance to the company. I hope you know that.”
“Thank you, Damien.”
His smile broadened slightly. “You’ve already proven that today.”
He watched her cheeks turn a shade darker as she smiled and nodded. A comfortable silence slot itself in between the two of them, allowing them space to take sips from their glasses.
“Where were you?” she asked him suddenly. “Before I bumped into you in the elevator. Why had we never crossed paths?”
He considered, rewinding the reel of his life to several months ago. He paused it, stopping to remember that late Monday May evening, and the moment he noticed the woman stranger step onto the elevator. She had come from the HuGES domestic marketing floor, and a HuGES ID badge dangled around her neck. She had been a woman who hadn’t a flicker of recognition across her face as she saw him, and so he had seen an opportunity for candor in his relative anonymity. He didn’t remember initial attraction to her, only a curiosity in what she had to say. In retrospect, he supposed he’d already been subconsciously aware of Charlie’s stagnant perspective on how to run marketing. Otherwise, why pursue such a line of questioning with her?
Why hadn’t they crossed paths before? He didn’t think it was as simple as him only having been to the marketing floor a handful of times. He continued backwards in time.
“I think for a few weeks I’d been on vacation. And then the week before I had been in Kuala Lumpur, and—”
“Those were two separate trips? Malaysia and vacation?”
“Yes.”
“Sounds tough.”
He studied her, and she made no attempt at hiding the sarcasm—bitter, a little judgemental. The comment was fair, though. He knew the life he lived was one subject to much envy and more criticism. She looked cute wearing a twitch of irritation.
He knew that she knew that he'd recognized the sarcastic tone, and continued to answer her question.
“I think I’d gotten in the night before. So I got to work later in the morning, and then I left later—putting me in the elevator with you.”
“Would you have ever spoken to or met me if I hadn’t been in the elevator in that moment?”
The question caught him off guard—he was especially thrown by how her tone sounded… sad.
“No,” he said simply, with no desire to lie to her again. “Of course, I can’t know with any certainty that’d be true. But in all reality, I rarely ever dealt, or deal for that matter, with anyone beyond the executive offices. You are an exception constructed by kismet and your big mouth.”
The sadness in her tone gave way to a giggle. “I’m glad I opened it. I like what we’ve become.”
He met her eyes, finding a steely challenge glittering in them. At least that’s what he wanted to see in her eyes.
Come on, Damien, they said to him. What have we become?
He swallowed a sip of wine, washing down the whisper of arousal that began to tickle his senses. Damien decided to pivot to topics seldom discussed.
“What does your sister do for work?”
“My sister Renee is a program coordinator for a nonprofit in Vermont.”
“What sort of organization?”
“It provides sports and recreation activities for kids with special needs. It’s everything from designing itineraries for week-long camping trips to getting them access to adaptive bicycles or skis, and everything in between.”
“It’s important work.”
“She loves it.”
Damien imagined it was very rewarding emotionally and mentally, but fiscally it probably rewarded her very little. He made a mental note to look into cutting a check for them—ethics be damned. He went on to ask about her parents.
“Lifelong state workers,” she informed. “Retired with their pensions. Can often be found sailing off the coast of North Carolina when the hurricanes aren’t blowing them around. What about your parents?”
“Do they need a solar-powered catamaran?” he replied quickly, not wanting her to continue with the question. “I still have one.”
Anne laughed heartily, a beautiful sound that filled him with joy and made him grin widely. “Talk about a throwback,” she said, her cheeks flushed with wine and laughter. “Dare I ask if you actually have a catamaran?”
“You promise not to hate me?”
“Nope.”
He sighed. “I don’t have a catamaran, but yes I do have a sailboat. A 68-foot cruiser.”
“68 feet? Shit, that’s massive. My parents’ boat is 30 feet. My dad would be more than happy to talk your ear off. So where’s this cruiser’s home?”
“St. Thomas, and she gets chartered anytime I’m not around.”
“When were you last there?”
“That’s where I was when I was on vacation, before Kuala Lumpur. Spent a week there with my brother, and a week by myself… well, with the crew. I’m fully capable of captaining a small ship myself but something that big requires a few hands. And my brother is more or less useless, even though I have taught him a few things over the years. Though I think he probably uses the rope knowledge for other less kosher activities.”
She huffed in amusement. “That’s nice that you brought your brother along.”
“I’m not that much of an asshole.”
“What’s the boat’s name? Please don’t tell me it’s a really stupid pun. If it is, I’ve totally underestimated exactly how much of a cliche you are.”
“What if I told you her name was ‘Sea-E-O.”
“I’d get up and leave.”
“Okay, then I’ll tell you her real name is Sonder.”
He watched her triturate the word in her mind, probably searching for a meaning.
“Explains your Instagram handle,” she said quietly after a moment.
How does she know my Instagram handle? he thought, wondering what else about him she’d found in the depths of the internet.
Her expression shifted to mild alarm, as if she hadn’t meant to let that piece of knowledge about him slip out. He smirked, enjoying the idea of letting her linger in slight embarrassment over the little reveal a bit longer.
“It’s a unique term that refers to the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as one's own,” he explained after a moment of her silence.
“Wow, that’s… beautiful. Romantic even.”
He didn't look away. “I am a romantic, after all.”
He hoped he wasn’t imagining the blush that seeped into her cheeks as she did.
“What do you think about Erik’s career choice?” Her pivot this time.
Damien shrugged. “It’s a job, nothing remarkable. It pays his bills… kind of.”
Anne’s face fell into something that resembled disappointment, an expression that confused him in the rapid 180-degree turn the mood made. Damien’s eyebrow quirked in response.
“I was under the expectation that you were very supportive of him.”
“I am, but it’s not like selling cars is anything noetic… or cerebral.”
“Selling cars? I thought he was a musician.”
“Ah,” he mused, acknowledging the misunderstanding. “Erik is a musician, first and foremost. It’s his identity. It’s what he dedicates every spare moment to—practicing, writing, marketing, playing out whenever he can. While it is a job, it is not his full-time job. He sells cars to pay the bills, and everything left over between that and his other… side hustle, goes straight into funding his music career. So if you’re in the market for a BMW, I know a guy.”
Damien grinned and hoped she didn’t ask about the side hustle. He wasn’t prepared to go down that road today. He continued. “I want him to be the musician he dreams of, so I help him where he’ll allow me to.”
“How do you mean? You’re a man of immense wealth. Surely you have the means to help him in nearly every capacity.”
Is she judging me?
Damien sighed, placing the glass on the table before massaging his temples for a moment. “Yes,” he conceded, “I am and I do. But, and I commend him greatly for this, he wants to do it mostly himself. He wants to earn his place in the music industry, and not feel like it was handed to him. That includes a little struggle from time to time, and by that I mean he has to work a little harder to get what he wants.”
“So what does he allow you to help with? Pay his rent?”
“Nothing like that. At least not so far. For starters, I built him a studio in my house that he has full access to, all day every day. I’ll pay someone to professionally mix or master or whatever the term is. I’d pay for a bus if he ever toured. And every so often, if I feel he’s earned it, I’ll buy him a piece of equipment—a guitar, a pedal, or whatever.”
“Earned it? Sounds awfully patronizing.”
“It works for us,” said Damien, pithy.
Anne raised her hands. “You’re right. If it works for you, it’s not my place to criticize your dynamic. I think that’s amazing you built him a studio.”
“He’s in it all the time. He’s probably in my house more than I am.”
A smile returned to her face. “He’s lucky to have you in his corner. Maybe I’ll catch him playing live someday, and I’ll be able to say, ‘hey, I know Damien.”
Damien nodded enthusiastically, but inside he felt a stab of… was that jealousy? He hated the thought of Erik hitting on Anne after a show, which he almost certainly would do because she had tits, an ass, and a mouth and pussy that could certainly make any man feel good.
Like Todd?
Fuck Todd.
She could make you feel good. Imagine how you would fit inside that pussy of hers.
Damien began to hear a high-pitched whine in his ears. Shit, that was fast.
“What’s his band’s name?”
“Heavy The Crown,” Damien replied, ignoring the sudden tinnitus.
“What kind of music?”
Damien went on to explain. Erik’s music was by no means experimental for experimental sake. It was rock music at its core, fluctuating within that genre umbrella, but Erik wrote and sang with a degree of conviction and emotion that he thought the contemporary rock world needed more of. In many ways, Damien felt Erik’s aspirations of being an arena rock musician, at least of how Damien understood and experienced arena rock, didn’t align with the music he made. Damien didn’t really consider arena rock to be something omni dimensional. He didn’t discount his own musical ignorance, but to him arena rock was something loud and fun and surface-level. But then again, maybe that’s why Damien desperately wanted to see him succeed. Damien wanted to see Erik be unique and different in the music space.
As frequently attributed to his character, Erik was never a serious person in his daily life. Emotional, yes. Serious, no. But Damien thought the world deserved to hear the stories and the way in which Erik saw the world, and the way he did that was through varying degrees of rock music. Equal parts anger and optimism. But of course, if someone only listened to his music, they’d think of him as this serious, waxing poetic person and never truly know just how obnoxious he was.
“When you combine his every day demeanor with the music he makes,” Damien finished, “you get the most authentic glimpse into the full range of who he is. Who he really is.”
“You play any instruments?”
Damien chuckled. “Nah. Just the recorder in 6th grade. I was the robotics club nerd. Number One Musician is the title Erik earned all on his own.”
Anne’s gaze was soft and reverent, wearing the subtlest of smiles. It almost made him uncomfortable, and he couldn’t quite fathom why. The ringing in his ears intensified, increasingly hard to ignore.
“What?”
Imagine how you would fill that mouth of hers. Is she sloppy, or neat?
“I really am just admiring the depth of your love for your brother. It says a lot about your emotional capacity. It’s a better look than your Versace, or whatever it is you’re wearing.”
He looked down, trying to remember who it was he was donning.
“Let me ask you something,” she inquired after a long moment of silence. She finished her glass of wine, setting it down on the table with a soft clink.
“Anything.”
“Why Albany?”
“Why Albany, what?”
“Why would you put Hudson Gateway there, of all places? Massive companies go to Boston or New York City, Chicago, Toronto… Silicon Valley,” she lifted her arms, indicating the space around them, “Miami, or any other major metropolitan hub. But you picked Albany. Why?”
Damien gazed back at her curiously. “I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that before, surprisingly.”
“Knowing you the way I do by now, I don’t think taxes are the only reason.”
He chuckled. “I avoided Silicon Valley because of the taxes. But honestly, to be cliche, I really do love New York. Both me and my brother do. I grew up here. I like the people, and the four distinct seasons—especially the autumn. I spent a few years in Philly for grad school and afterwards building Hudson Gateway with my old business partner, and for another number of reasons, but honestly I was never one for the big city life. But I like being in a city, if that makes sense. Albany isn’t massive or chaotic and moves at the pace that I like. I can drive, which I love to do, and put myself in any number of mountain ranges if I want to escape the small city life, or be at the beach in a couple hours. But I can also be in any number of those major cities easily—pick a direction, there’s a city I can be in like that.”
He snapped his fingers.
“Albany gave me the life I have today, and I believe in its future. I believe it’s a beautiful city, as is Troy. As is Schenectady. As is Saratoga. They were once major hubs of commerce and trade and business, and there’s no reason they can’t be that again. It deserves to be more than just a space for the state government. It deserves to thrive.”
“That’s a love letter if I’ve ever heard one.”
“The area’s economy, beauty and history is worth cultivating and supporting.”
“That’s why you called the tower Beverwijck.”
He nodded, sipping from his own glass. “That’s why I called the tower Beverwijck.”
“And if I had to venture a guess, it’s also why you called the company Hudson Gateway. All of the places that the Hudson and the Hudson Valley can get us to. It’s a link. The gateway in question.”
“I also think it’s apropos given that this is where GE started. Well, Schenectady, the Electric City and all that, but Schenectady would not have taken too lightly to building a 60-story skyscraper in a space where there are no other skyscrapers.”
“Albany also wasn’t too fond of a 60-story skyscraper. Nobody particularly enjoys a skyline changing, especially when you usurp their iconic tower. I remember the controversy when there was talk about construction.”
Damien spun the stem of the wine glass between his fingers. “Better than the old Central Warehouse in whose footprint we built, so their ‘NIMBY’ was either new architecture, or an old asbestos-stuffed eyesore that everyone complained about but nobody managed to do anything about until I knocked it down.”
Anne gestured at the glass. “Can I taste that before you finish it?”
“Go ahead,” he replied, sliding it across the table. His fingers brushed hers, and it was like a kickstart, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest. He watched her put the glass to her lips. The sanguine liquid stained them, and seeing that sent instantaneous warmth radiating through every vein in his body. When it came to her, it was honestly impressive how fast he went from zero to sixty. Like a Ferrari.
Her eyes unfocused, looking past him, the slightest of smiles touching her face. Small pricks of orange light from the firepit behind him danced in her eyes. Then they focused again, and she sent the glass back to his side of the table, licking her lips slowly—or was she biting her lip?—absently.
Oh God, he almost groaned in his own self-awareness. When was the last time one woman pushed this much gasoline into your engine?
How desperately he wanted to lick her lips for her. His penis agreed, the familiar electric charge of mounting arousal thrumming under his skin. Down boy, his inner monologue scolded, only loosely fighting to keep his thoughts from drifting to all the things he wanted to do to her.
Much to his irritation, he heard his brother’s voice in his head critiquing his language. They’re things you want to do with her.
Why not both? Definitely both.
He saw himself kissing her neck. He imagined her legs wrapped around him.
Cool your jets, dumbass.
His imagination was suddenly a nuclear reactor on the verge of meltdown, a runaway sequence of fantasies that he had no willpower to control.
Stop. That. Think about your brother, nothing’s a boner-kill quite like thinking about your brother at a time like this.
But he couldn’t stop. He wasn’t immune to ironic process theory, and so all that did was remind Damien of his supposed expert brother’s never-ending list of tips and tricks for pleasing a woman and how much Damien wanted to try them at that moment. All of them.
“Damien, you alright?” Anne’s voice cut through his racing mind. “You’re looking a little… flushed, I guess.”
“Uh, yeah. I guess I’m just worn out and feeling the wine a little more than usual,” he lied, feeling self conscious and trying to adjust himself inconspicuously to hide the blossoming erection he had. He could tell from her expression that she didn’t quite believe him.
His thoughts were fixed on her—the way her smile curved slightly before she spoke, or the way her laughter had stuck in his mind all evening, replying again and again like an earworm. The soft hum of the city beyond was nothing compared to the increased pounding of his pulse, the tension that wound with each passing moment. Across from him, Anne swirled the remainder of her own wine, her gaze tracing the lights and flickering fire behind him, oblivious to how badly he yearned to reach across the table and hold her there in the moment with him.
“You know,” she said, her thoughtful voice pulling him from the hyper fixation of his own thoughts, “sometimes I wonder how we got here. Do you ever think about that?”
Damien tilted his head, his heart giving him a dull thud in response at the unexpected question. “How we got here?” he repeated, leaning forward slightly. “You mean… Miami? If memory serves, it was an airplane.”
Her smile was small, self-conscious, as she looked down at the rim of her glass. “No. I mean… this point in our lives in general. Careers, expectations, the pressure.” She took a sip of her wine, her gaze turning inward and pensive. “It’s just strange, isn’t it? How everything kind of…builds up.”
Damien studied her for a moment, considering her words. He wasn’t used to seeing Anne like this. She was usually so self-assured, but now there was a flicker of reflective doubt—a quiet, open pondering of the choices and twists of fate that had brought them to this moment, seated across from each other on a warm Miami night.
“You’re not wrong,” he said finally, his voice lower now. “It’s easy to get caught up in the grind, to keep pushing forward without stopping to think about it. It’s certainly part of how I’ve found the success I’ve had.”
Anne smiled, a little ruefully. “I suppose I’ve been thinking about it more lately. It’s hard not to, with everything going on at work. I guess I’ve just been wondering if this… if any of this is what I actually want out of my life.”
His gaze sharpened. “What do you mean? Are you not happy with your job—or marketing itself?”
“No, it’s not as simple as that.”
She shrugged, something that seemed like she was trying to be noncommittal but in reality it looked more like an earnest attempt at shedding existential weight. “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like I’m ticking boxes. Career milestones, responsibilities… and for what? To end up like Charlie? Bitter and resentful.”
Yup. That sounded like Charlie alright.
She glanced up at him, her smile soft but her words heavy. “Do you ever wonder if we’re all just… chasing something that doesn’t matter in the end?”
Damien frowned slightly, her words settling somewhere uncomfortably in his chest, simultaneously hollow and weighty. He hadn’t expected this conversation. He hadn’t prepared for this level of honesty—a conversation that under any… normal circumstances wouldn’t occur between a CEO and an employee of his company. CEOs focused on the bottom line—on productivity and employee retention. On late-stage capitalism 101. Having candid discourse with an employee like Anne was a rarity in his corporate world.
Then again, he recognized why such a rarity was so special—why she was so special in this instance. He recognized that there was honor in the vulnerable honesty she was sharing with him. “I’ve had moments like that,” he admitted thoughtfully. “But… I’ve always been driven by the idea that what we’re building does matter. That it’ll leave some kind of impact for the next generation to build onto. And I’m not just speaking about my company in and of itself.”
Anne looked at him, her gaze more focused, with more intent. “And what if it doesn’t? What if we’re just convincing ourselves that it does, because the alternative—feeling like none of this matters—is too terrifying?”
Damien felt a pang of recognition at her words, a sense that maybe she was speaking to something he had buried so as not to confront it. He sat back, letting out a slow breath. “I think,” he said, his tone quiet, “if we’re not chasing something, we risk losing a sense of purpose. To me, that can be even scarier.”
Anne nodded, but her expression was tinged with something bittersweet. “I guess I’ve just been wondering what else there is. Beyond work, beyond that professional chase.”
“What do you mean? You don’t want this?”
She glanced up at him, her eyes searching his face. “It’s not that I don’t want it. It’s more… sometimes I think we get so caught up in doing what we’re supposed to do, we forget to ask ourselves if it’s actually what we need. Versions of Maslow’s hierarchy and all that.”
Damien met her gaze, something shifting inside him. It was a rich admiration of how her introspection made him introspect too. “I think about it more than I let on.”
Her smile softened, something warm and understanding passing between them—a breeze of reflection stirring gently around them.
She smiled ruefully, and looked at him more directly. “It’s like we chase these things because it’s what’s expected. But what if we’re fooling ourselves? We’re gaslighting ourselves into believing that it matters because we’re too afraid of admitting that maybe it doesn’t?”
Damien didn’t answer right away. He watched her closely, noting the slight hesitations, the way she seemed to be choosing her words carefully, deliberately. Damien looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time he understood the weight of what she was saying. She wasn’t just talking about work or success. She was obviously talking about life and about meaning, but also about something deeper that extended beyond the surface of the question.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “Maybe it’s about the meaning we create, not what we’re running after.”
Anne nodded, but her eyes latched onto his longer than they had before. “I suppose so,” she said, “but what if it’s not just about what we’re building? What if it’s about who we are building it with?”
The air around them thickened as the weight of the question hung in the air, and he watched her shift in her own seat, the way her smile faded slightly as the unspoken tension settled between them again. Damien tensed slightly, though his face remained composed. He could feel her steering now, gently, but with a clear direction.
Anne’s gaze dropped to her wine glass for a moment before flicking back up to meet his eyes. “Surely you think about it. The people you surround yourself with. The ones you let in.” Her tone was casual, but there was a weight beneath it, something deeper she was trying to uncover.
An image of a gate appeared in his mind, her fingers reaching through it.
Damien’s heartbeat quickened, though he kept his expression neutral. “I think about it,” he said, his voice steady. “More than you might realize.”
Her smile widened, but there was a softness in her eyes, a calculation in how she looked at him. “I figured you did. Your brain is constantly running. I’ve always thought you’re more guarded than you let on. You have walls up, even when you don’t mean to. That falls in line with your desire for genuine connection.”
Damien’s throat tightened. It wasn’t just an image now—the words “build a gate” repeated over and over in his head. She was treading carefully. But he knew where she was going—he wasn’t oblivious—but he wasn’t sure how far she was willing to take it. She was trying to pull something from him, trying to see if he’d let her in. And the truth was, as he’d increasingly been accepting of, he’d been thinking about it—about her, about them, much more than he’d like to admit. He wanted to unlock the gate—to let her in. All of her. He wanted to bring every square inch of her body and soul into him.
“We all do,” he said, meeting her gaze more directly. “Walls are easier than whatever’s on the other side.”
He was almost afraid of the question he knew she was going to ask.
“What do you think is on the other side?”
There it was, as predicted.
He wouldn’t shy away, holding her gaze. She wasn’t asking about life anymore. She was asking about them, about what might exist between them if they stopped pretending. He took a breath, letting the moment stretch. He needed to be sure.
“That depends,” he said quietly, his pulse racing. “What are you hoping to find?”
The question landed between them with a thud, and her eyes flickered, just for a moment before she smiled again—this time more carefully. “I’m not sure,” she said, though the way she was looking at him suggested otherwise. “But I think I’d like to find out.”
There it was. The subtle push, an unspoken question that she’d been dancing around all night. The unspoken question the two of them had been avoiding for weeks now. Damien knew it, and so did she. She had pitched him a hardball, and she was waiting to see how he’d swing. He didn’t know how he would, but he took a chance.
“I think,” Damien said slowly, “we’re both smart and self aware enough to know what we’re looking for is right in front of us.”
Again, he pictured her underneath him.
“Damien,” she moaned, “you feel so good inside me.” The bed thudded against the wall with every thrust. Her fingers dug into his shoulder blades.
But it didn’t matter how much he wanted her, how much they wanted each other, emotionally or otherwise, the laws of the corporate universe had proclaimed that they couldn’t be together.
The wine might have been relaxing to her, loosening the edges of her nerves into a smooth, carefully-managed conversation, but it certainly wasn’t helping him. If anything, it made each word she said only make the ache in his chest worse. Every time she looked across the table at him, it felt like something was unraveling inside him, and he was more and more aware of how dangerously close he was to losing control. And he hated losing control. He watched her, his thoughts twisting and turning, desperate to tell her, to show her all the ways he needed her. But the words were lodged in his throat, and the actions lodged in his cowardice.
The bold confidence in her gaze petered out, and the silence that then lodged itself between them felt like a living organism, something that had been growing for the few months he had known her. It wasn’t just the Miami heat that made him feel like his skin was ablaze—it was the way Anne looked at him, the way her gaze would flicker away too quickly, as if she didn’t want him to see what was really behind her eyes. But at the same time, there were moments that the eye contact felt perdurable.
He became aware of the cool stone top against his skin, a strange squeeze of loneliness in his chest. That ache he felt was the most intense it had ever been, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it surpassed loneliness. It was a deep maw of sadness too.
It occurred to him why this night of all nights suddenly felt so cataclysmic, and it had little to do with Charlie and his implications, though that certainly was a component. His emotions began to solidify as he realized that this night was devastating because this was it. Their keynote was done and over with, and in less than a week’s time, the board would decide on the rebrand. He had run out of time and excuses to be alone with her. There were no more plausible opportunities to steal her away and still look professional. Now all he was left with was the clutch in his chest at every thought of her. And every thought was her.
As a man of science, reason and the objective, he had never been one for more whimsical or arcane concepts, like karma or anamnesis. But when he looked at her, he felt such a complex feeling of pain and adoration. He cared for her in the present, but something nagged at him. It was the kind of feeling that sat behind the ribs like a mourning dove’s call—low, sad, inexplicably familiar—its song was a story as if he had once known her and cared so deeply for her in a past life. It was beyond illogical, but he knew that if in the future someone asked him if he were put in a room with every person he’d ever met and was asked who he’d look for first, he knew he’d scan the room immediately looking for her eyes and smile. The realization of that was utterly devastating; utterly terrifying.
He set his glass down, his fingers curling around the stem as if it could anchor him to the moment. “It’s getting late,” he said, his voice betraying none of the turmoil that roared inside him. “We should probably call it a night. We’ve got a flight to catch in the morning.”
Anne nodded, but her gaze didn’t meet his for a beat too long. “Right. We should head up to our… own rooms.”
She added the last part with a small smile, but the slight hesitation in her voice seemed to him as if it had been screamed through one of Erik’s amps. The tension was strung beneath the surface, and he knew with utmost clarity she didn’t mean it. That one little amendment said to him, “My bed is lonely without you.” It was far beyond the realm of wishful thinking.
“Of course.” His lips upturned into the smallest of unconvincing smirks, but inside, the knot in his chest tightened. He stood from the table, stuffing his hands in his slacks so as to create shadows and wrinkles to obscure the arousal, but he knew he couldn’t keep them there forever. He felt like a clumsy teen trying to hide a stolen candy bar from a perceptive shopkeeper. His every movement was slow and deliberate, as if he was prolonging the inevitable. He supposed he was. Their glasses gripped in her hands, he held the door open for her. He continued towards the elevators as she set the glasses on the bar top and thanked the bartender—his mind was spinning and thoughts racing. She was going to walk away, and he wouldn’t get another chance.
They walked through the hotel lobby to the elevator, and the doors slid open. Stepping inside, the space felt too small, the soft lighting casting a manufactured golden hue over them. Damien pressed the button for their floor, but his thoughts were tangled up in the last look Anne had tossed him before suggesting they return to their rooms. If he let her slip away now, he would lose more than just the moment.
He needed to make a decision now.
She settled against the side wall, and he leaned against the adjacent back wall.
In the mirrored elevator doors across from him, he watched himself, relieved at how little the partial erection actually showed. While Anne’s gaze was cast towards the floor, he watched the nervous jitters flit through his body, and observed the hint of red that still colored his cheeks. His eyes, well eye, were weary and tired, that much was true, but more so they were dark and anxious too, sadness shimmering just beneath the surface. His hair had begun to mess, the previously meticulously-styled strands falling over his face. And while he didn’t know exactly what it would have looked like, he felt like all of his needs were scrawled all over him as obvious as a neon sign, even without the hard-on.
“You really were great today,” Anne said suddenly, a remark that almost sounded panicked. Her voice slicing the thick silence like it was a scalpel, looking up from whatever had been so fascinating about her blue-painted pedicure.
Damien turned his head slightly, his eyes catching hers. “So were you.”
The elevator began its slow ascent, but everything inside him felt like it was falling apart. He could feel the shift between them in that moment, like the elevator itself was pulling them taut like its miles of cables. The air was heavy, charged, as if the words he hadn’t spoken were pressing against the walls, demanding to be let out.
He took a slow, tentative breath, his arm brushing hers in the small space, feeling like he had taken a screwdriver to a circuit breaker. “You know,” he said after a lengthy pause, “I’ve been thinking.” His voice was rough with the weight of everything he had chosen to keep unsaid. He went into confident CEO mode, turning the faucet of confidence to spill into him.
Anne raised an eyebrow, her voice tightening as the silence stretched. “About what?”
This was it.
“About us.”