Part 1
“Pick a direction. There’s a city I can be in just like that,” Damien said, snapping his fingers before continuing. “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.”
She could hear the earnesty in his voice. His words spoke not only of his commitment to his roots but also revealed a layer of his identity that resonated deeply with her—his love for creating impactful change.
“That’s a love letter if I’ve ever heard one,” she murmured, her voice a blend of admiration and teasing. The passion he had for their city was undeniable and admirable. He was deeply connected to his community.
“The area’s economy, beauty and history is worth cultivating and supporting.” His gaze held hers, intense yet vulnerable.
“That’s why you called the tower Beverwijck,” Anne said, linking pieces of Damien’s vision together, her mind percolating with the implications of his dedication.
He gave a slight nod, returning the glass of wine to his mouth.
You know how much you want to kiss that mouth.
“That’s why I called the tower Beverwijck,” he affirmed.
Something else clicked into place. “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.”
He lifted his eyebrows in an expression that looked a lot like “well done.” The approval in his eyes felt like a reward.
“I also think it’s apropos given that this is where GE started,” Damien explained. “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,” Anne countered. “Nobody particularly enjoys a skyline changing, especially when you usurp their iconic tower. I remember the controversy when there was talk about construction.”
His head made the slightest of movements back and forth, indicating some kind of concession at her remark, and Anne watched as Damien’s fingers, long and sturdy, toyed with the stem of his wine glass.
He has such nice hands and strong arms. They’d hold you nicely. Hands like that are made for two things: playing piano, and playing women. And you now know he doesn't play piano. Do you think they’d make you sing?
“Better than the old Central Warehouse in whose footprint we built,” Damien scoffed, “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.”
She wanted to taste him just a little, so she waved her hand at the glass. “Can I taste that before you finish it?”
“Go ahead,” he replied, the glass scraping across the stone tabletop with a noise that set her nerves on edge. Her fingers brushed his, and it was as if a bolt of lightning was sent through her. The faintest sensation of his skin against hers once again sent her mind spinning into a world of sensual imagination where she wanted more than the faintest of touches. In the stillness and simplistic ambient sound of the evening, it was so much easier for her mind to latch onto every single thing he did as an erotic diving board. She wanted all of his skin against her. For the briefest moment, she focused on the licking flames of the fire pit past him as she sipped his wine, trying to force the feeling down. Instead she felt herself smile, as the seductive movements of the fire reminded her of how a tongue could feel between her legs.
Stop, her sensible side continued to try to reason with her. He’s your boss. You’re here on business. He’s here on business. You’re colleagues enjoying free time after a long day at a conference. Nothing more. It’s not happening.
Her eyes moved back to his face, and she returned the glass to him, noticing for the first time how strands of his hair were coming loose from his usual combover. She’d never seen him with a hair so much out of place. It was cute, this little imperfection falling down over his forehead.
As much as you fight it, it doesn’t make the chemistry between you two any less existent. Indulge. Enjoy free time with him in other ways than just sharing a drink casually outside a hotel. You’re at a hotel. There’s beds at a hotel, just a few steps away. Don’t you want to really see what he looks like under those fancy suits?
Obviously, conceded the angel on her right. Fantasize all you want. But you shouldn’t pursue it.
Damien had an odd, distant look on his face, but she couldn’t quite place the expression he wore. He, too, was somewhere else in his own head it seemed, and a little color had crept into his cheeks.
That stubble. That jaw. The ramrod straight nose. All the places those wonderfully handsome features could go. You want him.
“That was good. Good wine choice.” The wine was rich, its flavor deep, but it was Damien’s earlier touch that lingered on her palate, intoxicating and potent.
Of course you do. Look at him. He’s the vision of a debonair white man.
He didn’t respond, or even seem to hear her.
“Damien,” she said a little louder, and then his eyes locked on her again. “You alright? You’re looking a little… flushed, I guess.”
A dark rosy color painted his delightfully sharp cheekbones.
“Uh, yeah,” he replied slowly. “I guess I’m just worn out and feeling the wine a little more than usual.” He shifted in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. His voice was rough, like he was pushing the words out. His right hand came up and loosened his tie and unbuttoned the collar button.
There was something in his tone that was off. His mind had obviously been, or was, elsewhere.
What if it is you? the devil on her left urged, and the ache between her legs wanted to agree.
It’s not me, she protested weakly.
“You know,” she said, “sometimes I wonder how we got here. Do you ever think about that?”
Damien’s head cocked, an eyebrow lifting at her inquiry. “How we got here? You mean… Miami? If memory serves, it was an airplane.”
She looked down at her glass with a single shake of the head, inexplicably a little embarrassed. “No. I mean… this point in our lives in general. Careers, expectations, the pressure.” She took a sip of wine to swallow the lump of existential discomfort lodged in her throat, thinking about every moment in her life that had put her in this chair at this moment. “It’s just strange, isn’t it? How everything kind of… builds up.”
Damien looked like he was scrutinizing her. “You’re not wrong,” he said, his voice pitched lower. “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.”
Her smile was thoughtful. “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.”
“What do you mean?” Damien’s gaze was unwavering. “Are you not happy with your job—or marketing itself?”
She was somewhat amused at how he always seemed to take her words at face value. It was one of the things she liked about him—he was so grounded, and so practical. But it also frustrated her, because of how smart she knew he was—how closed off and obtuse he could be.
“No, it’s not as simple as that.” Anne shrugged, trying to appear unbothered but in reality, the moment and the question was a hydraulic press on her shoulders. “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? Do you ever wonder if we’re all just… chasing something that doesn’t matter in the end?”
The corners of his mouth turned down into a frown, but it was an expression that didn’t exactly read as unhappy. It was a frown of discomfort from thoughts running a mile a minute. “I’ve had moments like that,” he agreed. “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.”
She looked up at him. “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 appeared to slump a little in the chair, releasing a breath. When he spoke, his tone was quiet. “I think if we’re not chasing something, we risk losing a sense of purpose. To me, that can be even scarier.”
Anne nodded. She was pleased at how she had successfully begun to pull him into deeper waters. “I guess I’ve been wondering what else there is. Beyond work, beyond that professional chase.”
There. She had opened the door just a crack, letting more vulnerability slip through. She watched him closely, waiting to see how he’d respond.
His brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean? You don’t want this?”
His voice was careful and concerned, not accusatory. He always looked out for her, but this wasn’t about work or their careers anymore. She felt she was at the helm of the conversation now, steering it in a more personal direction, unclear if he’d follow her wake.
“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.”
“I think about it more than I let on.”
Anne felt a flutter of hope. She was getting through to him.
“It’s like we chase these things because it’s what’s expected. We’re gaslighting ourselves into believing that it matters because we’re too afraid of admitting that maybe it doesn’t.”
There was a beat of silence as he considered her words. She could almost see him calculating his response, always so measured, so controlled. But she wasn’t going to let him keep fortifying his feelings like it was Fort Knox. Not if she could help it.
“I don’t know,” he eventually replied. “Maybe it’s about the meaning we create, not what we’re running after.”
She wanted him to understand what she was really asking, the answer she was really looking for. She forged forward. “I suppose so, but what if it’s not just about what we’re building? What if it’s about who we are building it with?”
She let the words hang there, her heart pounding a little faster. He had to know what she meant by now. She wasn’t talking about work. She wasn’t talking about “the chase.” She was talking about them—and what might exist between them, if either of them was brave enough to acknowledge it. She looked down at her glass before raising them to his eyes again. “Surely you think about it,” she pushed. “The people you surround yourself with. The ones you let in.”
Damien’s response didn’t come right away, and that made her nervous. She was now acutely aware of the way his fingers were tapping the table—he was thinking, which was always a good sign with him, but she also hated how hard it was to read him sometimes. She was afraid that suddenly he would clam up, and that would be the end of this… whatever introspection this was. She needed him to give her something, some clue about how he really felt. This wasn’t flirting. This was desperation.
“I think about it. More than you realize.” His voice was level, low, more serious.
Anne’s heart gave a little jump at his words. So, he did think about it. But did he mean her? Does he mean them? He was so close to what she was trying to ask him, so close to something real. But he was still hiding behind generalities, still keeping himself at a distance. She needed to push him, just a little bit more.
She tried for a disarming smile. “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.”
It was a gentle push, but a push nonetheless. She watched him carefully, knowing she was getting close to something real. In the few short months she'd known him, she'd learned that Damien was good at keeping people at arm’s length, at staying in control, but she wasn’t going to let him slip away from this conversation.
“We all do,” he said in a voice that sounded choked, but his eyes met hers with a new intensity. “Walls are easier than whatever’s on the other side.”
Anne felt a little prick of frustration, though she didn’t let it show. He was still holding back, still giving her the safe answer, as honest as it might have been. But at least he wasn’t denying it. She decided to take one more risk. “What do you think is on the other side?”
Her heart was pounding now, a drum beat in her sternum, the tension sticky and thick, like glue. Damien’s eyes darkened, and she knew he understood exactly what she was asking. He was fully aware that this wasn’t just a casual conversation anymore. She was asking him to be honest, to show her something real, something about them.
“That depends. What are you hoping to find?”
Anne’s breath caught in her throat. She should have known he’d do this—turn the question back on her, making her show her hand. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her. Of course he wasn’t. He wanted his control back. But the way he was looking at her—so intense, so focused—it made her pulse race. She couldn’t back down now. “I’m not sure,” she said slowly, her eyes fixed on him like he was the only thing that mattered—in this moment, he was the only thing that mattered. “But I think I’d like to find out.”
Time to close the curtain on this dance of vague uncertainties and circling around authentic answers.
It was a quiet admission, but it felt huge. She had put herself out there, vulnerable in a way she hadn’t expected, showing her belly in a way where it would be so easy to gut her, to cut her heart out and crush it in his hands. She just had to wait for him to meet her halfway, if he met her at all. It was terrifying. She fought the small sense of panic wriggling in her veins, trying to soothe the anxious flutter of her heart.
“I think,” Damien said slowly, leaning forward an inch, his chin angled toward her and eyes flicking to her lips, “we’re both smart and self aware enough to know what we’re looking for is right in front of us.”
Anne’s heart skipped a beat. She had seen his eyes look at her lips. He wasn’t playing it safe anymore, and she knew it. The shift that occurred between them in that millisecond felt tectonic.
But the pregnant silence that followed the moment made her second guess it as a figment of her wanting imagination, especially as she watched a wild filmstrip of emotions flicker behind his eyes faster than she could even register—but there was one expression that rested on his features for just long enough. Sadness, but it was gone in an instant, buried into the neutral expression that took its place.
He set his glass down on the table, those long fingers spinning the stem absently. Absent-mindedly, he let out a deep sigh.
“It’s getting late,” he said quietly. “We should probably call it a night. We’ve got a flight to catch tomorrow.”
Anne nodded, dragging her eyes up to his. Devastation settled in the pit of her stomach, heavy and uneasy, like a wrecking ball marking the end of the conversation. “Right. We should go up to our,” she hesitated, offering a ghost of a smile, “own rooms.” Her voice was tight and cracked, bordering on tears, unconvincing to her own ears as she gave him one last desperate push. But as small as it may have been, her wan smile had been heavy with longing for something increasingly out of reach—him.
The strange dichotomy of arousal and heartache squeezed her around her ribs in a crushing, drowning sensation.
“Of course,” Damien murmured, a faint smile touching his own face. But his looked distant. He stood from the table, sliding his hands into his trousers and making towards the hotel lobby, Anne on his tail. He opened the door for her. As normal as the gesture itself was, his movements were slow, appearing calculated and thoughtful as he continued towards the bank of elevators while she placed the empty glasses on the bar.
The doors to the elevator slid open as she returned to Damien’s side. He stepped into the car, pressing the button and settling against the back wall against the railing. She went to his left, leaning against the mirrored walls. In the warm artificial golden light of the elevator, he looked… a lot like he had that night he had been standing outside her door in San Francisco, and that was anxious. All around her, the infinite reflections of both her and Damien’s anxious faces watched the two of them. She stared down at the tiled floor, her mind racing, and she couldn’t bear the silence, or the judgment of her own self.
“You really were great today,” she ejected despite the repetition, looking up. The words came out much faster than she had intended. She was scrambling to keep him in this moment.
Damien turned slightly in her direction, his eyes fixed on hers. “So were you.”
The elevator doors rattled closed and the elevator began to climb. She felt it then, in that little enclosed space. Like they were suspended in a bubble of static, the energy between them was humming. Her heart picked up speed, and she nearly stopped breathing. The air was so heavy with it, she could almost smell it… whatever it was. Her skin tingled, like in the moments before a lightning strike.
He took a breath, and she watched his jaw set. His hand brushed hers as he shifted and it sent a ripple of shivers up her arm. It felt like there was intent in the gesture, and there was a long pause as she waited for him to speak. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, the aura of anxiety that had emanated from him seconds ago evaporated, as if a switch had been flipped, but the space in the elevator car still felt like a vacuum.
His timbre was rich, and low, level. It was smooth in a way that made her squeeze her thighs together unconsciously. Her interest was nervously piqued, but when she asked, “About what?” the question had almost come out as a croak; her throat was so dry.
“About us.”
The words were simple, but sudden, and the weight of them hung heavy in the air. The floor felt like it began to tilt dramatically beneath her. Anne felt her breath catch, her pulse still quickening, and her fingers instinctively flexed to find purchase—something to ground her. She didn’t move. The elevator continued its slow climb, but her world seemed to come to a glacial crawl, her mind scrambling for a response but finding nothing to cling to but her inner voice begging, “Please, Damien. Let me feel you against me.”
He had already turned fully toward her, their proximity shrinking, his presence enveloping her like the close walls of the elevator itself. His eyes were steady and searching, leaning casually against the wall in the same unbothered way he had on that first day she’d met him. “We can’t do this anymore. I can’t do this anymore—keep dancing around like there’s nothing here,” he continued, his voice smooth and controlled, like the man himself—the one she saw almost every day with command of the room, with authority and dominance.
Anne swallowed nervously, her mouth dry too. “Damien, I…”
He didn’t let her finish. He took a step closer, his arm brushing hers again, this time with certain deliberateness. She could feel the warmth radiating from him, the nearness of his body turning her pulse into a trap beat. “You don’t have to say anything,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper now. “We both know I'm right.”
Please.
His right hand brushed against hers again, but this time with certain purpose, fingers gently curling around hers. Not forcefully, but gently in a way that made her skin tingle. She didn’t pull away; she couldn’t. She didn’t want to. The heat between them was palpable, undeniable. The space in the elevator felt almost claustrophobic, the air leaden.
In her periphery, the floor numbers blurred on the digital display, ticking higher and higher, but she barely registered them. The tension in the air, the static crackling between them, tightened around her chest, pulling her deeper into the moment, making it harder to think about anything but the man in front of her.
Her brain began to replay every fantasy she'd ever had of him at once, layered on top of each other like a chaotic puzzle made from different artworks with the same die-cut. Bent over the bed, Damien driving into her from behind while she pleasured Todd, who lay sprawled out on the bed in front of her. A quickie during lunch hour in the parking garage, in that fancy car he drove—moaning coy little remarks about being a better slut to drive than the machine, the leather seats offering no friction, soaked beneath their bodies. Every imagined place he'd ever tasted her, filled her—still dressed in his suit and laid over his desk at night, naked in her bed, or hiking up her dress and sheer panties to the side in the restroom at the fashion show, the asshole politician impatiently tapping his foot outside the door. The fantasy of pulling him inside her hotel room, not even bothering to remove the robe as he ate her out in San Francisco, her wet hair leaving damp spots on the sheets.
Each passing moment a turn of a torque wrench winding her tighter. Her lip stung where she was biting it—she felt like she was dripping.
“Damien…” her voice was softer now, almost uncertain, but she still didn’t pull back.
Damien leaned in closer, his body just inches from hers now, his breath warm against her cheek. His lips hovered dangerously close to her skin, brushing the space just beneath her ear, where the air between them felt like it crackled with electricity. “You can walk away right now,” he said in hushed tones, his lips just grazing the corner of her jaw, teasing, tempting. “Nothing between us changes if you change your mind. You can step past me and tell me no, and your job is safe and you never have to see me ever again after the rebrand meeting. No repercussions. No ultimatums. I promise.”
He inhaled, his breath controlled.
“But if you don’t, and I know you won’t, I will not stop until you are a puddle on the floor from ecstasy.”
Anne tried desperately to steady her breathing, but with every breath she inhaled the day’s last remnants of his cologne, of his skin, and his own breath—boozy and sweet. She knew that if his breath teased her neck at all, her resolve would surrender—buckle under the weight of desire and sinful temptation.
Her other hand drifted over the soft, deep navy fabric at the hem of his jacket—the same jacket he’d worn in the chrome and glass elevator at HuGES tower, back on that warm May evening when the twilight seemed to swallow him whole. It was the same color that mirrored his eyes, rich and boring into her—the same piercing eyes that drank her with an undeniable, unquenchable thirst.
Please don't stop.
“I won’t stop until I sample every place on your body, considering every delectable nuance of you on my tongue like you are the finest wine I could buy.”
His breath migrated to her neck.
Fuck.
The shivers she felt stippled her until every hair follicle on her body was erect.
“And I will make you come so hard, your body flushes the same color as the richest Chianti.”
She swallowed the gasp of delight that threatened to climb out of her.
The elevator chimed, breaking through the charged silence between them. The doors slid open, letting in a rush of cooler air from the hallway beyond, but neither of them moved. The world outside the elevator might as well have been miles away—the only thing that mattered was the heat between them, the pulse of his breath against her skin. Every inch of Anne’s body was scorching with the proximity of him, his words sinking into her like a slow, steady burn, leaving a mark where every breath caressed her. She closed her eyes trying to gather herself, feeling as if the floor was pitched beneath her feet in a vertiginous combination of unraveling restraint and fiery, blinding lust on overdrive.
“And even after you melt, I will still drink you in until the room is spinning. You have made me…”
He paused, an agonizing moment drawn out to carefully choose his words.
“Insatiable, Anne.”
She turned her head slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, her breath catching again as she realized just how close they were—mere millimeters. “Damien,” she whispered again, but this time, it wasn’t a protest. It bordered on a plea. It was a comet blazing a trail of desire through her every fiber.
The anxiety that had gripped him when he stepped onto the elevator—what felt like eons ago but had only been a minute—was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he smiled, a hint of the familiar smirk she’d come to recognize over the months, though this time it wasn’t teasing. Now his smile was full of confident, almost predatory promise—erotic and hungry. The ache between her legs had magnified into something unendurable. It had a heartbeat of its own now, an ache that pulsed at the same tempo as his breath. She was libido manifested as an aggravated bull, and his husky words were the goading matador with the sanguine banner.
“Should I stop?” he whispered, his lips hovering over hers so close she could almost taste him.
No.
His fingers hooked around hers in gentle conquest.
For the briefest, fleeting millisecond, Anne hesitated. The rational part of her mind told her to step away, to walk into her room, and to let this moment pass. But that part of her felt so far distant and abstract, it may as well have been a single grain of sand on the beach outside. It was a thought drowned out by the hum of anticipation, of the slow, simmering desire that had been mounting and consuming her for weeks, for months. Her fingers twitched before consciously bringing the curve of his fingers further into the fold of her own.
She tilted her head up towards him, just enough to close the space between them, for there to be no more room between their flushed, hot skin. Her nose followed the contours of his cheek as she looked up at him. Her skin bristled as it brushed against his scruff, a line so gently carved, the only mark it made would be one of sensual memory.
It wasn’t a bold move she made, but it was enough.