Page 9 of Remembering Passion

“I got the call.”

“You could have ruined my chances…after what I did.” I didn’t add my crime aloud…walking away from him.

“I could have,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“You didn’t.”

“No, Ella. I wanted you to get your dream.”

I shrugged. “I’m not sure Beta Kappa Phi is my dream. But I do like what I do.”

“I told the woman the truth, that you’re a fantastic employee, and they’d be lucky to have you. I said you were hardworking, willing to go the extra mile, and a quick learner.”

Well, fuck.

“Thank you,” I said with all sincerity.

“Thank me by letting me escort you to tonight’s gala.”

Warmth filled my cheeks. “I don’t need an escort, Damien. I’m part of the team, the presenters. My job is to work the room, not stand beside one man.”

“Then afterward.”

“Afterward will be three in the morning back in Indy. I’ll want nothing more than to fall into bed.”

His cheeks rose and his blue eyes sparkled. “It’s a date.”

Gabriella

I wasn’t certain how Damien had done it, but the flight to LAX wasn’t awful. If anything, it was pleasant. The flight attendant whom I’d asked to move my seat made a point to check on me. The truth was, in a matter of hours, I’d fallen back under his spell.

That didn’t mean the negative didn’t exist. It did, but after a few drinks and hours of talking, I was remembering the good. I wasn’t about to let my heart get broken again. Instead, as I grabbed my carry-on, satchel, and dress and made my way out of the plane, I thought just maybe we could be friends.

It would be better than enemies.

Now, in my hotel room, as I checked my hair and makeup, my thoughts were filled with memories that weren’t terrible. There were good times and exciting times, things I’d blocked out to concentrate on the negative.

I removed the four-inch heels from my carry-on, wishing I’d chosen a more comfortable pair. Slipping my feet into the open-toed sling-back shoes, I stood before the full-length mirror.

By the grace of God, my dress had survived the small closet on the plane unwrinkled. A deep shade of navy blue, it fit my curves well. The neckline plunged to between my breasts, a long golden zipper ran over my spine, and the asymmetric hemline was longer in back than in front. Adding a long gold necklace and dangling gold earrings, I tried to convince myself my attention to my appearance wasn’t about the man who would be sitting at my table.

Part of my job was wining and dining. It seemed that most of the donors were ancient. Contrarily, the biography I’d read about Donovan Sherman said he was in his forties. I knew Damien was a bit younger.

One last look in the mirror and I began to second-guess myself.

The thing about packing for one event was that my carry-on wasn’t a magic bag. I had no choice but to wear what I brought. There was no time to run to a boutique for a new outfit. I looked good, but would Damien think it was for him?

Of course he would.

That was the kind of man he was.

Placing my room key in my clutch, I left my room, and headed toward the ballrooms. The elevator door opened and immediately the small hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention. The boisterous group of men within appeared to be in their twenties and based on their volume, in the middle of a celebration.

As I came into view, a few whistled.

“Hey, sweetheart,” one called, reaching out to keep the door from closing. “Come on in. We’ll make room.”

I feigned a polite smile. “That’s okay. I’ll catch the next one.”

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