Page 7 of Sinclair Duet

My cheeks rose as my lips curled. “Does that mean you’ll be seated at Donovan’s table?”

Tammy returned with our drinks.

After thanking her, I turned back to Ella. “Donovan’s table?”

“Yes.”

I lifted the plastic cup with a shot of amber liquid toward Ella. “To tonight.”

She narrowed her gaze. “My luck has definitely run out.”

My cup was still raised. “I’ll be happy to share mine, Ms. Crystal. You see, my prospects for this trip have improved exponentially.” I tipped my cup and lifted it to my lips, remembering when Van had mentioned Beta Kappa Phi. I’d hoped it would mean my path would cross with Ella’s. “I’m sure you understand. Supporting foundations that promote good health is important to Sinclair Pharmaceuticals.”

The amber liquid burned, adding fuel to the fire growing within me.

“Fuck,” she mumbled before lifting her wine to her luscious lips.

She didn’t need to ask twice.

Gabriella

My heart wanted to order a bottomless glass of chardonnay.

Free alcohol was the perk of first class, right?

It was my better judgment that told me to take it slow. When we landed, I’d be three hours back in time. With cocktails beginning at seven and the dinner not starting until eight, I had a long night ahead of me. Apparently, a long night seated at the same table as Damien “the devil” Sinclair.

I could do it.

Fulfilling my role for Beta Kappa Phi was more important than drowning my loss of luck in a bottle—or make it a big box—of wine. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t take some advantage of the perk. Once we were high in the sky, my plastic cup was replaced by a glass one, and I was sipping my third glass of chardonnay for the afternoon.

With my laptop open, I began reading about Donovan Sherman.

“What do you want to know about him?” Damien asked.

I looked up and to the man at my side. “I see respecting privacy is still an issue for you.”

Damien smirked. “Your screen is turned toward me.”

“The sun—” I closed the blind over the window and rearranged my laptop. “I’ll learn enough from here.”

“I suppose.”

I turned to my right. “Are you offering dirt on your friend?”

“No. I’m good at keeping secrets.” His dark gaze shimmered. “Remember that night in Aruba under the stars?”

His deep timbre was but one ingredient of the concoction brewing within me. Mixed with a third glass of wine and memories of the night he mentioned, my circulation warmed. The two of us were alone in a private pool. The sky above was velvety black and dotted with stars.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ve never told a soul.”

There was nothing lewd or embarrassing about that night. Quite the opposite, it was more of a dream. No. Shaking my head, I went back to the biography.

It seemed Mr. Sherman’s interest in health care coincided with his marriage. His wife was the heiress to and current CEO of Wade Pharmaceutical. As I read, Damien sipped his second bourbon.

The numerous accomplishments of Mr. Sherman failed to register as the night in Aruba came back to me.

Damn him.

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