Page 3 of Sinclair Duet

“Oh, I like it.”

“Don’t tell him,” I said.

“Honey, your secret is safe with me. Girl power.”

Gabriella

With my grilled chicken salad mostly consumed, my phone buzzed. Looking down at the screen, I saw the notification that my new flight was about to board. With perfect timing, the bartender came my way. Her smile shone at full voltage.

She lowered her voice. “I haven’t told him yet. Here’s your receipt.”

“You’re the best.” I laid a ten-dollar bill on the counter for a tip.

“So, is there a history?”

I only smiled.

“Have pity on me. I work all day making up stories about customers in my head. The real story would be better.”

I shook my head. “I doubt it. Do your made-up stories ever end in homicide?”

Her eyes opened wide. “Oh, now this will keep me up at night.”

“Let’s just say, what’s in the past belongs in the past.”

The bartender nodded. “Okay, I’ve got you. I’ll give you a minute to leave before I break the news to Mr. Good-looking.”

A quick look across the bar and I saw the bewilderment in Damien’s expression. That image alone was enough to make my day. Maybe the gate agent was right: today was my lucky day. Gliding down the hallway with my luggage and garment bag, I stepped onto the moving sidewalk, for the first time in a long while, floating on air.

It wasn’t often I had the opportunity to outplay a player. Picking up his tab for two beers and a chicken sandwich wasn’t exactly the power move of the year, but getting even one over on Damien was enough to fuel my good mood.

Well, that, and I was about to fly first class.

Making my way to gate A-7, I let myself think about the man I’d tried to forget.

Damien was a shark in the sea of pharmaceuticals. In a world where big conglomerates ruled, he took over as CEO and made a name with a small company in Indianapolis. Small was a relative term when it came to the pharmaceutical sphere. Sinclair Pharmaceuticals was primed and ready with a cutting-edge compound to treat PTSD. Damien had taken a risk, and it paid off. The sky was the limit for the future of Sinclair.

I could claim to have learned a lot from my employment as his executive assistant. I had.

I’d also made the biggest mistake one could make when trying to build a career.

I fell for the devil.

Demanding and abrupt, Damien was a force of nature—the beauty of a sunset over a sparkling ocean, yet capable of unleashing the power of hurricane-strength winds. Being in his presence, watching him work, and hearing his advice was empowering. Being in his arms and bed was pure ecstasy like I’d never dared to imagine.

I wish I could say that since our breakup, I’d succeeded in finding a man with greater skills, but I’d be lying. The only way to get over a man like Damien was to move forward. Replacing him was out of the question. It would be like finding a substitute for a Picasso. Indianapolis wasn’t without its share of eligible bachelors. Nevertheless, Damien was in a class by himself.

No, I didn’t want to replace Damien. I wanted to move on—to leave him behind.

Inside the airport bathroom, I splashed cool water on my face and stared at the woman in the mirror. In a matter of a minute, my balloon of bubbling elation had popped.

That was the way it was with seeing Damien for the first time in over two years—a roller coaster of emotions.

Shock.

Awe.

Jubilation at one-upping him.

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