Page 29 of Mutual Desire

“I just know your type,” Damien shot back, though his heart was hammering in his chest. “You don’t get to where you are by being petty.”

Nabokov took a deliberate step closer, closing the distance between them until they stood mere inches apart. Damien’s breath hitched, the scent of Nabokov’s cologne—something dark and intoxicating—filling the narrow space between them.

“And if I told you,” Nabokov whispered, his voice brushing against Damien’s skin like a dangerous caress, “that not everything is about money?”

Damien’s pulse raced, but he didn’t back down. “Then I’d say you’re lying.”

“You’ve told me twice now that I’m lying. Do you make a habit of accusing your friend’s employer of being dishonest?”

The statement was delivered without a hint of emotion, yet every syllable carried weight—a subtle reminder of the precarious position Damien had put himself in.

Damien’s throat went dry, but he forced himself to meet Nabokov’s gaze, refusing to back down.

“Careful with your assumptions, Damien. They can be… costly.”

The words were soft, but they carried a subtle menace, like the brush of a blade against skin—a warning disguised as conversation. Damien’s pulse quickened. There was something thrilling, almost intoxicating, about the way Nabokov spoke to him, as if each word was a deliberate provocation, a test.

Damien leaned forward slightly, a sly smirk curling at the edges of his lips. “Good thing I’m already broke, then. Nothing left to lose.”

The corner of Nabokov’s mouth twitched, his smile deepening. “You’re bold, I’ll give you that. But are you right?”

“I don’t believe you’d let a personal grudge impede ongood business.”

Nabokov's lips curled slightly, a faint, wolfish smile that felt more like a warning than approval. “Smart,” he said, his voice soft but sharp. “Let’s hope, for your sake, that you’re right.”

Damien leaned in just enough to invade Nabokov’s space, his voice dipping into a low, deliberate taunt. “Your scent... it’s everywhere in here. I have to say, I love the cologne you're wearing... Alexander.”

UsingNabokov’s first name was deliberate, a power play, and Damien watched with satisfaction as something flickered in those gray eyes—something dark and electric.Nabokov’s grin widened, a wolfish expression that sent a shiver down Damien’s spine.

The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open on an unknown floor. Damien seized the moment. Without a word, he stepped out, leaving Nabokov behind. But even as he walked away, he could feel Nabokov’s gaze on him, like a lingering touch that burned more than it soothed.

He didn’t look back, but the weight of Nabokov’s presence clung to him, an invisible thread pulling tight between them.As the elevator doors slid shut behind him, Damien exhaled sharply, his heart still racing. What the hell was that?

Whatever it was, he knew one thing for sure—this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

ELEVEN

The White Lie

Damien couldn’t be of much help to his best friend’s software project. It wasn’t a lack of knowledge that hindered him; far from it. He simply wasn’t in the right headspace to accomplish anything—not after his encounter with Nabokov in the elevator.

As with every unplanned meeting with the enigmatic Russian, Damien replayed each phrase, every gesture, every look Nabokov had given him. What lingered now was the disheartening realization that Nabokov had chosen not to select Nick's software. The worst had come true.

Yet, he’d had the audacity to call Nabokov a liar who wouldn’t go through with his decision. As if he had any say in the matter or could read Nabokov's intentions. He made an assertion without concrete proof, yet he clung to it stubbornly. It was revenge—Damien was certain of it. Petty, calculated revenge. Anto-X had no flaws, and Nick’s pitch had been perfect. While some projects were impressive, he believed with all his heart that Nick's antivirus stood just as strong. Nabokov's decision had to be deliberate.

Yes, Nabokov’s decision felt like a deliberate act of spite. Now, with this burden weighing on him, Damien found himself at a loss on how to turn the tide in Nick’s favor. The words he had exchanged with Nabokov gnawed at him, leaving him questioning everything.What a mess I’ve gotten myself into.

“Pussygot your tongue today?” Nick's voice broke through his thoughts, a proud smile plastered on his face, clearly enjoying his pun.

They had just entered the crowded restaurant, stopping near the entrance while waiting for their table.

“No, I hardly have time to speak with you running your mouth,” Damien replied, a smile creeping onto his face.

“You’ve barely said three words about Anto-X.”

Damien rolled his eyes. There he went again, dragging him back into the software discussion.

“Because there’s not much to say. Your software is perfect, Nick.”

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