Page 31 of Salem's Fall
“Dinner?” he asks. “I know a great place in town.”
I hesitate.
“As in... a working dinner?”
“Obviously,” he says, though the teasing smile on his lips suggests otherwise. “If I were asking you on a date, you’d know it.”
“Okay. Good,” I say, almost a little disappointed. If I’m being honest, the idea of a date with Damien Blackhollow isn’t the most offensive thing I’ve ever heard of. Not that I’d tell him that.
We swing by the Cottage first so I can check on Lucky and fire off a quick email update to Quinn. Damien’s driver, Bennett, waits in the car while Damien follows me inside to the lobby. I assume he’s just grabbing coffee or using the restroom as I rush to my room—but he follows me.
“Here, allow me,” he says, taking the room key from me and unlocking my door with ease.
“Uh, what are you doing?” I scrunch my eyebrows. “I told you I need a few minutes.”
He leans against the doorframe, one eyebrow raised, a playful grin on his lips. “I’m here to meet the infamous Lucky, of course.”
“Lucky—my cat? Why on earth do you want to meet him?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Damien’s tone is casual, but there’s that glint in his eye, like he knows exactly how to get under my skin and is enjoying every second of it. “I’m curious about the male who gets so much of your precious time.”
I pause, confused by this turn of events. Damien Blackhollow, billionaire venture capitalist and walking enigma, wants to meetmy cat?
“Uh, well, I didn’t know you were that into cats,” I mumble, hedging. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do here. This type of situation isn’t exactly in the attorney-client relationships handbook.
“I’m into meeting things you care about,” he says, his voice softening a touch. “Besides, from what I hear, this cat is very special.”
That pulls a laugh out of me.
“You have no idea,” I say, chuckling as I step into the room, tossing my bag onto the small desk near the window. “Fine, you can come in. But I’m going to warn you, Lucky doesn’t like anyone, especially strangers. And he’sreallynot into men.”
Damien takes that as a challenge, grinning as he follows behind me. “Protective, I get it,” he says. “I imagine that’s how most men are with you.”
My stomach does a little flip, and I mentally kick myself for how easily this man can get under my skin. I glance towardthe bed, where Lucky is curled up, completely unfazed by the world around him. His sleek black body is stretched across my pillow like it’s his world and the rest of us just live in it. Damien’s grin widens as he approaches my bed, leaning down to get a closer look at Lucky.
“Hey, there,” he says, his voice low and smooth, as if he’s speaking to a person.
Lucky, to my complete shock, doesn’t hiss or nip or show any sort of agitation. Instead of his usual death glare reserved for strangers, he actually lifts his head, yawning lazily before making his way over to Damien like they’re long-lost friends.
I stand there, slack-jawed, watching as my fiercely territorial cat rubs his head against Damien’s hand.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter.
Damien glances back at me, that smug expression firmly in place. “What was that you were saying about him not liking men?”
“I—I don’t know.” I cross my arms, trying to recover some semblance of dignity. “He hates everyone but me.”
“Hm, guess I’m the exception,” Damien says with a wink as he scratches behind Lucky’s ears. Lucky—the traitor—is purring ecstatically, like he’s known Damien his whole life.
I stare in disbelief, watching the bizarre lovefest between my cat and Damien.
“I don’t get it. He’s never like this,” I say. “Ever.”
“Maybe he senses something in me he likes.”
I laugh. “Oh really? Like what?”
“Something good. Something... trustworthy.” Damien’s gaze holds mine, and for a moment, the air in the room feels thicker, heavier. My pulse quickens, but I shake it off, refusing to let whatever is building between us mess with my head. He’s my client—my client accused of murder—I have to remember that.
