Page 32 of Salem's Fall
“Or maybe he’s just softening in his old age,” I say lightly. “Or you’re bribing him somehow. Do you have catnip in your pockets?”
Damien chuckles. “I don’t need to bribe cats, James. They just know like most women do—it’s futile to resist me.” He winks, but there’s a hint of seriousness in his voice. I don’t doubt he’s telling the truth.
I look away, my eyes falling to the floor. “Lucky’s just acting weird today. Don’t let it go to your head.”
My phone buzzes in my hand. A new email alert. I open my inbox and the subject line, in all caps, jumps out at me.
“STAY AWAY OR YOU’RE NEXT.”
I gasp out loud, my heart pounding in my chest. Instantly, I feel Damien beside me, the air suddenly charged with tension.
“James? What is it?” he asks, his tone sharp. As he reads the email over my shoulder, his jaw tightens. “That’s it. I’m taking you back to Boston.”
But I don’t care what he says, or that he’s the one footing the bill. Not even the fear in his eyes gets to me. Real fear—for me. None of it matters. I’m just starting to crack the surface here in Salem’s Fall.
No way I’m going back now.
The restaurant Damien takes me to is beyond fancy. Far too fancy for a casual work dinner.
Dim lighting. Sleek white tablecloths. Crystal glasses gleaming under sparkling chandeliers. It smells like truffles and expensive leather. The snotty-looking maître d’ was practically falling over himself when we walked in. I could tell without asking that Damien comes here often.
I stick out like a sore thumb. Even my pretty suit feels plain next to the designer-clad beautiful women around me. It makes me feel antsy sitting in a place where even breathing feels like it’s costing money.
Damien watches me as if he can sense my discomfort. A faint smirk plays at the corner of his lips as he addresses the waiter. “We’ll take a bottle of the Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon, and I’ll have the filet. Rare,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine as he orders. “She’ll have the salmon with the beurre blanc on the side.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Ordering for me now?”
He leans in, voice dropping. “You’ll enjoy the salmon. It’s fantastic.”
“How do you know I didn’t want the filet, like you?”
He gives me a look. “You don’t eat red meat.”
I swallow back my retort because he’s somehow rightabout me. I’m not sure how he knows, but it’s true. I haven’t touched red meat in years, not since my mother died. Something about knowing an animal was butchered—imagining the slaughter, the blood—became too much for me after her death.
“Well, maybe I was in the mood for something else.” I look down at the menu again. “The mussels, for example. They sound great.”
His smirk widens. “Perhaps next time.”
I roll my eyes. The thing is, I really would rather have the salmon than the mussels, but it’s infuriating how sure of himself he is. He walks into every situation like he belongs there, commanding attention, exuding power.
Even more annoying is the part of me that can’t deny how attractive it is. I’m always the one taking care of everyone else. Maddie. Lucky. Even myself. But with Damien, it feels like for once I don’t have to be in charge. He’s taking care of me, even if it’s in this obnoxiously domineering, overprotective way.
After the waiter leaves, Damien’s expression turns serious. “I meant what I said before, back at your hotel. You need to leave Salem’s Fall.”
I snort into my fancy water goblet. “I’m not running away just because some nutjob sent a stupid email.”
“This is thesecondthreatening message you’ve gotten,” he says. “Whoever sent them is watching you. And these people don’t play around.”
“It’s just someone trying to mess with my head.” I shrug, trying to play it cool even though I’ll admit, the emails don’t exactly give me the warm fuzzies.
“And if they try to mess with your life next? Or did you already forget how I had to save you last night? Not to mention your dead colleague, Mark.” He exhales, almost nonchalantly. “Though if I’m being honest, that one doesn’tseem like a great loss. I never did like the way he talked to you.”
Unease prickles through me at the easy, almost casual way he dismisses Mark’s murder. I’ve got no love lost for Mark either, but still, that doesn’t mean he deserved to die.
“He wasn’tthatbad…”
“Forget Mark. He’s inconsequential,” Damien says, his gaze sharpening. “You, though? I might miss not having you around, pain in the ass though you might be.” His voice drops lower, edged with more than a hint of concern. “When will you start taking these threats seriously?”
