Page 37 of Salem's Fall
“Of course. If you insist on staying in town, at least this way, I can keep an eye on you.”
He gives me a little wink, then turns and walks away, leaving me standing there, sleepy, hazy, and suddenly unsure of everything.
Iwake up feeling like I got hit by a truck. My head pounds, my mouth dry as sandpaper. I squeeze my eyes shut against the morning light filtering through the thin curtains, but even that feels like an effort.
God. How did I get so drunk?
I don’t drink much anymore, and yeah, I was tired—but still. How embarrassing… Maybe it was the wine?
I’ve had plenty of red wine before, but never anything that expensive. Maybe my body just wasn’t prepared for whatever outrageously overpriced vintage Damien had ordered.
I let out a groan and push myself upright, my limbs sluggish, as my gaze catches something unexpected on the other side of the bed. A small box sits on the nightstand.
That’s odd.
I don’t remember seeing it when I came in last night. Then again, I don’t remember much of anything after dinner.
I frown, rubbing my temples as I push the covers off and reach for the box, opening it.
Inside is the ring I’d admired at Strega’s Hollow, the breathtakingly beautiful one from the gift shop. The large black stone lies nestled in soft blue velvet, gleaming, dark and smooth, like polished night. I run a finger over the coolsurface. I never said I wanted it, but Damien had noticed. A strange warmth flickers through me—half irritation, half something else entirely.
Next to the box is a note.
For work purposes, of course.
—D.B.
I roll my eyes.
Sure. Because every client gives his attorney expensive jewelry…
Though I know I shouldn’t, I slide the ring onto my finger and smile as it twinkles and shines in the light. It fits perfectly.
Before meeting up with Damien, I throw together a quick outline for my witness interview with his brother, Lucien, and get myself ready. An hour later, Damien picks me up in his sleek black Mercedes to take me to Lucien. I’m still achy, my body slow to shake off the lingering haze from the wine last night. But Damien? He looks amazing. Fresh. Unbothered. Like the alcohol didn’t touch him at all.
“Good morning, Miss Woodsen.” Bennett, his driver, tips his cap with a polite smile as I step inside the car. “Would you like any refreshments before we go? Evian? Sparkling water, perhaps?”
I press my fingers to my temple. My head still feels like mush.
“I’m okay, Bennett,” I say. “But, uh, thanks.”
Damien slides into the backseat beside me, his gaze flicking over, assessing.
“And how are we doing this morning?”
“Still pretty crummy,” I admit. I still don’t understand what happened last night. My lips quirk into a self-effacing grin. “You didn’t put something in my drink, did you?”
Damien exhales a dry, humorless huff. “Do I seem like a man who needs to drug his dinner dates?”
“No, of course not.” I shake my head, chuckling. “I’m just joking.”
Still… it is odd.
Damien flicks a glance at Bennett, who hands him a cold water bottle. Without missing a beat, Damien passes it to me. “Drink,” he orders. “You seem to have lost some precious brain cells last evening. Rehydrate and let’s hope they return.”
I take the water from him hesitantly.
“I’m fine. Really.”
