Page 57 of Salem's Fall
“Alright, be back soon, boy. Wish me luck,” I murmur to Lucky on my way out the door. He ignores me, still pissed no second breakfast is coming.
I spot Quinn immediately as I walk into the dining area of the Cottage. He’s seated by a window in a crisp gray shirt and tailored blazer. He stands the moment he sees me, his eyes softening. He’s so handsome, all clean-cut lines and that understated confidence he wears so well. It’s the total opposite of Damien and everything I’ve been caught up in these past few weeks.
“Good morning,” he says, every bit the gentleman as he helps me into my seat. “You look nice.”
“Thank you.”
He nods at the server as she pours a steaming cup of coffee for each of us. He hands me mine first, no sweetener or milk. Always efficient, always thoughtful.
“So…” He lets the word hang in the air, his gaze intense as it searches mine. “I hope I didn’t freak you out last night.”
I shift a bit in my seat and take a slow sip of coffee.
“You did hit me with a lot…”
“I understand.” He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving my face. “But I needed you to know how I feel. I came here because I think you’re in serious danger. This case, this town—it’s not worth risking your life, Woodsen.”
There’s something in his eyes I haven’t seen before, and it unnerves me. He’s frightened … forme.
“Quinn, I told you last night. I can’t just walk away.” I sigh. “There’s more to this case. It could change everything for me.”
“You think I don’t understand ambition? Career moves?” He leans forward, his hands clasped tightly. “But this case is different. It’s not safe, and honestly, I don’t trust Blackhollow. He’s not who you think. I’ve been hearing things—things that could ruin careers and far worse.”
I feel a twinge of anger. I don’t know why, but I feel oddly protective of Damien. Even if I suspect him of all the same sordid things Quinn probably does, I don’t like to hear Quinntalk badly about him. We’re Damien’s attorneys. Even if no one else has Damien’s back, we should.
“He’s our client,” I say. “It’s our ethical responsibility to zealously advocate for him, no matter our personal feelings.”
Quinn lets out a slow breath, leaning back in his chair. “Are you certain this is just about your feelings of professional responsibility? You sure there isn’t more going on here?”
A beat of silence stretches between us as he watches me, his jaw tight.
“More? Like what?” I ask, even though both of us know exactly what he’s hinting at.
“Like something… romantic… between you two?”
“He’s a client, nothing more.”
I force my tone to stay even, keeping the defensiveness and hurt out of my voice. Okay, yes—maybe there’s some crazy, unspoken attraction between Damien and me. But the idea that I’d act on it is, frankly, insulting. For Quinn to suggest it, knowing firsthand how hard I’ve fought against those kinds of insinuations at the firm, stings even more.
“I’m sorry, but it is Damien Blackhollow. You wouldn’t be the first beautiful woman to fall for his charms.” Quinn’s fingers press into the bridge of his nose like he’s holding back something sharper. When he drops his hand, his expression is tight and controlled, but his eyes burn with irritation. “He wants you to attend the All Hallows Gala with him tonight.”
“What?” I frown. “I told him not to go to that.”
“Well, not only is he attending, but he’s insisting you go with him,” Quinn says with a sharp, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “Says it’s crucial to the case that you’re there—claims it’s for recon. Layout, timeline. His alibi hinges on being at the Gala, remember?”
“You can’t be serious.” Heat rises to my face. “This is completely unprofessional. Of course I’m not going to some ridiculous ball.”
Quinn watches me carefully, his expression guarded. “You sound awfully sure about that.”
“Because I am.”
Yet even as the words leave my lips, something uneasy coils inside me. It’s not just unease, though. It’s something else. Something I don’t want to name.
Would I go… if I could?
I’ve never been to anything like the All Hallows Gala before. Growing up, my family had exactly zero ties to high society. No private school balls, no charity fundraisers, no glitzy social events where the elite sipped champagne and pretended the rest of us didn’t exist. Even when I was with my law school ex, William—a guy who came from old money and knew this world inside and out—he never took me to events like the Gala.
I told myself it wasn’t a big deal at the time. It wasn’t my scene. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting a little when he always took his sister to the Gala every year with their family’s tickets. He’d brushed it off as tradition. Nothing exciting. No fun anyway. I’d nodded. Smiled. Pretended not to notice how relieved he looked when I didn’t push back.
