Page 59 of Salem's Fall
“All right.” He presses his lips together. “If that’s your choice, I don’t like it, but I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”
The disappointment and sadness in his voice stings more than I want to admit. It’s almost enough to make me change my mind, but the resolve inside me hardens.
He stands, a heaviness in his posture as he straightens and pulls out his wallet to leave enough cash to cover our breakfast. I feel the words catch in my throat.I don’t want you to go,I want to cry out.
But I don’t.
I’ve made my choice to stay, and I’ve got to live by it, no matter how hard it might be.
“Take care of yourself, Woodsen,” he says and hugs me lightly, as if he’s afraid he may break me. It feels like a goodbye, and the weight of my decision crashes down on me. The feeling of being alone—utterly, wholly alone—hits me hard.
But then, a familiar figure slips into the corner of my vision. Leaning casually against the doorframe of the dining room is Damien. He watches Quinn and me with an expression that hovers between boredom and annoyance.
The sinking feeling in my stomach tightens into something sharper, prickling at the edges as he strolls over. His eyes flicker from Quinn’s face to mine. There’s a glimmer of amusement there, the kind that’s impossible to miss.
“Lovers’ quarrel?” he asks, a mocking lilt to his voice.
Quinn’s body goes rigid beside me.
“Blackhollow.”
Damien’s smirk doesn’t falter. “Kensington.”
I arch a brow at Damien. “Nice of you to finally return.”
Damien’s gaze slides to me fully now, taking me in like he’s assessing whether I’m pissed, hurt, or just being difficult for sport.
“Did you miss me, Counselor?”
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “Hardly.”
“Mm.” He doesn’t sound convinced.
Quinn, radiating tension, cuts in sharply. “What can we do for you, Blackhollow?”
“Nothing needed on your end, Kensington, unless you can squeeze into a size 2 haute couture gown?” Damien grins smoothly, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Bennett’s waiting outside with the car. I assume she’s coming back with me to the Gala today like we discussed?”
Quinn stiffens beside me. “You really think I can just demand she attend?”
“If you care about this case, then yes,” Damien says.
Quinn huffs a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “The firm doesn’t own her, Blackhollow. I can’t tell her where to go.”
“And yet, you were just trying to do exactly that, weren’t you?” Damien lifts a brow. “Or did I mishear? It sounded likeyou were quite determined to pull her back to Boston yourself.”
Quinn’s jaw tightens, his hands balling into fists. I’ve never seen Quinn look this angry before. For a second, I worry these two might actually go to real blows.
I glance between them, incredulous. “Um, hello? Standing right here,” I say, feeling like a doll they’re fighting over, a prop in some testosterone-fueled power struggle. “Maybe, I don’t know, askmewhat I want?”
They both turn to me.
Watching.
Waiting.
I let out a slow breath, my pulse thrumming. I should say no. This is insane.
“Well, for one thing, this is a terrible idea,” I say. “And second, I don’t have anything to wear.”
