Page 14 of Protégé King

“Why did we sell the house?”

“I told you—”

“Mom,” I say shortly. “Is Dad in trouble? Because someone said something to me tonight.”

“What did they say?” she asks, and her voice cracks.

I know then that it’s true. “He’s got a gambling problem.”

“We’re working through it.”

“How bad is it?”

“It’s not. The house took care of everything. I promise.”

“How long has he been gambling, Mom?”

“It’s not a big thing for him. It just spiraled. One mistake he tried to fix with another mistake. You know how responsible your father is. He’s an amazing man. He’ll be back in time to hear all about your night. When will you be home?”

I’m standing at this point, and I don’t remember standing at all, and that’s when Damion steps out of the shadows. My pulse leaps and begins a race. “I don’t know,” I say quickly, sounding a bit breathless and rushed. “I’ll call you.” I disconnect and slip my phone into the evening purse at my hip.

I turn to face him, and our eyes collide in a rush of memories, friendship, and something darker and far more obsessive. The same something that drove us together in that bedroom in the college fraternity. The same something that has us moving toward each other, closing the space between us.

We stop toe-to-toe, but not touching, and the rest of the world has faded away.

There is just me and Damion, and I’ve stopped—I think we’ve stopped—understanding what that means or where it leads.

Chapter Nine

Alana

“Why are you here, Damion?”

“Because you’re here,” he says, his voice a low, gravelly purr. “That’s how it’s always been, Alana. Where you go, I go.”

Not anymore, I think. “That was a long time ago,” I murmur. “A really long time ago.”

“We’ve spent more time together than apart.”

And yet, none in the past three years. I’d believe I no longer fit the impression he wants to make on the world, except everything he just did at the event says differently.

“If you came to tell me to return to the party, everyone is leaving.”

“I didn’t, but you were amazing in there.”

“Thanks. You weren’t so bad yourself.”

“Lots of practice. My dad pushes me. You know that.”

“Yes,” I say. “He’s always wanted you to rule the world.”

“He’s always wanted me to be as good as him.”

“Are you?”

“Not according to him, but I’m okay with that. I don’t want to be him. I’ve never wanted to be him. I’ve got a place here in the city. Let’s go there. We can catch up.”

My heart skips a beat and then begins to pitter patter like a drum. I reject the invitation and all the implications that come with it. I try to step backward. He catches my hand, darts of heat shooting up my arm and across my chest. Lord help me, my nipples pucker. “What are you doing?”

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