Chapter 2

2

DELANEY

T he school bell rings, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Don't get me wrong, I love my job, truly, but damn am I tired. Not just from teaching a classroom of hyper four and five-year-old kids all day but from the stress of trying to make ends meet. Between rent and bills for my tiny studio, the bills from my grandmother's retirement home, and my brother's student accommodation charges that I promised him I'd cover so he could find time to go to the classes we're paying tuition for, I'm so taut with stress I think I might snap.

I shove the thoughts out of my mind and plaster on a smile as I help a little girl into her jacket and double check everyone's got their bags. We head out to the playground, where the students' parents and caretakers will be waiting for them.

The afternoon is bright and warm. The kids rush out to find their people, and I hover by the door, supervising the chaos while I fiddle with the lanyard around my neck.

"Miss Graeme, right? The new kindergarten teacher? My son loves you!" a loud male voice says, startling me.

I blink, turning to find a tall, tanned man grinning at me. I suppose someone might find his deep brown eyes and wide smile attractive, but all I feel is alarm. He's standing way too close to me for comfort.

"Yes, I'm Miss Graeme. That's very nice of your son," I say, aiming my tone for kind and professional. I take a small step back, hoping the move is subtle enough that it won't offend him. I only just qualified and got lucky as hell landing this job at a well-known private school in the city, and I cannot afford to lose my position because of an offended parent.

"Tell me, what's a pretty young thing like you doing working as a teacher and not a model?" the guy flirts, his eyebrows raising as he leers at me. Completely ignoring the fact I stepped away, he leans in, his probably very expensive aftershave choking me with how thick he's slapped it on.

I try to laugh, but it comes out all screechy and wrong. I swallow thickly, taking yet another step away—a larger one this time—trying to breathe fresh air that doesn't taste like thousand-dollar chemicals.

"Uh, just got a passion for helping teach the next generation, I suppose," I blabber, desperately trying to steer this conversation back into appropriate territory. The man's eyes rove over my body as though he's trying to see through the pink blouse and knee-length skirt I'm wearing. My skin crawls, and a brief flash of panic sears through me when he steps closer, once again blatantly ignoring my attempts at space.

How the hell do I get away from this man without pissing him off? I look around, eyes darting wildly as though someone will come to rescue me. A pair of dark green eyes ensnare me, heat rushing through me and chasing away the slimy feeling of the other man's attention. The green-eyed stranger is tall and muscular, biceps straining against his navy blue suit jacket as he crosses his arms over his chest. A glittery pink child's backpack is perched on his shoulder, but the accessory doesn't dull the dark intensity in his stare.

Oh my God, who is this man?

There's a weird, warm feeling beneath my ribs that I've never felt before, like there's an invisible tether yanking me towards him. I can't look away, especially not when he starts taking long strides in my direction.

His gaze goes ice cold as his eyes flick from me to the parent, his lips setting in a grim line. His sharp jawline is accentuated by a short, well-kept beard, and his hair is perfectly styled in a way that somehow manages to look effortless. He glances down at my lanyard, then back up to meet my gaze, utterly ignoring the other man who frankly looks appalled at being interrupted. It's incredibly satisfying—not that I'll admit it.

"Ah, the new teacher," my rescuer says, his voice deep and rich. He dips his head, lowering his voice so that the other man can't hear. "Walk this way with me, let him think I've got something critically important to discuss with you."

I nod, gasping, when he lightly grasps my elbow to lead me away. Sparks shoot along my skin from where his hand touches me, making my breath stutter in my chest. We step away, him blocking me from the other man just in case he tries to follow again.

"So, uh, did you … have anything to discuss with me?" I stammer out, trying desperately to compose myself but failing miserably.

My rescuer shakes his head, a small smile on his face. The ice in his eyes has melted, turning warm and inviting.

"No," he admits. "You just looked like you could use some help."

I feel myself blush, gratitude rising in me and mixing with the overwhelming attraction.

"Oh, uh … thank you…?" I trail off, realizing I don't know his name.

"I'm Damien, Lola's uncle," he introduces with a devastating smile that makes my heart thump hard against my ribs.

"Delaney," I reply, completely forgetting to be formal and introduce myself in the appropriate manner as Miss Graeme . This man—Damien—is scrambling my brain so badly that I literally can't remember my own name. I try to recover, realizing his name sounds familiar. "Lola's talked about you before. About ice cream trips and a pony called Bob?" I say with a laugh, and Damien's grin widens.

"Billy," he corrects, shaking his head.

"Whatever she named it, she loves it. And you. She's a lucky little girl to have a man to look up to like you, a man who stands up for women he doesn't even know," I comment, meaning every word. Lola's one of the most stubborn kids in my class, and I mean that in the best way. She always stands up for her friends—a trait she's clearly learned from her uncle.

Damien's smile dissolves into a look I can't decipher. He's staring at me as though he can see me right down to my very soul.

"Everyone should have someone willing to do whatever it takes to take care of them," he murmurs, his voice softer than before. It sends a shiver over my skin.

"I can't imagine how it feels to have someone like that," I admit, my mouth moving before my brain can think better of it. My cheeks flame as I realize what I've just admitted, and I go to apologize, but he's speaking before I can get another word out.

"I could show you how good it feels," Damien says, utter sincerity in his voice that takes me aback.

My lips part, but I have no words to answer that. Longing rockets to life inside of me, and try as I might, I can't shove it back down. I've learned to live with the goal of taking care of those I love, but never myself, and wishing for anything else is nothing but detrimental. And yet…

My body sways towards him of its own accord, unconcerned with my warring thoughts. I want to be close to him; my instincts are screaming for it.

Damien looks like he's about to say something more, but the sound of someone calling my name interrupts us.

"Miss Graeme?"

I startle, turning my head to find Mrs. Gray, first grade teacher and one of my favorite colleagues, poking her head out of the door.

"Just one second, Mrs. Gray," I answer with a smile, and she nods, waiting. I turn back to Damien as Lola rushes into his legs, a dark-haired blur of excitement.

"Ice cream time!" The child giggles, and Damien's smile is warm and full of love as he picks her up in a hug that makes my heart squeeze in my chest.

"Sure thing, Lola Bug," Damien tells her, and goddammit if it isn't the sweetest thing I've ever seen. It should be illegal for a man to be simultaneously this hot and this kind and this adorably caring all at once. Seriously, it's not fair on my heart.

I pause, stuck between going back inside the school in an attempt to pretend Damien doesn't affect me in such an unexplainable way and ignoring my colleagues to stay in his presence just a second longer.

Lola makes the choice for me, tugging Damien's hand insistently when he sets her back on her feet. Damien's gaze catches mine for a second, and he extends his hand towards me, a thin card between his fingers.

"Call me when you're ready to be spoiled the way you deserve," he says slowly as I take the card, too astonished to say anything back before he walks away.

For a second, I stand frozen, unable to even glance at the business card in my hand as I stare after Damien. Then Mrs. Gray calls my name again, and I jolt, quickly tucking the card into my pocket and rushing to join her inside.

The rest of the day and all night, I think about him. Even my dreams are dominated by Damien. I wake up flushed and panting, aching for something I've never even had. I shove the blankets off me and scramble to my feet, rushing straight to the shower.

Dousing myself in cold water helps, but only momentarily. When nothing I do shakes the thought of Damien from my mind, I find myself digging yesterday's outfit from the laundry bin and fishing the card from my pocket.

Damien Bright

CEO Bright Enterprises

It's followed by his number and email address, and I spend longer than I want to admit re-reading the shiny gold foil. His last name seems familiar all of a sudden, and my curiosity gets the better of me. Googling him is better than texting him and begging him to please do what you said and take care of me , though, so I count it as a win.

My mouth drops open as I read the search results. Damien isn't just insanely attractive, caring, and protective. He's also a literal billionaire. There's no way in hell I can bring myself to text him now. He's so out of my league it isn't even funny.

But for all my logic, I can't get him out of my head.

I'm saved from my spiral with the ping of a text. I click on the notification, smiling when I see the message is from my best friend, Carly.

Carly: Neon's Bar, tonight. Don't say no!

I laugh to myself, shaking my head as though she can see me as I type out a reply.

Me: I don't know, Carly, I was just gonna stay in…

Almost immediately, she replies.

Carly: Wasn't a question, babe. You're coming. Be ready at 9!

I chew my lip, but I already know it's pointless arguing. I've been friends with Carly long enough to have learned she doesn't take no for an answer, and I hate disappointing people. It'll make her happy if I go with her, and honestly, that alone convinces me. Besides, going out with my best friend is bound to be a better way to spend my night than sitting here agonizing over a hot billionaire who gave me his number, but I definitely don't have a chance with him and can't bring myself to text.

Yeah, definitely a better use of time.

However, I doubt even neon lights, alcohol, and club music will get the image of Damien out of my head.