Chapter One

Damon

"It's not looking good at all," says Curt Farrell in a leveled voice that underplays just how bad the situation is. I've known Curt Farrell for ten years, and when the man takes that tone, then there's great cause for concern. Apart from being my lawyer, Curt is also my closest friend, so I know he won't sugarcoat things for me.

"Lay it out, Farrell," I say, switching the phone to my left ear as I make my way through the throng of sweaty bodies on the dance floor towards the VIP sector. I suppose I should be glad that it's still a busy night at The Eclipse nightclub despite the recent scandals, but I know the numbers tonight don't make any difference. Too much is at stake.

"I just got out of a meeting with the financial analysts, and all I can tell you is investors are pulling out faster than the speed of light," Curt says as I sidestep a busty blonde with an inviting smile. On a good day, I'd have at least winked in response, but this isn't a good day. Not for me.

"All plans for the expansion are on hold, and I don't think we'll be having that New York opening party anytime soon," Curt continues in that even tone that'd make me think he didn't care if I didn't know him well enough. "I hate to say it, Damon… You have to ask your old man for help."

"You think I didn't already?" I ask with a light scoff as memories of the meeting just hours ago flash in my head, accompanied by a feeling of humiliation that has me balling my fists.

I was a fool to think that anything would have changed after three years away from home…

"What do you mean?" Curt asks, his voice hitching slightly in surprise. "Are you back in Chicago?"

"I flew in a few hours ago," I reply, rounding a corner in the more secluded part of the VIP section. "I need to…"

I'm suddenly cut short by a head-on collision, immediately followed by a startled shriek and a loud clattering sound. I pivot instinctively, the phone still pressed to my ear, and glance up from the brown liquid smear on my shirt to see a brown-haired woman in a waitress uniform bent over shards of broken glass.

She isn't even looking at me, so I sidestep the mess and resume my walk. I have barely taken a couple of steps when I feel a vice-like grip on my wrist. I turn around to see the most gorgeous shade of green eyes glaring murderously at me.

"Where do you think you're going, sir?" she asks in a polite tone that does nothing to hide the icy fire in her eyes.

I stare at her, momentarily distracted by the sensual curve of her shimmering red lips. I let my eyes roam boldly over her gorgeous face, wearing that lazy smirk that's helped me get out of tricky situations like this in the past.

"Where would you like me to go, gorgeous?" I ask, slowly raising my eyes to hers.

She scoffs, blinking at me in surprise. "You just ran into me," she says, gesturing at the shards of glass on the ground. "I believe I deserve an apology, sir."

I can hear the barely restrained anger in her tone, but all I can think of is how soothing her voice sounds despite it and how expressive her eyes are.

I raise my brows at her, slowly widening my smirk. For some reason, I find myself wanting to poke at her, test her limits… Something about the fire in these luminous green depths calls to me.

"Why should I apologize when I'm the customer here? You should have paid attention to your surroundings, don't you think?"

"What?"

"I believe you heard me the first time, miss. Or are you hard of hearing?"

She folds her arms over her chest, drawing my attention to the delicious mold of her breasts. Her shirt buttons are loosened just enough to give me a glimpse of the luscious mounds beneath… enough to drive any man crazy.

I suppose that's a selling point, I think with a sudden jealousy that surprises me. The thought of other men feasting on her boobs as she serves them leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

"Shouldn't you be apologizing for pouring booze down my shirt?" I continue, deliberately hardening my features to match my tone. "Gracefulness is a prerequisite for the job, but you obviously don't know that. How about you plaster on a pretty smile and play nice as is your job description? Who knows, I might be inclined not to take this matter up with the management."

"You know what?" she snaps loudly as she runs a hand through her wavy brown curls. "I've met several jerks like you in my years of work here, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised. But somehow, each time, I'm appalled by the insensitivity and arrogance that oozes off the likes of you."

It's my turn to blink at her in shock, not sure whether to be angry or amused at her audacity.

"The likes of me?" I repeat, quirking my brows at her.

"Yeah," she replies, raising her chin boldly to meet my gaze. "Jerks like you with zero substance who think the world revolves around them because of their pretty looks."

"Oh, you think I'm pretty, kitty?"

"I think you're the most conceited and incorrigible man I've ever met in my life. And I've met plenty of them."

"What?"

"I believe you heard me the first time, mister," she replies, throwing my words at me with a smug smirk that suddenly makes me want to discipline her in the most erotic way. "Or are you hard of hearing?"

And without waiting for me to respond, she turns around and walks – sashays, even – away in the opposite direction, her heels clicking an unforgettable rhythm against the cold hardwood floor.

I watch her retreating figure, a distant possibility forming at the edge of my consciousness. Snickering lightly to myself, I raise the phone back to my ear. "Sorry about that, Farrell."

"What was that about?" he asks. Of course, he knows what it was about; he heard the whole exchange. I can hear the slight edge in his voice, a subtle warning not to indulge in my more perilous nature.

"Oh, nothing," I reply as I watch the waitress round a corner and disappear from my sight. "Just a little run-in with a pretty woman. Where were we?"