Chapter Three

Damon

I wonder if it's evil to be enjoying her discomfort so much… She amuses me. Nothing has amused me in a while. Maybe it's why I haven't been able to stop thinking about her since our memorable encounter in the VIP lobby.

Right now, the meeting has ended and everyone else has exited the room, but she's hovering by the door, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. Seeing her in the light of the day hits differently; she's gorgeous. Right now, she doesn't have on the tight, almost obnoxious uniform that Billy made the waitresses wear – I make a mental note right there and then to change the servers' outfit – but instead, she's wearing baggy jean dungarees with a short-sleeved white shirt, paired with well-worn sneakers. Her long brown hair is tied up in a messy ponytail that accentuates the elegant curve of her neck. Her face is bare of makeup save for the shimmering, transparent gloss on her lips. She looks worlds different from last night… Softer . Prettier .

Oh, but something feels familiar alright – that fire, brimming just beneath the surface. Even though she looks all demure and contrite at the moment, I can still sense that unapologetic defiance that instantly drew me to her last night.

I love the challenge of taming her.

I clear my throat loudly, fisting my hands against the urge to put her over my knees and do forbidden things to her backside.

"Shouldn't you leave with the others, Miss…?" I intentionally let my voice trail off, slightly arching a brow in question.

She swallows hard and steps forward.

"Dana," she supplies, stopping just a few feet from me. "Dana Smith."

"How may I help you, Miss Smith?" I ask, keeping my tone deliberately impassive.

She swallows visibly, hesitantly taking another step forward. "I- I just wanted to say that I'm sorry about last night."

"Really?" I drawl, slowly folding my arms over my chest. "I wonder if you're sorry because I turn out to be your boss, or if you're truly apologetic."

"I- I can't lose my job because of… that," she retorts with a defeated shrug.

"Like I mentioned in the meeting, the layoffs will be on just grounds, and anyone who is let go will be duly compensated. If you're fired, then it must be because you very well deserved it."

Something crosses her eyes in that instant, a flittering emotion that's gone before I can make sense of it. Fear? Desperation?

She clears her throat, shuffling nervously on her feet. "I- I admit I shouldn't have lost my cool like that last night, but you were being so rude, and I was cranky after being on my feet for so long."

"I see," I say coolly, revealing nothing of the amusement that I feel at her babbling. "Last night I was incorrigible and conceited, and today, I'm rude. I see you have a way with words, Miss Smith."

She instantly turns crimson, her gorgeous green eyes growing wide. "I- I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean…"

"Are you sure about wanting to keep your job here?"

"Yes!" she yelps, then clears her throat awkwardly. "Yes, please."

"Come with me, then."

"W-what?" she asks, blinking at me in confusion.

"Try to keep up, miss," I say, already on my way to the door.

The short ride to my family estate home feels like the longest of my life. Dana sits rigidly in the passenger's seat with a stony expression on her pretty face while staring out the window. She neither asks questions nor tries to engage in a conversation.

For the first time in my life, I didn't know what to do with myself. Of course, talking to women isn't a problem; I'm even considered a smooth talker. But with her, at this moment, I can't seem to think of anything appropriate to say.

I bring the car to a stop in front of the huge fancy gates and turn in time to see her brows furrowed in a curious frown, yet she stubbornly holds her tongue as I drive in through the gates and down the long driveway that leads to the main house.

"We're here," I say as I bring the car to a final stop.

"Where are we?" she asks, boldly holding my gaze.

"Finally asking questions, huh?" I ask, smirking when her nose flares in the barest hint of restrained vexation.

Again, there goes that sexy defiance.

"My family home," I finally responded.

She stares blankly at me for a second then shakes her head in confusion. "What? W-why are we here?"

"You'll find out soon enough, kitty," I reply, unbuckling my seat belt and gesturing for her to do the same.

"Why're you calling me that?"

I shrug. "Because you're like a wild cat," I replied, stopping to look at her. "Pretty and daunting on the outside. Soft and pure on the inside."

She snickers softly and proceeds to unbuckle her seatbelt. "You clearly don't know me."

"Whatever you say, kitty."

"Don't call me that."

"Okay, kitty," I reply, chuckling at how she struggles not to roll her eyes as she gets out of the car.

Once inside the house, Dana stops to look around the huge living room with its hanging chandeliers, and her eyes open wide in wonder.

"Oh my…" she mumbles to herself. "This place is impressive."

She glances down at herself and back up to look at me with an alarmed expression. "I don't know why we're here, but I don't think I'm appropriately dressed."

"I think you're beautiful just the way you are," I say, raking my eyes over her form in a slow, deliberate sweep.

She looks away, turning her attention back to the rich velvet curtains and marble floors, but not before I caught the pink patches on her face.

"You live here?" she asks after a few seconds of silence.

"Not anymore."

She looks at me like she's about to say something else when a huge, familiar figure appears by the stairs.

My father's usually stoic expression registers surprise, but it's gone as quickly as it appeared. Mathew Ford, ever the businessman, is dressed in a dark custom-made suit that is perfectly molded onto his huge frame.

I take Dana's hand in mine and walk up the rest of the way to meet him.

"Hello, Father," I say, keeping my tone even.

"Damon," he replies in that same even tone that he uses to conquer boardrooms across the world. He's always been this way: abrupt. Without warmth. As much as I'd love to deny it, we're similar in so many ways.

It's probably why we don't get along…

"Who's your guest?" he asks, raising a perfectly arched brow at Dana.

"You asked me to bring wife over, Father," I reply, imitating his expressionless tone. "Meet Dana Smith. My fiancée."