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Chapter Six
Abby
Abby tried her best to stamp out a serious case of nerves. She was in Damian’s car—it looked like the vintage silver one she’d seen in a Bond movie—on their way to whichever spot he was taking her to. He’d tested her, and holy hell, it seemed she’d passed. As it turned out, when push came to shove, she was one hell of an actress. Of course, all of the answers to his questions held some truth. She did in fact make a donation to his charity. She did need to cover her ass if he ever went digging though. It was nothing spectacular, but a nice chunk of change from her trust that no one, not even her own mother, knew about. Her father hadn’t even used his trusted lawyer, Henry, for the account. For years she’d followed her father’s instructions and told not a soul about her trust, which she’d gotten full control of at twenty-one even though her father had still been alive. Although, she hadn’t touched a dime of it until her donation to Damian’s charity.
It was clear now why her father had done what he did. Celeste simply couldn’t be trusted with any large sums of money. The woman was too caught up with living the high life and maintaining appearances. And Henry, the sleaze, wasn’t so loyal after all. Now, even with the Aldridge finances in the dumps, she could ensure that no matter what, Wyatt would finish school and would be taken care of until he took out on his own.
A wave of unease hit Abby as she turned to stare out the window. Had her father foreseen the family’s current situation? She’d been far away from home but they talked all the time. Why didn’t he tell her that something was wrong? Why hadn’t he told her about the threat that was Damian? Then again, the way Henry Sullivan and everyone else told the story, Damian came out of nowhere had and swiped the company right out from under Caleb.
“Are you alright?”
The voice of her father’s enemy filtered into her mind. Turning to him with a neutral expression—one which she had no idea how she’d managed to pull of—she nodded. “Fine.”
“You’re quiet.”
“How do you know I’m not always quiet?”
“The brief times in your company have shown me that you speak your mind.”
“Are you attracted to women who speak their minds?”
He gave her a fleeting glance and grinned. “Not usually. Too much trouble.”
“So, what is this thing between you and me then? I’m not your type.”
“Maybe not, but since last night I seem to have developed a thing for witty redheads.”
Abby’s heart fluttered. He was into her. Why couldn’t she be on her way to a lunch date with a nice man whom she’d met at an art gallery or a bookstore? A man who she wasn’t about to seduce and betray. Of course, fate had to be a twisted bitch about it and put a man she might grow to like directly in her path…only to have him turn out to be her father’s murderer. In all fairness, Damian hadn’t put a hand on her father. But he was guilty as sin in her book.
Shaking off her morbid thoughts, Abby sat up and turned in her seat. “So, a sports car, huh?”
“Is something wrong with that?”
“I’m not a fan. And this flashy, tiny piece of metal doesn’t suit you.”
“No? And what do you think would suit me?”
“Something much bigger and more powerful. Like you.”
The heated glance he directed at her nearly melted her on the spot. Luckily, he returned his attention to the road. Eyes that intense she should be outlawed. “Maybe I drove this flashy, tiny piece of metal to impress you.”
“I doubt that. Plus, I’m pretty sure you remember me telling you that I’m not really in to those exuberantly rich lifestyles.”
“I remember perfectly, Black Sheep. Perhaps I thought you were lying. You do live in a sprawling mansion, and you dress like a rich princess.”
Abby mentally snickered. Oh, how wrong he was. She actually lived in a modest apartment and nothing she had on—except for her underwear–belonged to her. To tell Damian or not to tell Damian? Abby contemplated. She’d snagged his attention by being herself. Elaina’s advice on how to act like Damian’s type was completely null and void at this point. Why not give him the full dose of Abby and see where it got her? Well, maybe not the full dose. She didn’t want him knowing where she really lived. “I have a confession, Damian.”
His long fingers tightened noticeably around the steering wheel. It was absurd that she felt the desire to feel his hands tighten on certain parts of her body.
You hate him. You hate him. Her chant barely kept her focused on the task at hand.
“What’s that?”
“I borrowed everything I have on from my sister’s closet.”
Damian’s shoulders relaxed. “Why would you do that?”
“Well, if you saw me before I changed, you’d understand. I had on a t-shirt, faded jeans and battered sneakers. And that’s pretty much what makes up the majority of my wardrobe. I was advised not to greet you in my state of scruff, so I borrowed a few of my sister’s things. I thought you’d appreciate a more sophisticated look. But it’s eleven a.m. I mean, it should be a crime to give a shit about looking glamorous before noon, right?”
Seconds ticked by before he responded with a roar of laughter. “Are you being serious? About preferring t-shirts and jeans? Because I happen to find that refreshing and incredibly sexy.”
“Just you wait until you see me in one of those pairs of washed out jeans.”
“So, I’m going to see you again?”
“You play your cards right, Damian, and you might,” she said. Abby held her breath, wondering how she was doing in the seduction department so far. When he glanced her way with a blatantly lustful swipe of the eyes, she exhaled. It seemed like she was doing pretty damn good. Her satisfied smirk faded. She was becoming worse than her mother and Elaina combined. It was disturbing, and she wondered what would happen next.
