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“Uh huh.”
“Since when is that a thing?”
“I don’t know. I guess she’s just being nice.” Joe gave a salute and scampered out of Damian’s office as if the hounds of hell were on his heels, leaving Damian to stare after him with a scowl. If he didn’t have a file on Abby in front of him, he would have given Joe and his mother’s too friendly relationship more thought. However, his mind was too consumed with what he would find out about the vivacious Abby.
With a long exhale, he flipped the folder open and reluctantly began to read. Minutes later, Damian sat back with a grin. Abby had been truthful about everything. She’d only left out one detail—about where she really lived. He'd assumed she resided in the den of snakes, but she rented a small apartment on the outskirts of the city, far enough from her family. He couldn’t hold it against her. He rarely allowed anyone to know where he lived either. Plus, he hadn’t really asked her about her living arrangements.
“Abigail Aldridge,” he whispered. A twenty-six-year-old gallery curator with degrees in art history, English literature, and business studies. She recently applied for a job at a small gallery not far from his office. She didn’t fall into the category of a spoiled socialite. She worked for a living, and he couldn’t be more pleased. It appeared that her refreshing personality was no act. Since the age of eighteen, she’d been away from the rest of the Aldridge family, studying in London. Six years of studying and one-year touring Europe, then she ended up in New York. It seemed daddy’s money took her to many places, and she made good use of her financial resources. Good for her. She didn’t stay in New York for long because she returned home after her father died.
Damian stared at the file, his grin broadening. Art history. A gallery curator. No way would Abby make millions in that field. So, she really wasn’t interested in riches after all. Suddenly, the urge to hear her voice mounted, and he gave in. It was early, but somehow he knew she was up and about.
“Hello?” she answered hesitantly and breathlessly.
He could hear the wind whipping in the background. “Abby, it’s Damian.”
She didn’t respond immediately. “Um … Hi, Damian. This is a surprise.”
“You weren’t expecting me to use your phone number after I asked for it?”
Her laugh was soft and breathy, music to his ears. He imagined the pleasure he would get to hear her so breathless while he pleasured her. “Of course I did, just not so soon. I know how you men are. You like to make a girl wait so as not to appear too eager.”
Damian smiled. “I’m not most men. If I’m interested, I don’t see the point in any delay.” If he wanted something, he went for it, and he got it. He wanted Abby, and she would be his for as long as he wanted. Period.
“I’m starting to see that,” she said.
“Is this a bad time? You sound busy.”
“I’m jogging. I can talk.”
“Jogging? Alone?” A feeling of protectiveness came out of nowhere, and he scowled. That protective streak was reserved for the only family he had left, his mother and his cousin, sometimes even his only friend, Joe.
“No, with my brother, who's sorry ass I left in my dust. I wish he could hear me say that,” she said.
Damian found himself grinning like an idiot at the sound of her laughter. Her brother, Wyatt Aldridge, was another member of the clan whom he barely recognized as any threat. Like Abby, the young man had remained off of his radar, rarely seen with the rest of the family. “I take it you have a competitive streak.”
“Oh yeah. Always have. I used to take pleasure in crushing the competition when I was on the debate team in high school. I was a monster.”
Rubbing his chin, he swallowed a laugh. “Debate? Yeah, I’m sure you were a real monster.”
“Hey, the world of high school debate can be very cutthroat.”
“I’m sure,” he said. Abby was a bit of a nerd, and he loved it. Why hadn’t he ever paid attention to the intellectual girls in high school or even now? He would have been better off.
“So, what’s up?”
“I want a repeat of our impromptu date yesterday.”
“That was a date?”
“Of a sort. I want to do better this time around. Take you somewhere nicer.”
“I see.”
The slight hesitation in her tone irritated him. Did she not enjoy their lunch yesterday? She appeared to have had a good time. “Is there a problem?”
“Not at all.” Her tone was much more chipper than it was seconds ago. “I’d love to have a repeat of our date ... I had a nice time.”
Damian shoved down the suspicion that had risen at her sudden change in attitude. “Dinner and a surprise. I’ll pick you up at six. Sound good?”
