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Chapter Three
Damian
Damian went through the motions like an automaton. After his speech, he took the time to chat to a few people who considered themselves way too important. But he wanted their money, so he entertained them. All the while, he couldn’t get the intriguing redhead out of his mind. All through his speech, he had searched the crowd for her and was surprised by his disappointment when he didn’t see her. The few minutes he’d spent conversing with her had been the highlight of his night, and he wanted more.
After ditching a group of egotistical men, followed by a group of flirting women and even his own date, he’d decided to remain on the balcony for a little while. He’d been enjoying the solitude until she’d shown up. She’d arrived like a gust of fresh air, all wit, and flaming hair and had made him smile and laugh like no other ever had.
The image of her standing there, bathing in the moonlight, and the glow coming from the ballroom, it was etched in his mind. It was almost as if she were some ethereal entity. She wore an emerald gown that accentuated her classic red curls, and she wore a clinging bodice that showed off her slight curves. Even in the dim lighting, he could make out a pair of pale, blue eyes that shone with intelligence. She was the exact opposite of his type, both physically and personality-wise. He preferred tall, curvy model types who did as little talking as possible and disappeared when he tired of them. The redhead was petite, on the thinner side, and too sassy for his comfort. So why then was he hell bent on finding her in the crowded ballroom? She did still have his jacket—that was the excuse he would use so as not to admit that he was very attracted to her.
She looked familiar, and he’d spent their entire entertaining conversation trying to place her. Clearly, she ran in the circles of the wealthy. But he knew every socialite and aspiring model in the city. He’d slept with just about all of them, and he definitely would have remembered the sharp-tongued redhead who dubbed herself the black sheep of the wealthy. He wanted to laugh, remembering their amusing conversation. Who was she?
After successfully evading a rather pushy man who was trying to get his attention—no doubt, to throw a business pitch—Damian finally made his way to the double doors that led into the hallway. If the mystery redhead had wanted to escape the crowd earlier, he would find her somewhere other than inside the ballroom. To his satisfaction, he did find her in the empty hall, leaning against the wall. The second she spotted him, she straightened, her expression tight.
Damian took slow, purposeful steps toward her, his mouth stretching into a smile. She’d definitely done something to him. He didn’t readily offer anyone a smile, ever. “You don’t look surprised to see me.”
“I had a feeling you’d hunt me down for your property.” She extended an arm with his jacket draped over it.
“Thanks.” Shrugging it on, he was pleased by the whiff of a sweet, delicate scent. For some reason, he liked that part of her had rubbed off on him, and maybe some of him had rubbed off on her.
“Nice speech. Very profound.”
“For a pompous ass?”
Her cheeks took on a bright-pink tint, and her lashes swooped down to hide whatever emotion flickered in her eyes. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t …”
“If you’re merely apologizing because you found out who I am, I’m disappointed. Stand in your truth, Black Sheep.”
A ghost of a smile haunted her mouth, and she met his gaze with troubled eyes. “I agree. Fine, I’m not sorry. But you were right, it isn’t fair of me to make assumptions about someone I don’t know. It’s just that I’ve heard some things.”
“You can’t believe everything you hear.”
She inhaled but didn’t comment. Damian shoved his hands into his pockets and studied the woman carefully. Her features were very familiar. “You know my name now. Are you going to tell me yours?”
“Abby.” She lifted her chin as if in a challenge and declared, “Aldridge.”
Damian’s small smile faded. “Aldridge. As in Caleb Aldridge?”
“Not anymore,” Abby said. “He’s dead.”
There was no telling how long the two stood, silently staring at each other. Disappointment coursed through his veins. He was attracted to an Aldridge. Bile rose in his throat. He should have recognized the red hair, blue eyes, and prominent cheekbones. Suddenly, he wanted to dislike Abby. But he couldn’t.
He didn’t bother to offer condolences. After all, Caleb’s demise was what he’d wanted. The flash of pain in Abby’s eyes, however, made him feel contrite. At the same time, confusion swirled in his mind. What was she doing at his event? It was no secret that he despised the Aldridge family, and they despised him. Yet, he’d never met Abby. She seemed so different from the others. Curiosity overrode his confusion, as well as the sliver of suspicion that was creeping in.
He didn’t get the chance to interrogate her. Abby took a retreating step. “I have to get going.”
Damian warred with himself. Should he go after her or forget that they’d ever met? He wanted nothing to do with an Aldridge. Yet, he found himself taking steps in the direction Abby had fled.
“Damian.”
He froze, both annoyed for being stopped and at the same time relieved that he was saved from his own folly. “What is it, Camilla?”
The voluptuous black-haired woman raised a brow. “Don’t take that tone with me. It’s not going to fly. You invited me to this thing and you end up ditching me all night.” Her accent added heat to the lecture. “Do you know how many old men I’ve had to fend off this evening?”
Raising a brow, he gave her a look that lacked sympathy. “Don’t act like you don’t enjoy fending off old men, Camilla. You love the attention, and I can only imagine the number of clients you gained tonight.”
Blood-red lips kicked up into a smile. Camilla studied her perfectly manicured nails. “Fine, you got me. These rich men have been begging to spend their money on me. I should accompany you to these things more often.” She looked over his shoulder. “What are you doing standing out here by yourself?”
Glancing back, Damian wondered if he should mention Abby. He shared many things with Camilla, she was one of the few people he could trust. His cousin was an amazing person, and very loyal. If only she’d give up her job as an escort. The thought made him scowl. How she’d even ended up in that particular line of work was beyond him. But, she was always getting into something crazy ever since they were kids. She was a free spirit, and if he dished out another stern disciplinary monologue, it would only go in one ear and out the other. “Nothing … I was just about to head back in.”
Her dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Right. Is this how you treat all of your dates? I mean, your real dates. Invite them somewhere and leave them hanging? If so, you need a lesson on how to treat women, mi primo.”
“The day you give up your current profession is the day I’ll take any lesson from you.”
“Screw you, Damian.” She glared at him. “I’m going back inside to find a few more clients.”
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Damian vowed to never again invite Camilla to an event littered with rich men. Of course, he’d made that vow many times, yet, there she was. When he wanted to avoid having some gold-digging model latched on to his arm all night, and have them assume they were betrothed because of one date, he called his cousin. She was the perfect hostess and diversionary tactic, leaving him with the opportunity to do things like escape to a balcony and converse with fascinating redheads.
“A fucking Aldridge,” he muttered to himself.
