Page 154 of Damián

OLIVER

Iput on my jacket and follow Damián down the grand staircase of my house. I pay attention to the way he is dressed, checking his shoes or anything else that could give me a clue to where this “secret place” might be… But his black jeans and white T-shirt tell me absolutely nothing.

Hmmm… I really suck as a profiler.

Annoyed, I give a sideways glare at the gorgeous man walking beside me, and he has the nerve to laugh.

“Are you seriously not going to tell me where we are going?” I ask.

“You do know how surprises work, right?”

“I could use some special methods to extract that information.”

“And I would love to experience all those methods,” Damián says, leaning closer, and I can smell my shampoo on his hair, “but unfortunately for you, you don’t have enough time to make me change my mind.”

“This is a terrible way to treat your boss. I should fire you.”

“I mean.” He shrugs, “…you could try.”

We reach the lower floor, and just as we are heading for the exit, Martin opens the front door and lets in an older man who clearly refuses to age gracefully; his hair is dyed an unnatural, inky black, and his thin, pointy nose looks two surgeries away from disappearing.

Oh, crap… What is Mr. Jenkins doing here?

Mr. Jenkins steps into the entryway, closely followed by his security guard. He looks around and scoffs the moment he sees me.

“Oliver, we have to talk.”

“Sure, make an appointment,” I tell him as I continue my way.

“But I am already here.”

“Great, now you can make an appointment in person.” I look past him to the door. “Martin, would you please help Mr. Jenkins with his appointment?”

“Of course, Master Oliver.”

“Nonsense,” Mr. Jenkins says, waving a dismissive hand at my staff. “Martin, bring me a coffee to the office. Double espresso and a biscuit.”

And without waiting for a reply, Mr. Jenkins marches forward, fully intending to make himself at home in my office… But before he can take five more steps, Damián steps right in his way.

My man doesn’t say a single word; he just stands there daring Mr. Jenkins to see what happens if he takes another step.

Which he doesn’t.

Uffff… Dami is so hot!

“Martin, don’t bring a thing,” I say, closing the distance between myself and this unwanted guest. “Mr. Jenkins… I can see you have the terrible impression that you can tell me what to do. You don’t. I tell you what to do, and you shut your mouth and fucking do it.”

The man glares at me. “Your father used to—”

“I don’t care what my father used to do or not. You’re not working for him… You are working for me.”

Jenkins glares at me, his pointy nose flaring as his jaw trembles with a mix of fury and, I’m pretty sure, some wounded pride.

“How dare you talk to me this way? Do you know what will happen if you get on my wrong side?”

“Yes,” I say. “Nothing will happen—actually, scratch that, because something will happen… we will make more money since your grabby little hands will finally stop stealing and embezzling from the Pontie account.”

Jenkins’s puffy eyes widen in shock, and the color drains from his face.