Page 58 of Damián

“Whatever the joke is, I want in,” I say, as I sink into the booth right next to Oliver.

I slide my hand under the table, rest my palm on his thigh, and squeeze it. Oliver shivers under my touch.

His muscles tense for a split second before completely melting against my side, and then, my thumb betrays me, moving entirely on its own to trace lazy circles over the denim of his jeans.

I fully intend to stop, but it seems Oliver likes what I’m doing, so I keep doing it.

You know… to be a good mission buddy or whatever.

“Zara was just telling me about an influencer who has this weird beef against her.”

“She’s a nightmare,” she huffs, annoyed. “But enough about her, and let’s talk about you. Oliver has been holding out on me… since I didn’t even know you existed until yesterday,” she adds, though I can tell she is lying.

“I like to keep a low profile.”

“Well, you failed,” a voice interrupts. “You can’t ever be low profile, Dami.”

I look up to see Kai, with his quirky blue glasses, standing over our table with a tray of pastries and drinks. Kai is always nice to talk to and usually one of my favorite baristas, but right now, he is glaring at Oliver like he just stepped on his cat, and it’s bothering me.

A lot.

“Here is your usual, Dami,” he purrs at me, and I just want to strangle him.

What the fuck is he doing?

And since when does he call me Dami?

“Thanks…” I take a fork and a knife and cut a piece of my croissant de Monte Cristo, so Oliver can try it later.

“And—oh-my-God!” Kai squeals the moment he turns to Zara. “You’re ‘Zara Sees the World’, right?!”

“Yes! That’s me.” Zara flips her golden curls and gives him her best influencer smile.

And speaking of influencers… one of the strangest things we found about Oliver, back when we did his background check, is that his public presence barely exists outside of Zara’s social media. She travels the world promoting luxury hotels and VIP parties, and about ninety percent of our intel on his personal life comes directly from her accounts.

If it weren’t for her photos, where he’s either partying by her side, traveling, or in the background attached to some hookup… we’d barely have more than his name and address. Outside of her feed and a random paparazzi snap here and there, Oliver is a ghost.

He doesn’t even have any socials of his own.

No email, no media subscriptions, nothing.

Maybe I should ask him about why that is…

Zara tastes her frappe and groans. “Oh, wow! This is delicious.”

“It is!” Kai agrees, completely starstruck. He places all the pastries on the table and picks up a large strawberry milkshake. “And is this also yours, Zara?”

“Nope, that’s mine.” Oliver lifts his hand and smiles.

“Ah…” Kai says dismissively, without looking at him.

And it bothers me even more.

Then, Kai leans forward and brings the glass down fast… way too fast.

With that kind of speed, force, and trajectory, the glass is either going to shatter on impact or spill all over Oliver.

For a split second, I expect Kai to pull back and play it off as a clumsy joke, but no, the man has absolutely zero intention of slowing down.