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Chuck pats his stomach. “Thank God. I’m starved.”
“You’re always starved, babe.”
Damon extends an arm, waiting for me as Chuck and Brandi head inside with the rest of Damon’s team, Vedant, and Shaylea.
“Are you ready?” Damon asks me.
With a smile, I slide my arm into his and that hum spreads to an all-out vibration. “Let’s charm some pants off.”
Dinner is five courses of pure Heaven. First, a round of stuffed mushroom hors d’oeuvres, followed by succulent peeled crab for an appetizer. Then salad with fresh berry dressing, and for the main course—the best roast chicken I may have ever had.
I’m stuffed by the time they bring out the chocolate mousse, but it’s too tempting not to eat.
We sit at a long rectangle table inside the main living room. Three all-glass windows boast a breathtaking view of the sun burning across the turquoise water as it sets.
Damon, who sits to my left, has been lost in conversation with Mr. Vance for the entire dinner. After brief introductions when we first sat down, Patrick has done nothing but grill Damon mercilessly about all his different projects.
It’s impressive watching him dodge and redirect questions with finesse. In the last hour, I’ve learned that not only is he the lead developer of his team with Bryce, Walter, and Aakesh, but also the lead developer for LottaEats and several other big name US applications.
Come to find out, the award ceremony he socasuallytold me about is being conducted by none other than Apple Inc.
I flick my gaze up as he carries on his conversation with the rest of his team, marveling at the way his modesty proves to be sexy.
Shaylea and Vedant sit beside Patrick’s wife, who has had very little to say and seems completely dazed in the same way I’ve seen my mother after drinking too much wine.
The tip of Damon’s pinky finger prods mine beside our dessert plates.
I reach for my butter knife, smiling at the accidental game we’ve been playing.
When he grabbed my fork to use with the first course, I snatched his fork to use for the next.
Game on, his wicked grin seemed to say.
Back and forth, we’ve subtly taken a silver item from each other’s place setting. The servers were more than confused as they carried off the wrong cutlery with each plate, but by the time we got to dessert, Damon was left with my tiny crab fork, and I with a butter knife.
With Patrick now distracted by Vedant, Damon raises a victorious brow at the sight of my lone utensil.
I slowly cut a corner of my cake, watching it slump over before stabbing it through the center and popping it into my mouth.
Leaning on my elbow, I whisper, “Game, set, match, Mr. Carlisle.”
That garners a low chuckle that warms the deepest parts of my belly.
“I’m not finished with you yet, Miss Harris.”
Damon’s knee bumps mine once he rejoins the ongoing conversation. He doesn’t so much as peek at me when he sets the tiny fork down on his plate and immediately slides his hand below the table.
“As I mentioned earlier, Damon, Triggerz is set to hit a profit of 2.2 billion dollars this year alone. With that kind of money, I believe we can expand the business to create a trifecta between India, the US, and the UK.”
“I completely agree with you,” Damon says confidently. “I know what our US branch is capable of. I have no doubt we would succeed.”
Bryce throws in a question about what shifts in marketing would be required, as something tickles me beneath the tablecloth.
Damon’s touch starts as a solitary prod against the outside edge of my knee.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
The little circles his pointer finger makes paired with a subtle smirk ticks my pulse up erratically.
