Page 18 of Mutual Desire

“Well, I don’t need much to be happy,” Damien said, his voice quieter as he held Nabokov’s gaze for a moment longer than he intended.

Bettman chuckled warmly. “I like that. A man with brains, talent, and charm.” Bettman then turned to Nabokov with a smirk and said, “A sharp mind, wit, and an unassuming nature. He sure has the whole package, doesn't he?”

Nabokov didn’t miss a beat. “The absolute package, really,”he said, voice flat but deliberate—like a statement carved into stone.Those four words carried weight, as though they held a meaning that went far beyond what was spoken aloud.

Damien shifted uncomfortably,suddenly aware of how tight his shirt felt around his collarbones.“I’m really nothing special. I'm pretty boring and basic,” Damien said, letting out a forced chuckle, but it came out more like a puff of air.

Bettman chuckled again. “Brains, charm, and modesty. You’re quite the rarity, Damien. Tell me—are you single? I can’t imagine someone like you is.”

Damien blinked, caught off guard, but quickly recovered. “Why?” he said with a teasing smirk. “Are you interested?” The words slipped out before he could stop them, his voice laced with playful sarcasm.

Bettman let out a hearty laugh. “Not me,” he replied, still chuckling. “I was thinking of my daughter. She’s single, and I wouldn’t mind at all if she dated someone like you.”

“Wait,” Nick interjected with a grin, clearly sensing Damien’s discomfort. “I’m single too, and you’ve never offered me to date your daughter. What gives?”

Bettman laughed again, shaking his head. “You’d have to move to Connecticut for that—she lives there. And let’s be honest, if you two hit it off, you’d probably want to be closer to her. I can’t afford to lose one of my best engineers.”

“Nice save, Mr. Bettman,” Nick quipped warmly,and the group chuckled, the tension loosening.

Everyone except Nabokov.

Bettman had the kind of laugh that was infectious, making it impossible not to smile along with him. Damien couldn’t help but admire the man’s warmth and ease. He envied Nick for having such a supportive boss. If only Bettman were Nick’s ultimate superior, Damien thought wryly.

But no, that title belonged to the man standing silently beside them—Nabokov, who watched Damien as though he were trying to decipher a particularly complex puzzle.The man hadn’t said a word since his last comment. But he hadn’t looked away either.There was a stillness to him, a quiet intensity, as if he were imprinting every word Damien had spoken.

It wasn’t admiration. Not exactly.

It was curiosity edged with something more primal—like Nabokov had just recognized something he hadn’t known he was searching for.

“Well,” Bettman said, clapping his hands together, signaling the end of the conversation. “It’s great to see such talent supporting Nick. Whatever path you choose, Damien, I have no doubt you’ve got a bright future ahead of you.”

Nick beamed, pride clearin his expression, but Damien barely registered it. Nabokov’s presence loomed, the tension between them thick and unspoken.

Damien managed a polite smile and murmured a soft “thank you,” all while Nabokov’s gray eyes remained locked on him, unrelenting in their intensity.

Bettman turned to Nick. “I’m going to be in meetings all morning tomorrow, so why don’t we do a quick review of your presentation now?”

Nick lit up. “Of course! D, do you mind waiting for me in my office?”

“No problem,” Damien said.

Bettman shook Damien’s hand firmly. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Damien. I hope we see more of you soon.”

Damien nodded, a polite smile fixed in place. “Likewise.”

As Bettman and Nick walked off, Damien suddenly felt the air shift. He turned to find Nabokov still standing there, his gaze unwavering.

“About...” Damien started, finally gathering the courage to address the coffee incident, but the words died on his lips as a sharply dressed man and woman approached Nabokov.

“Mr. Nabokov,” the woman began, her tone respectful as she launched into a discussion about an upcoming merger.

A few more people joined the circle, all vying for Nabokov’s attention. Yet, despite the growing crowd around him, Nabokov’s eyes never left Damien. The intensity in his gaze held Damien captive for a moment longer, a silent promise or challenge lingering between them.

Finally, Damien tore his gaze away, retreating to the buffet table under the pretense of filling his plate. His appetite was nonexistent, but his nerves needed a distraction. He avoided the smoked salmon, a petty rebellion, and slipped out of the lounge with his plate of food balanced carefully in one hand.

The hum of conversation and laughter faded into the background as he walked down the hallway, looking for some semblance of quiet. He found an empty corner near a tall, sleek window overlooking the city skyline and leaned against the cool glass.

His gaze drifted to the food on his plate—a colorful array of delicacies that he barely had the appetite to touch. He picked at a few items absentmindedly, letting his thoughts wander back to the lounge.

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