Page 17 of Mutual Desire

Damien’s breath stilled as Nabokov’s gaze lingered, heavy and calculated. “I thought it would be worthwhile to get to know them a little better,” Nabokov added, his words slower now, as if meant for Damien alone.

For a moment, the noise of the lounge faded into the background. Their eyes locked, the air between them taut with unspoken tension. Damien’s pulse quickened, a flush creeping up his neck as he struggled to maintain his composure under Nabokov’s penetrating stare.

Bettman’s warm laugh broke the moment. “Well, that’s good to hear! It’s not often something impresses you, Mr. Nabokov.”

Nabokov didn’t respond, his gaze still firmly on Damien, as though he hadn’t heard a word Bettman said. Bettman’s attention flicked to Damien, a spark of recognition lighting his features. “And you’re the one who presented with Nicolas, right? I don’t think I've seen you before.”

Before Damien could reply, Nick appeared beside him, his drink still in his hand and his trademark bright smile lighting up the space.

“That’s right!” Nick said enthusiastically, clapping Damien on the shoulder like a proud parent. “Damien, this is Mr. Bettman, my boss. Damien’s the genius who’s been helping me with the project.”

“Ah, so this is the famous Damien,” Bettman said warmly, extending his hand with a genial smile. “A pleasure to meet you properly, Damien. Nick’s been talking a lot of about you.”

Damien shook his hand, offering a polite but restrained smile.“Only good things, I hope.”

Nick laughed, the sound bright and genuine, but Damien’s attention drifted to the right where Nabokov stood. His focus, sharp and calculated, was on the conversation—on him. The weight of Nabokov’s gaze felt like a physical touch, and Damien shifted slightly under the intensity.

“Damien’s the reason I’ve managed to pull through on some of these projects,” Nick added, his admiration evident. “He’s been an absolute lifesaver.”

“Oh, stop it,” Damien said, waving off the praise and placing a hand on Nick’s back. “Nick’s the real star here. I just lent a hand.”

Bettman raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Nick mentioned you’re a biochem teacher. A fascinating leap to tech. A man of many talents, it seems.”

Nick, ever the proud best friend, couldn’t help but jump in. “He’s being modest. Damien double-majored in biochem and math, graduated with honors, and landed a teaching position at Northwood Private when he was just twenty-four. One of the youngest they’ve ever hired.”

“Impressive,” Bettman said, nodding. “A bio teacher, tech whiz, and mathematician. You’re a rare package, Damien.”

Damien let out a modest laugh, though his unease simmered beneath the surface. “I just help where I can. Nick’s the one who deserves the spotlight.”

Bettman’s gaze shifted briefly to Nabokov, including him in the conversation. “Mr. Nabokov, don’t you think someone like Damien would be an asset to our company?”

Nabokov’s gray eyes never left Damien. His gaze was piercing, as if trying to unravel Damien layer by layer.

“Absolutely,” he said, his voice calm and steady. There was no emphasis, no flourish. And yet, Damien’s pulse betrayed him.

Bettman chuckled, oblivious toto the quiet shift in the air. “Brains and charm. Don’t tell me you’re an athlete too because that just wouldn’t be fair.”

Damien shook his head, laughing nervously. “Not quite. I barely have a six-pack.”

From the corner of his eye, Damien saw Nabokov’s gaze flick downward—brief, clinical, but unmistakable. By the time their eyes met again, Nabokov’s expression was impassive. Yet Damien’s skin burned like he'd been touched.Damien’s cheeks flushed.He looked away.

“But I’m serious, Damien,” Bettman said, his tone earnest. “I’d love to have you on my team. I’m sure you’re doing well salary-wise, but we could easily double that to get someone like you.”

“I really appreciate the offer,” Damien replied, his voice steady but humble. “But honestly, money isn’t what drives me.”

“Oh? That’s interesting,” Bettman said, his brows lifting, clearly intrigued.

“Yeah,” Damien continued, his tone soft but sincere. “As long as I have enough to cover my basic needs and maybe travel occasionally, I’m happy. That’s all I really need.”

Bettman tilted his head slightly, considering his next words,a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “It’s rare to hear someone your age say that. So many people these days—especially your generation—seem so materialistic. Social media probably doesn’t help. It’s refreshing to see someone with a different perspective.”

Damien gave a small, bashful smile. His gaze dropped—but rose again, drawn upward like gravity to a singular force.

Nabokov.

The man's eyes hadn’t moved.

There was something in them now, something quiet and unreadable. Admiration? Amusement? Interest? Damien couldn’t tell. But it unsettled him in a way he couldn’t name.

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